Chapter 45 Trust Me

Chapter 45 Trust Me
The city fell away behind them inch by inch, skyscrapers shrinking until they looked like toys left behind in a room someone forgot to clean. Concrete turned to open stretches of highway, the kind that promised more sky than structure. A soft morning glow washed over everything in pale gold, brushing the edges of the world in calm. Traffic thinned, sounds softened, and suddenly it felt like the whole world exhaled. Holland looked down at the GPS which was blinking right up at her, cold and practical, reminding her they still had hours ahead. Hours in a car. Together.

Holland leaned her elbow against the open driver’s window, fingers threading into her hair like she needed to hold herself in place. Cool air swept over her face, lifting strands of hair, soothing the tight corners of her mind. For a few precious minutes, she actually felt whole. Grounded. Like the wind itself was reminding her she had control.

One hour down.

It had been one full blessed hour where Camille Lustrelle had kept her mouth closed. A miracle. A gift from heaven. A once-in-a-generation act of mercy. The car hummed along the highway, and silence stretched between them like thin glass, fragile but perfectly intact. The only sound was the low hum of music playing softly from the radio, so faint it barely existed.

Holland finally felt her shoulders loosen. Quiet. Real quiet. Maybe, for once, the universe had thrown her a kindness. Maybe this whole trip wouldn’t be so bad. She could gather her thoughts and prepare herself for the meeting ahead.

Then she heard it. A hum. Barely there, floating in the air like a curious bird. Then another hum, louder. Then fingers tapping against the car door in rhythm, a small beat pulsing with too much life, too much sunshine, too much… Camille.

Holland’s jaw tightened, a tiny twitch betraying the calm she'd tried to build. Before she could catch it, Camille confidently leaned forward as if she owned the air they breathed, and turned the volume up. Not by a little. By reckless enthusiasm.

Music burst through the speakers, bright and loud and way too cheerful for Holland’s blood pressure. It didn’t just play, it spilled, filling every inch of the car like it had been hiding in the vents, waiting for the perfect moment to leap out and choke her peace to death.

Her silence shattered. Just like that.

The moment cracked open. The calm she'd tried to build evaporated with one reckless twist of Camille’s wrist. And somewhere, Holland was convinced the universe was laughing at her, smug, entertained, and clearly on Camille’s side as always. She felt her soul sag in that way only Camille Lustrelle could cause, like someone had let the air out of her spine but expected her to sit tall anyway. 

Music danced around her, loud enough to grab attention, and taunt her discipline. Camille’s fingers tapped in time on the console, light and happy, like she’d personally been storing sunshine just to release it now, right when Holland least wanted any loudness anywhere near her space.

Holland’s eye twitched once. A tiny groan escaping her, trapped between her ribs, more like a private admission of defeat that she hated giving to anyone, especially her. Holland felt herself grip the wheel tighter, knuckles brushing pale as her fingers locked around the leather. 

Outside, the road stretched long and quiet, a thin ribbon cutting through fields and sky that felt wider than her patience right now. Wind slipped in through the open window, cool against her wrist, but even the breeze couldn’t chase off the warmth building low in her chest, part irritation, and part something she refused to acknowledge.

And Camille, beside her, hummed along, the sound light and happy, as if she floated through life on her own personal sunbeam. Pleased and unaware, or maybe very aware, of how effortless it was for her to ruin Holland’s peace and tilt her whole internal world a few inconvenient degrees. Camille’s foot tapped with the beat, her shoulder swayed once, and that simple movement somehow made the small car feel just a little too full.

Camille caught it, that slip in Holland's composure, and a quiet laugh rolled out of her, warm and thoroughly amused, like she’d been waiting for the crack to show. She turned fully then, twisting enough that her hair brushed her coat, giving Holland her full attention.

That grin, the one that always spelled trouble, always came right before chaos, lifted at the corners of Camille's mouth. Her eyes sparkled, knowing, just a touch mischievous, like she was looking at a game board only she understood, and Holland was already losing without realizing she’d ever agreed to play.

“What?” Camille asked, pretending innocence terribly. “I can’t enjoy the music too? I’ve been quiet, just like you wanted.” Her lashes lifted, eyes gleaming like she enjoyed watching Holland drown in irritation. “Don’t I deserve a reward, Chief?”

Holland pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and stared at the road, eyes narrowing at the long stretch of highway unfolding in front of them. Talking now would be surrender, and she refused to hand Camille even a tiny win. Not this early in the trip. Communication with Camille always felt like playing chess blindfolded while Camille gleefully moved pieces with one hand and set the board on fire with the other, smiling the whole time, as if chaos was her favorite love language.

So she said nothing. Silence was armor. Silence was survival.

Beside her, Camille hummed again, louder, unbothered, like victory tasted sweet and she planned to savor it note by note. Then she suddenly gasped, a dramatic little inhale like the world had just gifted her a divine revelation.

Holland stiffened. Nothing good ever followed that sound.

Before she could process, Camille twisted in her seat, coat brushing the center console, hair sweeping forward in a soft tumble. She reached into the backseat like she had no concept of danger, or rules, or gravity. Holland’s breath hitched because the girl hadn’t just leaned back — she was halfway climbing into the back like an enthusiastic cat burglar, legs braced, fingers stretching, body at an angle that made Holland’s heart thump for all the wrong reasons.

“Seatbelt,” Holland snapped, instinct and frustration tangled together. "And sit straight!"

“Relax,” Camille sang, her voice muffled by the seat and her own hair. “I’m grabbing us fuel for the soul.”

Fuel for the... Holland blinked hard. Of course. Of course Camille Lustrelle would say something like that while hanging halfway into the backseat of a moving car. Of course she would risk whiplash for whatever whimsical idea she had decided was essential to their journey.

She didn’t dare look over, but she heard everything, the faint clink of glass, the gentle slide of something being pulled free, Camille’s quiet, triumphant little breath like she’d just uncovered buried treasure. Then a scent drifted forward, soft and sweet, fruit mixed with the warm floral trace of Camille’s perfume. It floated between them, subtle, inviting, impossible to ignore, and Holland felt her grip tighten on the wheel against her will.

She let out a long breath through her nose, slow and resigned. The road stretched ahead in one endless line, and she knew it, in her bones this wasn’t going to be a normal trip. Not with Camille. Not with that sunshine-and-chaos energy riding shotgun. She didn’t pray for safety or luck, she prayed for patience, for enough composure to survive whatever Camille planned to throw her way. Camille wasn’t going to break her body, she’d chip away at her sanity, inch by inch, smiling while she did it.

Then Camille eased back into her seat like she was settling into a favorite armchair, an elegant glass dish resting in her lap. The lid was already off, and sunlight caught on the fruit inside, green grapes with dew still clinging, bright berries mixed like a painting, tangerine slices arranged in clean little arcs, pear pieces glistening as if dusted in something delicate. It looked like someone’s grandmother had put love and old-money elegance into every bit of it.

Of course Camille would bring fruit like this. Of course she traveled like a picnic-spread advertisement for charm and privilege and trouble disguised as kindness.

Camille lifted a grape with a tiny fork and placed it delicately between her lips, cheeks puffing slightly as she chewed. She closed her eyes and sighed like she was rating Michelin-star cuisine.

“Mmm. So good. Nana really outdid herself.”
Holland kept her eyes on the road, jaw firm, fingers pressing into the steering wheel until her rings pressed marks into her skin. The way Camille had said it, in that casual, confident tone she used when she thought she was sharing valuable strategy, as if she was supposed to be taking notes.

Pricking a pear slice, Camille leaned forward without a single pause in confidence, closing the space between them like she had every right to be there. The tiny fork hovered near Holland’s mouth, the fruit gleaming in the sunlight. Its scent drifted up, soft sweetness with a touch of citrus, bright enough that Holland’s lips almost tingled before she even tasted it.

Too close. Too intentional. Too Camille.

“Here,” Camille murmured, voice lowered as if they were sharing something secret. “Eat. Nana always sprinkles a little lemon on the pears so they stay fresh.”

Holland's grip tightened. This damn woman. Always pushing her to the limit.

The road stretched endlessly ahead of them, sunlight flashing across the windshield in golden streaks. She should have told Camille to sit back. Should have reminded her about boundaries. About personal space. About the hundred different reasons this was a terrible idea.

Instead, her eyes flickered.

Once.

Briefly.

To the young woman's grinning mouth. And Camille, saw it. And smiled.

"Well," Camille said softly, the pear growing closer and closer. "Trust me, Chief. It's worth it. I promise."