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He took my hands again, this time resting them in my lap like he was distancing himself from me in the conversation.
"You deserve this. You've worked hard, and now you're being recognized and rewarded for it. It's time for you to fulfill your dreams." He leaned in and kissed me softly again. "Come on. It's late. Let's go to bed."
I nodded, and he stood up, heading toward the bedroom. My heart ached, and tears were stinging in my eyes. Camden had been nothing but supportive and encouraging, but that was the problem. He hadn't hesitated in telling me to go. There wasn't a single hint that he didn't like the idea of me being far away or that it bothered him to think of us not being able to see each other.
Sadness and disappointment pulled my stomach down as I followed him to bed. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was just fun for him, and Camden didn't really care about me like I cared about him.
The next morning, I made the call I'd been avoiding and agreed to take the position.
11
CAMDEN
“One more episode of the baking show?” I asked.
“Are you sure?”
“I really started to enjoy it,” I said. “I love the host. She’s very funny.”
“I mean are you sure that’s how you want to spend the last hour we have before I have to leave?” she asked, a fresh bubble of a tear appearing in the corner of one of her eyes.
“I am,” I said. “Knowing how much you enjoy it makes me enjoy it more. I don’t know if I can watch it without you.”
“Okay,” she said, turning her head away from me and settling farther down in my chest as she stretched out on my couch.
Most of her things were packed in the trailer in the driveway, attached to her car and ready to head out to her new place. She was going to start a new chapter in her career, and it meant moving far enough away from me that this was likely the last time we would be sitting on my couch watching TV for the foreseeable future.
As much as I tried to hide it with smiles and jokes and telling her things would be fine, I was bummed as hell. I’d told the guys through a text message a week ago but didn’t get into any specifics. I felt like doing that over text was cheap and tacky, and I’d rather talk to them in person anyway. I was going to need the comfort when she was gone.
To that end, Kristen was set to leave at noon, driving to her new place five hours away, and I was having the guys show up at three. I figured I could survive three hours out in the stables, taking care of the horses until they could show up. Most of them had baby commitments or work to do, despite it being a Sunday, and would filter in throughout the day to check in with me and hang out a bit.
For now, I was going to enjoy the moment, enjoy the weight of her body leaning into mine, our feet touching and her head resting on my chest as we sat, her between my legs, on the couch. I wanted to just smell her, touch her, hold her as long as possible. If I could make that moment last forever, I thought I would.
Then it was over.
Like the blink of an eye, I was suddenly standing at the door, awkwardly hugging her, kissing her, letting her go. The anxiety of that last touch, that last moment when our skin was pressed together, merely fingertip to fingertip anymore, before she was too far away and was going down the steps, it was almost enough to destroy me.
I wanted to chase after her. I wanted to push her up against the car and kiss her, squeeze her body into mine once more and remind her of what she was leaving in Murdock. But if I did, she might not go, and she needed to go. I never wanted to be that guy who forced a woman to choose between her dreams and him. It never worked out when people did that. It only resulted in bitterness that grew like a vine, squeezing the life out of their relationship.
That couldn’t happen. Not between us. Not if I intended on this going anywhere ever again.
One day.
As she drove away, I waved, then tore my eyes from her car before it disappeared over the horizon. I didn’t want to actually see her disappear. If I turned away first, I could trick myself into thinking she was still there.
I shut the door behind me and walked directly to my whiskey cabinet. Normally, my golden rule was to never drink when I was sad, but today was going to be an exception. The boys were coming over in a couple of hours, and I was going to need something to steel myself for the remaining time. A small glass of whiskey would do.
A couple of ice cubes went in first, and then I poured until the ice rose off the bottom. Nothing more. Not until I had company. This was just to take the edge off and make sure I didn’t melt into an angry, sad puddle.
Sitting down at the dining room table, I looked out over the ranch behind the house. There was work to be done. I could go out there and do what chores needed to be finished, give someone an easy day by mucking the stalls or something, and then by the time I was done, showered and in comfortable clothes again, someone would be here.
But first, I brought the glass to my lips and took one small sip. It was a Tennessee whiskey, which I preferred over Kentucky for reasons I couldn’t quite describe, and normally that first sip brought a smile to my face. Not this time. This time, it only held back the grimace that threatened to spread out instead.
“You already know how sad I am,” I said, staring at the ‘special delivery’ Ryan had brought with him sitting on my dining room table. “Why would you do something to make me even sadder?”
I couldn’t believe it. It sat there, in defiance of logic or reason. I had sworn it would never enter my house. Yet, there it was, dripping condensation on my table like the tears of what it could have been, from noble ingredients and yet made into this mockery.
“Dude, it’s lime beer. What’s wrong with it?”
