Page 89 of Lock 'em Down

Hudson: What the fuck is going on?

Hudson: (Image)

It’s Cami having a coffee—at the fucking Coffee Grid in Knoxville—with Levi Rousell.

I’m sitting here, going out of my mind with worry, and my girl—my fucking wife—is on a coffee date with another man. With the goddamn rhythm guitarist for The Burnt Clovers. With a guy whose fame is so damn huge, he can’t even get a fucking coffee without someone snapping a photo.

Fuck this.

I tried. I gave her the best of myself and she…she still fucking chose him. A man who nearly ruined her life. A man who left her in a time of need. A man who barely remembered the fact that he once had her.

Disgust twists my stomach and I drop some bills on the bar, unable to touch my burger. I rush to the bathroom and drop to my knees in front of the toilet, vomiting the cocktails I consumed last night.

A sticky sheen coats my skin and I feel hollow. Bereft. Fucking empty.

I grip my phone and send Cami one final message along with the photo of her and Levi.

Me: (Image)

Me: I’m done. It’s over. My lawyer will contact you soon.

Then, I power off my phone, toss it into my bag, and stew in my thoughts until it’s time to fly back to Knoxville.

But now, it no longer feels like home.

Twenty-Three

Cami

My head is all over the place.

What the hell am I doing?

Slipping away from Leif, from Honey Harbor, before the sun rose was a gut instinct. A knee-jerk reaction. A whirlwind.

And I’m supposed to be past those.

Leif is stability. He’s safe. He’s…home.

But I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him. I’m elated one moment, doubting myself the next, and uncertain where I fit. I’m a fucking train wreck. How can I allow a man like that—a man as good and whole and loving as Leif Bang—to commit to me again, in front of our family and friends, when I’ve doubted him, doubted us, from the very beginning?

He doesn’t fail. He doesn’t quit.

I do.

The way he smiled at me during the wedding, the praise that fell from his delectable mouth, the consideration he showed, making sure I finished before he found his release, he’s a good man.

And I’m a mess. I don’t know if I’ve ever not been a mess.

I’m the girl who lives life on the edge. The woman who walks in a rainstorm and gets a tattoo because it feels right in the moment. I’m the woman a guy marries by mistake in Vegas. I’m not the one he commits his life to afterwards.

The sooner Leif realizes that, the better.

“Thank you,” I tell the Uber driver as he pulls in front of Leif’s home. I caught an early flight back to Knoxville. I have a handful of hours to pack up some clothes and figure out my next play.

I’ve spent the entire flight debating where to go.

Maria would take me in in a heartbeat, but she has a routine, a baby, and I don’t want to throw a wrench in her carefully planned schedule.

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