35. Cam

CHAPTER 35

CAM

D inner’s fantastic. The general manager and head coaches take my agent and me to a fancy five-star restaurant, wining and dining us in a swanky private room. Waiters serve course after course, so many courses I can’t remember them all. Aged cheeses and Wagyu beef, vintage Cabernet Sauvignon and organic produce grown on-site. And the best part? For dessert, they present me with a three-year contract.

We seal the deal over baked Alaska and I can finally breathe again. The Chicago nightmare’s over and done with, never to be spoken of again. I’m moving forward with my life and my career’s back on track.

I can’t wait to call Sloane.

She’s the first person I want to talk to, to tell the good news. I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat all the way back to the hotel, so hard my face hurts. I’m pumped and barely make it out of the elevator before I’m dialing her number.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring .

No answer.

It’s only ten pm, I doubt she’s sleeping.

I try again, then again. One more time, finally leaving a message.

“Babe. It’s me and I have news. Call me back.” I disconnect, staring out the window at the moonlit ocean.

I shoot her a text.

Cam: Where r u? Tried to call

Cam: I have great news

Cam: Call me

The messages go through, but no response. I thought for sure she’d at least respond to my texts.

A nagging feeling tugs at my gut, worry snaking through my veins. I hope she’s okay.

Relax, Cam. She’s in Thunder Creek, living with Coach. Nothing happened to her.

Still, I click on her icon, tracking her phone location. The map shows her blinking blue dot stationary at her house. Maybe she really is asleep.

I pace the room, debating what to do.

Should I call Coach?

Not a terrible idea, but he probably is asleep and I hate to wake him.

Gracelyn? That’s a better idea.

Before I go calling every person Sloane knows, I give her one more ring.

This time, the call goes straight to voicemail.

“Dammit!” I toss the cell on the bed in frustration.

Where is she? Sloane always has her phone and answers on the first ring or two. And she never leaves a text unanswered. That’s not like her at all.

Now I really am worried.

I slip out of my blazer and toss it onto the bed, undo the top button of my shirt. I guess I’ll call Gracelyn.

Blowing out a breath, I scroll through my contacts until I find her name. I hit the number and wait for Sloane’s best friend to answer.

I don’t have to wait long. She picks up on the second ring.

“You motherfucker!” Gracelyn shrieks, so loud the speaker of my phone rattles. “How could you do this to her?”

“Gracelyn?” I scrunch my brow, trying to make sense of her reaction.

“Yeah, it’s me, Cam. You’re a grade-A asshole. Worse than Ratface.”

“Uh—” I falter, wondering exactly what I’ve done to offend her.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Cam! We saw the video.”

A yawning pit opens in my stomach and the five-star cuisine from earlier in the evening knots and roils into a massive, hard ball of indigestion.

Fuck.

“What? Who? What are you talking about?”

“Sloane, you jerk. Sloane saw your sex video, Cam. Even worse, Jamie’s the one who showed it to her.”

I can’t breathe my chest’s so tight. This is bad. Really fucking bad.

You should have told Sloane the truth.

“Is Sloane with you, Gracelyn? I need to talk to her.”

If I can explain myself, maybe this nightmare will fade away .

There’s murmuring and muffled sounds, Gracelyn covering the receiver so I can’t hear the conversation.

“She is, but she’s in the bathroom. Vomiting, Cam, because that video made her physically sick!” Gracelyn’s voice shakes with rage and I squeeze my eyes shut, suddenly woozy.

I really fucked things up.

“Please, Gracelyn. I need to talk to her.”

“No way, Cam. Maybe later. I gotta go.” She disconnects, but not before I hear the distinct sound of retching in the background.

I made Sloane sick.

She’s literally throwing up over what I did, how I behaved.

Hot shame rushes over me, washing away all the excitement of the contract, the fresh start. My palms itch and I’m twitchy. I want to go to Sloane right now. Hold her hand and explain. Tell her how sorry I am. About that night, about everything.

But I can’t leave Fort Lauderdale tonight. I have one more meeting with the team tomorrow morning and I can’t afford to miss it. Details still need to be hammered out, I’s dotted and T’s crossed. Too much hangs in the balance for me to leave now.

“Fuck!” I punch the fluffy stack of oversized pillows, rage surging down my arm straight into the feathers. Hitting the pillows again and again, I pound until my knuckles chafe and burn.

One night.

Too much alcohol and a stupid, rash decision. One that keeps coming back to haunt me.

I have to make Sloane understand, forgive me .

The possibility of losing football almost crushed me, hurt so bad I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

But losing Sloane?

This is worse. Impossibly worse, knowing I hurt the one person who’s always believed in me, no matter what.

A heavy pain settles on my chest and I sink to the floor, burying my face in my palms. How could everything go so wrong, so fast?