37. Cam

CHAPTER 37

CAM

A fter calling Sloane no less than six times and sending twice that many texts, I give up and go to bed. Unfortunately, the effort is futile and I sleep a sum total of zero minutes, tossing and turning all damn night.

When dawn breaks, I lumber out and hit the hotel gym, pushing myself harder than I have in a while. I run five quick miles on the treadmill at eighty percent effort, then rep out my usual strength workout until I’m drenched in sweat.

The workout doesn’t help—I still feel shitty, the endorphin rush failing to improve my mood. But I don’t have a lot of time to sit around and mope. I need to lock down that contract, so at least I have a damn job.

I shower, then throw on a button-down and khakis. A quick glance at my reflection, dark circles shadowing my eyes, and I pray the coaches won’t change their minds.

The meeting goes fine and Troy does what Troy does best, working his magic and getting the new contract signed, sealed, and delivered.

“Congrats, buddy.” Troy slaps me on the back and I force a smile, my empty stomach rolling.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale.” The head coach extends his hand and I shake it, trying to focus on this moment and be present. This is what I worked for all my life, what I’ve been busting my ass for under the blazing south Georgia sun all summer long.

Yet a victory’s never felt more hollow.

Still, I make the rounds, glad-handing all the important people, making nice with the GM. I exchange the necessary information with HR, then get fitted for my helmet and uniform. Finally, I have a schedule in hand with a start date.

I’m due back here in less than ten days.

I should spend time finding somewhere to live, scoping out the decent neighborhoods, talking to my new teammates about traffic and the commute to the stadium.

Instead, I say my goodbyes and call an Uber as fast as humanly possible without seeming rude. I head straight to the airport and hop on the first flight back to Georgia.

Settling into my seat, I pull my ball cap low over my eyes and tap out one more text to Sloane, praying she’ll respond.

Cam: I’m on my way back. We need to talk

I stare at the screen, willing the three swirling bubbles to appear. But only my own words glare up at me, taunting me.

She hates you. She’s never going to forgive you .

The flight attendant at the front of the cabin makes the announcement: “Flight 1754 is now ready for departure. Please make sure your seat back is in the upright position and turn off all large electronics, switching cell phones to airplane mode in preparation for takeoff.”

Powering down my phone, I shove it into the pocket of my joggers and close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do for the next hour except figure out what exactly I’m going to say to earn Sloane’s forgiveness.

After landing, I head straight to Thunder Creek. I don’t bother calling or texting Sloane again, figuring she won’t respond anyway.

Instead, I track her location and drive over to the library. Her Volvo’s one of the few cars still in the lot. I cut the engine and thump the leather steering wheel. She gets off work in less than twenty minutes. I don’t want to risk a big scene in front of Ms. Mabel and/or Langley’s mom.

So I wait, every square inch of me twitchy with nerves.

The anticipation’s worse than any tryout. At least then I was sure of myself, in control. This is a whole different situation. I have no idea what Sloane’s thinking, how she’s feeling. For all I know, she’ll tell me to go to hell.

Lights flicker in the window and it’s go-time. I slump down in the leather seat, watching as Ms. Mabel shuffles to her car and drives off. A few minutes later, Sloane walks out the double-doors, arms folded across her chest.

She makes her way through the parking lot, shoulders slumped forward, waves of dark hair shielding her face. She’s so small, so fragile.

I did this .

I caught the sweet ray of sunshine in my dark, twisted web and snuffed out her light. She trusted me and I took full advantage. Too afraid she’d judge me for my mistakes, I let her think the best of me. Only showed her the part of myself I wanted her to see, the best parts.

Each pulse pushes more hot shame through my body, circulating the negative energy like poison.

“Sloane!” I hop of out of the Rover and call to her as she unlocks her car door. Startled, she jumps about a foot in the air, her head whipping in my direction.

“Fuck off, Cam.” She smooths her dress, her voice angry, the sparkle in her eyes gone. She doesn’t move toward me. Instead, she slides into the driver’s seat and slams the door shut behind her.

In three quick strides, I’m leaning against the car, rapping on her window with my chafed knuckles.

“Please. Can we talk? I can explain.”

She doesn’t look at me, staring straight ahead as cars whizz by on the main road. Her chest rises and falls, knuckles turning white as she grips the steering wheel.

“Please,” I beg, gut churning.

The click of the doors unlocking shakes the car and I lift up a silent prayer of gratitude.

I may still have a chance.

Without hesitation, I jog around and ease myself down into the passenger seat. Heat radiates from the leather and I’m instantly sweating. I reach across the console for her hand, but she bats me away.

“Don’t.”

She wouldn’t take my calls—of course she doesn’t want to touch me.

“Sloane. I’m sorry.” The words come out strained and desperate. Because I am desperate .

Desperate for her to listen, to hear me out, to forgive me.

“You’re sorry?” Her voice tips up and she shakes her head. “Kind of late for that, Cam.” Each syllable is clipped and laced with derision.

“What happened yesterday? Please talk to me.”

“I saw the video. Rather—Jamie showed me the video. At Mustang’s, while I was grabbing a drink with Gracelyn. How could you do that to me, Cam?” Tears fill her eyes, and she won’t look at me.

“Sloane—”

“Don’t Sloane me. I trusted you, Cam. Trusted that what we had was real. That I was enough.” Her voice breaks and the tears spill over, splashing onto her cheeks.

“You are enough. More than enough.” I want to reach over, wipe the evidence of her pain off her beautiful face. But I don’t dare.

I’ve already done too much.

“I clearly am not. Not judging by the video, anyway.” She spits the words out, her lip quivering.

“That’s not true. You’re my everything. Those women meant nothing.”

“Stop, Cam. This isn’t helping your case.” She whirls at me, anger glinting in her hazel eyes. “I’m done with this. Get out. Please.”

Sloane hates me.

“Get the fuck out and leave me alone. I can’t do this again.” Hitting the unlock button on the car door, the sound ricochets through the quiet vehicle.

“I’m sorry, Sloane. I should have told you the truth about the video.” My chest squeezes in a vice grip and the awful day I got cut from the team in Chicago floods my memory, all the terrible feelings roaring back .

Embarrassment, shame, humiliation.

I’m not worthy of this woman and her love. A love so deep and so pure I thought it could wrap around my damaged life and repair all the cracks, like some kind of magical superglue.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

“Sorry?” she snaps. “That’s the best you’ve got? All this time we were together. I told you everything about me—my deepest wounds and insecurities, mistakes I’ve made. Then you turn around and stab me in my barely-healed wound and twist the damn knife.”

I blow out a breath, rub at the scratches on my knuckles left over from my boxing match at the hotel.

A long minute goes by.

“I should have told you. Not Jamie or the internet. I never wanted you to see that.”

“I bet you didn’t want me to see that. You in a hotel room with multiple women and your friends.” She swipes at her face, her dark hair falling over her cheeks.

There’s so much I want to say to her, but nothing comes out. My throat’s dry and tight, every muscle clenched.

Instead, I sit there, frozen in the steaming hot car. Wishing and hoping she’ll forgive me.

“You sold me a fairytale, Cam. A happily ever after that does not exist. And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. I wanted to believe in love. Believe in you, in us. But I don’t even know you.”

That’s a sucker punch straight to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. Because she’s right and I know it.

I should have come clean, been forthright and honest with her. And now it’s too late.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a hoarse whisper. I can’t look at her, can’t bear the pain in her eyes, the disgust .

“I wish that was enough, Cam. But it’s not. I’ve heard that line one too many times and it’s just not good enough.”

I swallow hard over the massive lump in my throat, panic clawing at my neck, my chest, threatening to pull me under.

I want to make everything right between us, put us back together again. But I’m not sure I can.

“I made the team. I’m leaving in ten days.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, gnawing at her lip. “Congrats. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“Thanks.”

We sit in silence for another long minute. Words and phrases roll through my mind, things I should say face-to-face while I have the chance. But I don’t have the courage.

I broke her and I’m not sure we can ever come back from this.