Page 23

CHAPTER 22

Jeeves sat beside her at the conference table, the silence more punishing than anything she could’ve said to his face. He ran a hand through his hair, took a breath, then let it out slowly. His heart hammering like it was trying to punch its way through his ribs.

He’d faced worse. Combat missions with half the intel, cartel members with more guns than sense, pitch-black jungles crawling with enemies and uncertainty. But none of it compared to the weight of what stood between them now.

Cammie knew.

She knew he’d come into her life already aware of her past—the pain, the trauma, the truth she hadn’t trusted him with yet. Their initial meeting had been happenstance, a twist of fate, but the other times had felt deliberate, almost as if he’d orchestrated each encounter. At least that’s what he feared she’d think. The night at the bar had been accidental, but his teammates had pushed him to get closer to her for the job. The other times, he found he was unable to stay away. He’d enjoyed their time together more and more.

He’d run the conversation through his head a hundred times. A dozen ways to say “I’m sorry,” and none of them felt like enough. He hadn’t lied, not exactly. But he hadn’t told the truth either—not about what he knew of her past, or how he’d known who she was.

But instead of being honest from the start, he’d kept quiet, telling himself it was to protect her. But really, it had been to protect himself.

Now, the lie—or the omission—hung between them like a loaded weapon, safety off.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t the time to tell her everything. That getting close to her had happened naturally—despite the original reason he’d stuck by her side. But now? Now he just felt like a liar.

Cammie sat beside him, her hands tightly clenched together in her lap, expression unreadable. No tears. No anger. Just quiet. Which somehow made it worse.

“Hey,” he said, voice rougher than he wanted it to be. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer right away, just nodded. Everything felt off-balance. Like the ground had shifted and he was still trying to find his footing.

“I should’ve told you,” he said, turning to face her.

Her gaze met his, guarded. “But you didn’t.”

Hanging his head, he confessed, “No, I didn't,” the simple denial carrying the weight of his guilt and regret. “I was afraid.”

She looked away at that, and the ache in his chest grew sharper.

“I didn’t know how to undo the lie without ruining everything,” he said. “And now I’ve probably done it.”

A long pause stretched between them. Jeeves held his breath.

“How long?”

“A while.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

When she finally looked at him again, there was pain in her eyes—but something softer, too. A question, maybe. A maybe .

“Was it all just because of who I was? Just because Baker asked a favor? Did you only come into my life because of that?” she said.

“No,” he said instantly. “Not at all. That day when I found you in the tree, I didn’t know who you were. It wasn’t until a few days later when Baker contacted us. The night at the bar was by chance, too. But I admit there was the need to do as Baker asked in the back of my head. But the more time I spent with you . . . That stopped the moment I realized I cared about you. This—us—whatever we’ve started becoming . . . it’s real, Cammie. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever had.” His voice was barely a breath when he choked out the words, “Please don't hate me,” his heart leaping wildly in his chest, a silent fear accompanying his plea.

She said nothing. Just sat there, watching him. And he knew whatever came next, he’d take it. He deserved it. Every ounce of her anger, every wall she rebuilt because of him.

But still, a part of him hoped she’d let him stay.

She was quiet for a long beat. Then, with the barest lift of her brow, “And did you expect me to fall for you before or after you decided to keep the truth to yourself?”

The jab landed, but it didn’t draw blood. It wasn’t bitter. More like a test, and he knew he deserved it.

“I didn’t expect you to fall for me at all,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t want to screw up the one good thing I’d found in a long damn time.” Frustration welled up inside him as he wiped a hand across his sweaty face and around to the back of his neck, his fingers digging into the tense muscles. “I’ve been floundering around for so long. Ever since losing Liam. Then my fuck up with Sutton. I cut myself off from everything and everyone. Then I met you. You’d been through a hell I can only imagine. And yet, this vibrant energy radiated from you, this zest for life. I didn’t understand it at first. But it came so naturally to you. You were this light that vanquished all the dark places inside me. An inspiration. When I finally got you out of the tree, your eyes sparkled with pride and excitement, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. Your excitement over having successfully climbed it was infectious. I think I fell for you at that very moment.”

He searched her face, his eyes lingering on every detail, hoping to find any subtle clue to what she was thinking. Was she wearing a mask, holding it together just to tear him apart later? But there was only calm in her eyes. Not indifference. Not anger.

“You should’ve told me,” she said.

“I know.”

“I would’ve still chosen you,” she said, and those five words hit him harder than a bullet ever could.

Something broke open in his chest.

“I didn’t think I deserved that,” he said hoarsely.

She reached up, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. “Maybe you do. Maybe we both do.”

Jeeves didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded, catching her hand and holding it to his chest like an anchor. She didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t forgiveness he’d expected—but it was grace.

“I thought you’d hate me,” he admitted.

She tilted her head. “I thought about it.”

He almost flinched, but then she smiled, radiating that light that filled him completely.

“But then I remembered what you’ve done since then. Your willingness to help me with my bucket list, despite the sometimes childish and outlandish nature of my ideas. How you look at me. How you listened when I told you about my captivity. How you didn’t flinch, even when I did. And how you shared your own traumas. That trust you gave me while sharing your deepest pain. It was everything.”

A lump formed in his throat as he swallowed hard, her hand a comforting weight over his heart, grounding him unexpectedly. The cool, smooth skin of her fingers intertwined with his, a soft pressure, eased the frantic beat of his heart.

“You made a mistake,” she said. “But your heart? That wasn’t a lie. I forgive you, even though I don’t think there is really anything to forgive.”

Jeeves didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded, pressing her hand tighter against his chest. She forgave him. The guilt didn’t vanish, not completely. But in the quiet hum of the conference room, and the ghost of forgiveness echoed in her touch, he realized something.

He hadn’t lost her.

And maybe—just maybe—he never would.

“Cammie,” he whispered. Just that. Just her name. But it sounded like a prayer as it escaped from his lips, soft and reverent.

“Let’s go home,” she said, standing and pulling him to his feet. He went willingly. He’d follow her anywhere.