39. Sloane

CHAPTER 39

SLOANE

“ C am’s back?” Gracelyn’s voice pitches up at least two octaves. “He ambushed you at the library?”

“Yes,” I sigh, toying with the metal chain on the front porch swing at the salon. I drove straight here after I left work to give Gracelyn the update in person.

“And? What did he have to say for himself?”

“That he’s sorry.”

“Oh, great. Really fucking original. What else did he say?” Grace kicks her legs out and the wooden swing catches air.

“He made the team. Got the position in Fort Lauderdale. He’s leaving in ten days.” My voice is laced with sadness, an ache throbbing in my chest.

I shouldn’t care that Cam’s leaving, not after what he did.

But unfortunately, I do.

Dammit.

Turns out, you can’t shut love off like a spigot. Even after everything—the sex video, the lies and the half-truths—I still love him.

Sitting next to him in the car was torture. All I wanted was to touch him, feel his hands on me, to kiss his soft lips.

Which is sick and twisted and all kinds of fucked up. The man cheated on me. Lied to me and humiliated me.

I shouldn’t want to be in the same room with him, let alone the same bed. I shouldn’t want to feel the weight of his sculpted chest pressed against mine, his breath on my neck, the wet warmth of his tongue on my thighs, between my legs.

Yet he’s all I can think about.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Good riddance. He’ll be gone, out of your life for good.” Gracelyn brushes her palms together, as if the matter’s done and dusted and there’s nothing left to think about.

Pursing my lips, I push off the wooden floorboards of the porch, kicking my legs out harder. The swing flies higher, creating a slight breeze from the propulsion.

In my heart, I know Gracelyn’s right. I should let Cam go. Move on with my life.

He crushed me, stomping on my feelings like a creepy-crawly bug slithering along the sidewalk. I gave him all of me, every last bit, and he smashed me to pieces.

Still, he’s all I can think about.

I’m a woman obsessed. Madly, deeply, sickly in love with Cam Crawford.

“Girl. Tell me you’re not thinking of taking him back.” Grace stares at me with wide, serious eyes.

Is she psychic?

“No. I can’t. I mean—I want to. I really do. But no. I’m done. You’re right. I can’t trust him, will never be able to trust him. He’s a cheater. And I’m clearly not enough for him. If he’s into threesomes?—”

“I actually think it was a sixsome,” Grace points out, oh-so-helpfully.

“Whatever. Voyeuristic sex. If that’s his jam, then I’m not his girl. I don’t want to share him—not that he asked.”

“Exactly. He screwed around on you. You cannot go there again, Sloane. You’re better off without him.” She twists a springy curl round and round her finger and my gut roils.

Am I better off without Cam? We were pretty damn perfect together. I never felt more loved, more understood and adored.

Until I didn’t.

Gracelyn squeezes my hand. “You’ll be okay, bestie. I’m here. Maybe we should get a place together?—”

“You already have a place, Grace.”

“Yeah, but I could move. It’s really tiny.”

“Makes sense, since you live alone.”

“But we could move in together. It would be fun, like one long sleepover!”

The image of sharing a space with Grace pops into my mind. Her numerous make-up palettes cluttering the bathroom, non-stop reality TV playing at maximum volume, half-empty coffee cups piled high in the kitchen sink.

I love Grace, but I don’t want to live with her.

“Thanks, babe. For now, I’m laying low and not making any big decisions.”

“Probably wise.”

My cell chimes, an alert from the Ring doorbell back at my dad’s. If Cam’s on my doorstep, I’m gonna fall off this swing.

But it’s not Cam .

A huge bouquet of pink and white roses fills the phone screen. The delivery man sets the vase on the porch and then backs out of the frame.

“Sloane—” Grace’s tone is low, a warning sound humming at the notch of her neck. “Don’t fall for it. There’s not enough flowers in Thunder Creek—no, Georgia. No, the world!—to make up for that sin.”

I swallow hard over the lump in my throat, my jaw tight. “I know. I won’t.”

Grace pats my thigh. “Atta girl. Stay strong.”

“I’m gonna jet. I want to get home before my dad. I don’t want to have to launch into all of this with him right now.”

“Okay. You’re welcome to spend the night with me if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” This is my new normal, this pitch black, overwhelming depression. I better get used to it because it’s settled in deep already, my own personal storm cloud.

We say our goodbyes and I hustle home, determined to beat my dad there.

I pull into the driveway and my heart sinks at the sight of my dad’s truck.

Dammit. Nothing’s going right for me today. Maybe I can sneak in real quiet and tiptoe back to my room without him seeing or hearing me.

I click my car door closed as softly as possible and scoot up the sidewalk to the porch. The bouquet’s gone.

Shit.

I’m sure my dad brought it into the house when he came home. But that won’t necessarily raise any red flags. He knows I’m dating Cam.

Was dating Cam . Past tense .

Pushing through the door, I stifle a groan. My dad’s sitting on the sofa, watching ESPN and drinking a beer.

“Hey, baby. Looks like you got flowers. Sure I can guess who they’re from.” He tips his head toward the kitchen table. “I put them in there for you. They’re real pretty.”

I force a smile in his direction before moving into the kitchen. My dad’s correct—the roses are stunning, all four dozen of them.

I pluck the small envelope from the plastic trident, my name scrawled across the front in swirly handwriting. Holding my breath, I tear out the square card and read:

Trouble,

I’ll always believe in love. Because of you.

Please forgive me.

xoxo,

Cam

My breath hitches, stuck in my chest, and hot tears blur my vision.

Damn him.

Still acting like Prince Charming, trying to sell me on the happy ending.

But not this time. There’s nowhere to go from here. I can’t move to Florida with him, pretend like nothing happened. Like I’ll ever be enough. And I can’t stay here and just blindly trust him.

Not anymore.

I slide the note into my pocket and swipe the tears from my lashes, try my best to act normal as I saunter back into the living room.

“You want dinner? There’s some chicken and rice in the fridge. I ate on the way home from practice.” My dad glances up from the TV for a split second.

“Nah, I’m good.” I want to duck into my room, but that will raise suspicion. So I lean against the armrest of the sofa, quickly changing the subject before he asks me about the roses.

“How was practice?”

“Good. Things are coming together. Although I need Langley to step it up. I want to give him the spot, but it’s gonna be hard to justify ceding QB to a freshman if he doesn’t nail every pass.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’ve always had good instincts about the game. Speaking of which—how’s it going with Cam down in Florida? You hear anything?”

The question’s loaded, the mere mention of his name shaking me to my core. Avoiding eye contact with my dad, I rub at a frayed pink embossed flower on the sofa cushion.

“Uh, good. He got the position. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself tomorrow at practice—he’s back in town. But he’s leaving Thunder Creek in ten days.”

My dad takes a swig of beer. “Is that so? He’s back home and you’re not together right now?”

He stares over at me and my face heats under his laser gaze, my throat tight.

I shrug, being as nonchalant as I possibly can. “We broke up.”

May as well tell him the bad news, quick and dirty.

His brows raise. “Really? That’s too bad.”

He doesn’t ask any questions and mercifully holds in his well-earned ‘Told you so.’

“I know.” I huff out a long breath, my insides feeling shaky. “I thought he was different. ”

I stare at the worn flower on the sofa. Sad, defeated.

Destroyed.

Hot tears well in my eyes and I try to hold them in, but I can’t. They spill out, streaming down my cheeks, and now I’m sobbing. All the pent-up emotion I’ve been reigning in coming out in hot, disappointed waves.

My dad sets his beer on the coffee table and stands up, wrapping his strong arms around me, holding me tight while I cry. Sadness and disappointment flow out of me, soaking his polo that smells like grass and Old Spice deodorant. He rubs my back and doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask questions or toss out stupid sayings like “What’s meant to be, will be.”

Just holds me in his arms, loving on me like he always has.

My dad’s the only man in the entire world who’s never disappointed me or let me down. Not even once.

I cry for the loss of love. The dream romance I thought Cam and I had. The happily ever after we’re never going to get.

I cry for the loss of one of my best friends.

I cry until the tears run out, standing there in the living room, soaking up all my dad’s quiet strength and goodness.

Finally, when I’m all cried out, my dad asks the dreaded question.

“I don’t wanna pry. But what happened? I thought you two were gonna go the distance.”

His gruff voice rumbles against my chest and I take a shuddery breath. I may as well tell him—he’s bound to find out sooner or later.

“Cam cheated on me.” My voice cracks, the chords hoarse from crying. “Down in Florida. I saw the video. ”

“That son of a bitch,” he growls, squeezing me tighter. “After I warned him, too.”

“What?” I pull away, glancing up at my dad. “What did you say to him, Daddy?”

“I told him if he did anything to hurt you, he was gonna have to answer to me.” He steps away from me, snatching his ball cap off the sofa and jingling his keys in his pocket.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“Going to see Cam and give him a piece of my mind.” He starts to stalk toward the door, but I intercept him, placing a hand on his chest.

“Please, Daddy. Don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”

He scrubs the back of his neck, a deep V between his brows as he stares down at the faded carpet, contemplating.

“Fine.” He takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his sandy brown hair. “I won’t talk to him tonight.”

A tiny sigh of relief leaks from me.

“But I’m not making any promises about later.”

My dad throws his arm around me and I rest my head on his strong shoulder. I guess no matter how old I get, I’ll always be my daddy’s little girl.