The Design(70)

Seeing her smiling face made me long to call her and tell her everything I’d found on Grayson’s email. I wanted her to erase the day I’d had, to whisk me away to Montana where I could forget all my troubles.

Instead, I pulled up Expedia.com and opened the top drawer of her desk—the one where I’d stuffed a note with my credit card information years earlier in an effort to make online shopping even easier. When the website was done loading, I looked up flights from Los Angeles to Paris. I clicked on the cheapest flight that departed the very next day and reserved my spot.

It was finally time to learn if I could make it on my own.





Chapter Thirty


When I arrived home the next morning, I pressed my ear to the door and slid my key into the lock. I had exactly two hours until I planned to be at the airport for my flight. Since I’d be traveling internationally, I wanted to get there extra early so that I’d have plenty of time to make it through security and find the correct gate.

My apartment seemed to be empty; I couldn’t hear a thing from outside, so I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The living room looked exactly as it had before I’d left. I checked Hannah’s room first. Her door stood ajar, clothes strewn about everywhere. I figured she hadn’t come home at all. Smart girl. I still wanted to rip her hair out.

I turned to my room next and that’s when I heard a low groan followed by Grayson’s sharp voice.

“I don’t care what you have to do. I’m telling you she’s missing and we shouldn’t have to wait 12 hours before we start searching—”

Dammit. I flew through my bedroom door before Grayson requested sending the entire National Guard out looking for me.

“I’m not missing!” I yelled. Grayson turned to me with a face clouded in anger. He was standing in his boxers, bloodshot eyes hidden behind hard features. His dark hair stood in every direction and I wasn’t sure if he was about to kiss me or strangle me. I’d say it was an even 50/50 for either option, so I stayed exactly where I was.

“Jim, never mind. She’s here. Thanks,” he said before tossing his phone onto my bed. He used too much force and the phone rolled off and thumped to the ground. He didn’t move to grab it; instead he stared straight at me.

I held my hands up in defense. “Before you even start, just get out of my apartment.”

My words wounded him. He flinched and took a step back, clearly confused.

“Where have you been? You look like you haven’t slept at all,” he said, scanning over me.

I crossed my arms. “I didn’t sleep at all. I walked to Brooklyn’s apartment and purchased a one-way ticket to Paris. But, wait,” I said, with sarcasm starting to ooze out of every pore. “You probably already know that!”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” he asked, taking two steps toward me.

“Stop,” I warned, holding out my hand again.

He raked his hands through his hair and bit down hard on his lip as if trying to keep it together.

“I’m leaving for Paris today. It’s been my plan for a while. I just didn’t tell you about it.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Paris? What in the world? You didn’t think that was something you should have told me?”

I laughed and turned to retrieve the travel backpack I’d purchased a few weeks earlier from beneath my bed. If I organized everything perfectly, I could fit everything I needed inside of it.

“Cammie, god dammit. You’re being crazy. You need to slow down and talk to me,” he said, reaching to pull the backpack out of my hands. “Where did you go last night and what’s all this about Paris?"

“No! I don’t owe you a damn thing!” I yelled, tugging the backpack out of his reach. “I saw your email, Grayson!” There it was. “You left your account open on my computer and I saw my little folder. All of your ‘Cammie’ emails. I read every single one. You’re a sick son of a bitch.”

He scrunched his face, trying to catch up and decipher my outburst.

“Your folder?”

I was beyond pissed.

“Yes.” I spoke annoyingly slow to drive home my point. “The folder where you saved every single detail of how you’ve meddled in my life. Job interviews, test scores, rent, scholarships—every single thing you manipulated in my life. You are a f*cking stalker, Grayson!”

“I’m not a stalker. Calm down,” he protested. His eyes were completely dilated in anger and I knew that there was no going back. This was the fight that would end us. Except it wouldn’t just end us. It would break us down until we were both casualties with nothing left to show but two broken hearts.

“After your parents died,” he began to explain, “Brooklyn asked me to watch out for you. You two had a rocky relationship then, and she felt like you had nobody to count on, so I stepped up and I did what I had to do.”

“Bullshit,” I hissed. "You did what you wanted to do, so you could be some kind of knight in shining armor. Can you even imagine how it feels to find out you've just been a f*cking damsel in distress your entire adult life?"

“Tell me,” he asked, stepping closer. “Tell me one thing I did that a devoted friend or big brother or father figure wouldn’t have done! You had nobody, Cammie! Nobody to help you except for your sister.”