Page 88 of Lock 'em Down

Déjà vu rocks through me and I stumble, reaching out to grab the doorframe. Nausea rolls in my gut, making me lightheaded and shaky.

Cami left me. On the day I was going to propose, she fucking disappears. She doesn’t want what I want. She never did.

Hell, she told me as much.

I want to start my life. On my own terms. Not as someone’s wife. But as me, Cami Coleman.

Did I force the issue? I think back to deciding she’d move in with me, to roping her into my life, into meeting my friends, to insisting that I hang out with hers. I thought we were merging our lives together. I thought we were moving forward.

Was I off base on everything? Was I fighting a losing battle from the start?

I call her but as expected, it goes to voicemail.

Me: Cami, please let me know you’re okay.

Me: We need to talk.

Me: I don’t understand. Please, call me.

Fuck. I look at the empty bedroom, feeling like dropping to my knees and fucking wailing.

Instead, I force myself to pick up the room. To dress for the day. To check that the blue ribbon attached to my fucking dream is still tucked into my pocket.

The house is quiet as I pad downstairs for a cup of coffee. Out the back windows, I see my friends gathered on the floating dock. They’re drinking beers and cocktails, taking the kayaks and stand-up paddle boards for a ride.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

I don’t want to admit the truth to my friends. Not until I know what the truth is. As quickly as possible, I dash up the stairs, zip up my suitcase, stow it in my rental, and leave the house behind.

When I get to the scenic spot where I planned to propose, I pull over. My heart is in my throat, my head pounds, and I feel positively ill.

I rattle off a text to Hudson, letting him know we had to leave, and I’d touch base with him later.

Then, I text Cami again.

Me: Knox, how did you get home?

Me: I have the car.

Me: Did you Uber to the airport?

Me: Are you okay?

Me: Please, just call me.

I look out over the beautiful lake. The serene tranquility. It mocks me and I flip it the finger. A giant fuck you to this slice of peace. What the hell was I thinking? I’ll never have this.

The one relationship I tried—my fucking marriage—is crashing and burning and I don’t even know why.

I pull back onto the road and drive to the airport. I’m hours early for my flight, which wasn’t scheduled until tonight. Which flight did Cami take? Is she already back in Knoxville?

Two hours later, my stomach grumbles. I post up at a bar in the airport and order a burger, even though I don’t feel like eating. Sliding onto a barstool, I tug out my phone.

And all the pieces click together.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, staring at the screen.

Hudson: You okay, man? Where are you?

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