38. Cam

CHAPTER 38

CAM

I hit the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, all in the last twenty-four hours. I’m exhausted and feel like I’m crawling through quicksand as I trudge up the steps at the lake house. The hot summer sun’s setting, vibrant pinks and oranges spilling over the white marble kitchen, but the magnificent view brings me no joy.

Not now.

Now all I want to do is collapse in a dark, cold, quiet room and sleep for the next nine days. Maybe longer.

Without Sloane, there is no point.

Two months ago, football was life. But being back home in Thunder Creek shifted my priorities.

I love football, sure.

But I love Sloane more.

And I lost her.

How am I going to survive this?

I toss my suitcase at the bottom of the staircase and make a beeline for the liquor cabinet. Pouring a healthy serving of whiskey into a rocks glass, I drain the amber liquid in one go and splash out another.

“Fuck!” I scream into the empty house, my voice echoing off all the hard surfaces.

Without Sloane here, the place feels cold and sterile. She was the warmth, the softness, the joy.

I lean against the island and stare out at the glowing orange ball over the lake, watch as it sinks down into the bluish-green abyss of the water. The light swallowed up by the darkness. I sit through that brief moment in time where there is no light—no sun, no moon—just empty sky.

Sit and think about all my mistakes. Absorb them until I’m aching. Bones, joints, tissue, and skin. It hurts to breathe and I’ve never felt more lonely.

I swipe the whiskey bottle from the counter and lumber through the house, up the stairs to the bedroom.

Empty.

But she’s still here. Everywhere. Haunting me.

Her sparkly laugh bouncing off the windows. The scent of fresh flowers lingering in the air, winding around me. Soft, heated skin as we lay together, staring out at the stars dotting the dusky sky.

A dull ache spreads through my chest, radiating down my arms, my torso, my legs. I’m tired, so fucking tired.

Staggering to the bed, I sink down onto the white duvet and kick off my shoes. Peel off my shirt and joggers, stripping down before collapsing against the pillows.

The smell of her shampoo drifts up from the crisp cotton and I’m torn between imagining her here or trying to block the memories altogether.

Lifting the liquor bottle straight to my lips, I take a long slug and try to drown my sorrow. The whiskey burns my throat as it goes down, but does nothing to dull the pain. I tip the bottle back and drink more, hoping for relief.

None comes.

I slam the bottle down on the nightstand and stare out the windows into the dark, inky sky.

Dirty little secret.

You sold me a fairytale, Cam.

I don’t even know you.

How can we come back from this? The way she looked at me, the disgust and disappointment etched over her face.

This isn’t going to work. Even if she takes me back, the hurdle of my career and all the traveling, will be too much to handle. Sloane will never trust me again.

I should give up now. Leave Thunder Creek and never look back. Forget about her and what we had.

My body tenses, a dull throbbing at my temples thudding with each pulse of my heart.

I don’t deserve her and I know it. I should have left well enough alone. But I couldn’t stop myself from taking a bite of the forbidden fruit.

You didn’t have to eat the whole damn apple.

Too late now.

I ate the apple.

Tasted it. Licked and sucked the sinfully sweet juices, bit into the ripe, tender flesh.

Swallowed the fruit down, bite after bite, making it part of me.

The whiskey’s catching up, finally doing its job. My arms grow heavy and the room’s starting to spin. I flop my arm out and fumble for my cell, tapping the screen and bringing the phone to life.

Sloane smiles back at me, her arms thrown around my neck. I’m kissing her cheek and she’s laughing and smiling at the camera.

We were so happy.

She’s radiant, golden beams of sunlight streaming behind us, a soft halo shimmering around her.

I held absolute joy in my arms and let her slip away, dissipating like the mist over the lake on a hot morning.

Sadness washes over me and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to block out the pain, the bitter disappointment.

I’m a fucking fool, a damn idiot.

I deserve to suffer.

And she deserves more—so much more—than me.