#cam001

He’d always been a morning person, conditioning built into him from waking up early to care for the animals, and that didn’t change here. It just meant he didn’t know what to do with himself in the early hours at Palmetto, when practice didn’t start until 8, and most of his classes were crammed into the gap between the gym and the court. Some might take the opportunity to be productive, but Grayson found his way to Perimeter Road instead, fresh pack of cigarettes in hand. They only had a few hours until the sweltering heat kicked in, and he might as well take advantage of it. 

He wasn’t drawn to move constantly the way some student athletes were, but he did feel cramped when forced to spend too much time indoors. The dorm, the gym, the court—in the end it didn’t matter, because they’d all grate on him sooner or later, and he’d find himself wandering campus instead. It helped that Perimeter Road was emptier this early, with only a few dedicated joggers or students out by seven. One of the shapes in the distance coalesced in Cameron Trask though, and Grayson stalled to a stop, abruptly forced to shift gears. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to see any of the Foxes until their morning practice, but it wasn’t like he could blow past her without saying hello at the very least.

Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much about either of the Trasks until last year, when their past surfaced, when people said they’d found a body in their hometown, years buried and not entirely forgotten. He hadn’t said anything then (what the fuck was he supposed to say?) and he wouldn’t now, especially not when Cam got to carry around the ultimate judgement like a badge of honor—not guilty. 

And yet,  she was the one who’d undergone a trial, if the flurry of online updates this summer were to be believed. It was hard to believe anyone could look at Cameron and see a murderer.  The same went for Logan. Identity fraud, sure, but given the circumstances, who could blame them? 

He probably shouldn’t have followed the stories with such voyeuristic interest. He’d hate if it were his own macabre life splashed across the headlines, and that possibility was still very real—everyone knew Wymack had a habit of recruiting those with skeletons in their closet. Often literal ones, apparently. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reading, drawn in by the horrifying premise of revisiting the past, and finding the truth. It was too late to change things now anyway. His invasion of privacy was just another thing on a long list of things he could feel guilty about. 

“Morning.” Grayson cleared his throat, glancing down at the still lit cigarette in his hand. Maybe he should stub it out. Cam had a pro future ahead of her evidently, and secondhand smoke wouldn’t help things. “I’m guessing you don’t smoke, or I’d offer.”