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My heart craves Cameron, but my mind and body have craved being that woman at the center for much longer.
When we land and load the car, Cato says, “I would have killed the guy who kissed my wife.”
“What if she wanted it?”
“We’ll never find out. My woman has never wanted any man but me. And every day of my life, I ensure it won’t ever happen.”
A chill runs down my spine as he speeds away. Since I left Vegas, the group chat is flooded with messages from the girls, but I can’t bring myself to answer them. What is there to say? I snuck out on purpose. Then I got kissed.
I am exhausted, mentally and physically. I let myself into the house, and it is eerily silent.
Marie steps into the hall, and it breaks my heart when she says, “How nice. You’re back, my dear.” Every word is dipped in sarcasm, making me feel worse.
“I’m sorry if I worried you. Where’s Cameron?”
“He’s downstairs.”
I drop my backpack, and she says, “It’s not a good idea.”
“I haven’t had a good idea in a while.”
“Young people always look at the elderly with pity, but there is nothing pitiful about knowing where you stand or staying true to the values and experiences that have shaped you. But that is why everything you do is also excusable.”
Is she chastising me or giving me advice?
“I could tell you a hundred times it’s not a good idea to go down there, and yet you’ll still go anyway.”
“I’m really sorry that I worried you,” I say and descend the stairs to the basement. My pulse throbs in my neck when I open the door. Drenched in sweat, Cameron is hitting a punching bag as blood seeps from his knuckles, and the thump of his punches echoes around us. Cameron’s phone shows he’s tracking my location.
“Look who’s back. Well, welcome fucking home, wife.”
His voice sounds dead.
My heart deflates.
I’ve spent the last three days, mainly in this room, punching this bag and watching that damn tracking device. My vision is blurry, and my anger has been replaced by total despair. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and punch the sack again. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her approach. Feeling unstable, I hug the bag.
“Not now.”
Did everything we went through mean nothing to her? The thought reignites my anger.
I quickly wrapped things up while working on my campaign so I could come home and surprise her by going to Vegas with her. But she’d already left. I can’t purge this betrayal out of my system, not with her close to me. I still have the picture of that fucking kiss in my head. I’m going to fucking kill him.
“Cameron.”
I snap my head at her. She’s in front of me, taking my hands in hers. I try to pull back, but she grips them tighter.
“That picture is not what it looks like.”
A scorching fire envelops my body. I wobble on my legs, and she wraps her arms around me. This woman, I gave her my dark mind and my dead heart, only for her to toss them away like nothing.
“Leave, Violet. I can’t do this now,” I say low.
Emotions cross her features as she notices my battered knuckles. Taking a step back, she looks at me again before bolting from the room.
I drop down on my ass, rocking myself. Violet comes back with a wet towel. Dropping to her knees to clean my wounds, her eyes, filled with love, turn glassy. She’s resilient; I have to give her that. I almost believe her.
“This is what you get when you don’t stop.” She exhales loudly.
