Page 9 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Campbell

T here’s a cup sitting on my coffee table that I’ve been telling myself to pick up for the last three days.

I set it there the morning of my last day on shift, but I can’t seem to make myself pick it up.

Every time I think about it, the task becomes so overwhelming that I choose to ignore it instead, promising I’ll do it later—and yet later hasn’t come.

It’s the same with the rest of my house.

There are plates in the sink that need to be washed.

Clothes on the couch that need to be folded and put away, and trash sitting in my garage that needs to be hauled out.

But instead of doing any of that, I’ve spent the last three days on my couch, switching my attention back and forth between the stuffed animal I haven’t put away yet and the letter sitting beside it.

It’s been a month since Ivy showed up in Benton Falls, and aside from the run-in at the coffee shop, I’ve managed to avoid her—mostly because aside from going to work and football practice, I rarely leave the house.

I’m slipping deeper into the darkness, and I can’t seem to make myself hold onto the light this time.

Honey colored eyes haunt me when I close my eyes and try to sleep, so I’ve given up on that, too. All in all, I’m running on about three hours of sleep in two days, and I need a shower.

My Bible sits on the end table beside the couch, and I lift it, placing it in my lap and running my hands over the soft leather binding.

My mom gave it to me the day I was saved.

I was thirteen years old and believed my faith could move mountains, but at thirty-two, I’m terrified that I was wrong.

It’s not that I think God can’t move mountains still, but I’m questioning whether he’s finally given up on me.

I would deserve it if he did.

Dipping my head, I close my eyes and sit there. There was a time when praying came easily because I knew he was listening, but anymore, it feels like those prayers are falling on deaf ears.

The silence presses in, growing heavier, and heavier, and heavier until it smothers me. Opening my eyes, I tilt my head back to the ceiling and fight against the pressure, trying to drag air into my lungs, but it’s like swimming against a current when it’s raining. Impossible and exhausting.

So I give in, letting the Bible fall from my hands onto the floor. My muscles tense, and anger at everything I can’t control rushes through my veins.

“Why can’t you just help me?” I yell at the sky, but the silence remains, pressing down harder than before until I’m so terrified of being crushed under its weight that I shove off the couch and shove my hands into my hair, pulling at the roots.

“Come on, God,” I beg, pacing back and forth between the couch and the coffee table. “Just—give me something. I’ll be more grateful for the things I have. Okay—just throw me a lifeline because I’m drowning.”

I don’t know what I’m expecting. I’ve been taught my whole life that you hear God’s voice in the quietness, and there’s nothing quiet about the way I’m feeling right now.

Despite the silence in my house, my voice is loud inside my head, and I can’t get it to shut up.

My eyes fall to the cup still sitting on the table, and in the span of one breath, everything comes to a head. I pick up the cup, not even bothering to look at it, and with the weight of it in my hand, I throw it against the wall, watching it shatter into a million little pieces.

I imagine that it’s me—that I’m the one breaking apart to the point I’ll never be able to be put back together. That’s what Ivy did when she left, and it’s what she did again when she came back.

I’ve shattered, and just like the cup, I’m no good to anyone now.

I continue to stand there, staring at the pieces until I’m picturing how easily it would be to pick one up and end it all.

Once slice and it would all be over. I can see it so clearly in my mind—the way all the pain would cease to exist. Before I can register what I’m doing, I take a step forward.

And then another. I’m walking on autopilot, but maybe that’s the way it needs to be; otherwise, I might chicken out.

I’m only one more step away when the doorbell rings, jarring me out of my trance. Cursing under my breath, I shove my hands into my pockets to hide the trembling. My gaze darts around the room, a panic that someone might see my house like that slowly sinking in.

“I’m coming,” I call when the doorbell rings again as I rush around my living room, gathering things as I go. With a pile of things in my arms, I jog to my bedroom, throw the stuff inside, and walk back to the front door—resenting whoever is on the other side for keeping me in my misery.

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I only open my front door enough for me to slip outside on my porch, and then I pull it closed behind me.

Hayes is standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets. When he sees what I did, he lifts one brow in question.

I shrug. “What? I don’t want you stealing my food.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not the one known for stealing food, Campbell. Where have you been?”

My brows press together. “Uh—at home. You’re standing on my porch. Did MJ hit you with a tire iron again? Do I need to take you to the emergency room for a possible concussion?”

Making fun of Hayes has always been easy, and I lean into that, refusing to think about what I almost did moments ago.

“I know where I am, you idiot,” Hayes growls. He’s all bark and no bite, but I pretend to be hurt anyway, throwing my hand over my chest as if I’m wounded.

“Words hurt, Hayes. Don’t you know that?”

I force myself to smirk when he punches my arm.

“I’m convinced nothing hurts you, Campbell. You let it bounce right off that thick skin of yours.”

A stab in my chest proves otherwise, but I don’t tell him that.

Leaning back against my door with my arms crossed, I ask, “So, what brings you over to my side of Benton Falls?”

In reality, the town is so small that it has no sides; everyone essentially lives in one big neighborhood. You can drive anywhere you want to go in five minutes or less.

Hayes stares at me with what looks like concern creasing his brows. “Campbell, you were supposed to be at my house an hour ago. We are having a cookout.”

Realization dawns on me, and I shove off the door, standing straight up.

“Is that today?” I ask, pulling my phone from my pocket and checking the date.

There are a hundred notifications, all texts and calls from my family and friends, filling my screen.

Guilt slithers under my skin into my veins.

“I’m sorry, man. I must have gotten my dates mixed up.

I’ll go get changed and meet you back at your house. ”

I grab the doorknob, ready to walk inside, but Hayes stops me.

“Campbell, are you okay?”

I grit my teeth at the concern in his voice, thankful my back is to him so he can’t see. When I finally turn to face him, my usual smile is back in place. “I’m great.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just with Ivy being back—”

“I said I’m fine,” I bark. It’s the second time I’ve lost my temper, and that failure threatens to choke me. I swipe my hand over my mouth and avoid his gaze. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I’m going to get dressed, and I’ll meet you at your house.”

I crack open the door and slip inside, closing it to the sound of Hayes saying, “Yeah. Okay.”