Page 109 of Out of Bounds
I have nothing to say right now.
I just want to be alone.
Quite possibly forever.
CHAPTER 37
CAM
After calling Sloane no less than six times and sending twice that many texts, I give up and go to bed. Unfortunately, the effort is futile and I sleep a sum total of zero minutes, tossing and turning all damn night.
When dawn breaks, I lumber out and hit the hotel gym, pushing myself harder than I have in a while. I run five quick miles on the treadmill at eighty percent effort, then rep out my usual strength workout until I’m drenched in sweat.
The workout doesn’t help—I still feel shitty, the endorphin rush failing to improve my mood. But I don’t have a lot of time to sit around and mope. I need to lock down that contract, so at least I have a damn job.
I shower, then throw on a button-down and khakis. A quick glance at my reflection, dark circles shadowing my eyes, and I pray the coaches won’t change their minds.
The meeting goes fine and Troy does what Troy doesbest, working his magic and getting the new contract signed, sealed, and delivered.
“Congrats, buddy.” Troy slaps me on the back and I force a smile, my empty stomach rolling.
“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale.” The head coach extends his hand and I shake it, trying to focus on this moment and be present. This is what I worked for all my life, what I’ve been busting my ass for under the blazing south Georgia sun all summer long.
Yet a victory’s never felt more hollow.
Still, I make the rounds, glad-handing all the important people, making nice with the GM. I exchange the necessary information with HR, then get fitted for my helmet and uniform. Finally, I have a schedule in hand with a start date.
I’m due back here in less than ten days.
I should spend time finding somewhere to live, scoping out the decent neighborhoods, talking to my new teammates about traffic and the commute to the stadium.
Instead, I say my goodbyes and call an Uber as fast as humanly possible without seeming rude. I head straight to the airport and hop on the first flight back to Georgia.
Settling into my seat, I pull my ball cap low over my eyes and tap out one more text to Sloane, praying she’ll respond.
Cam: I’m on my way back. We need to talk
I stare at the screen, willing the three swirling bubbles to appear. But only my own words glare up at me, taunting me.
She hates you. She’s never going to forgive you.
The flight attendant at the front of the cabin makes the announcement: “Flight 1754 is now ready for departure. Please make sure your seat back is in the upright position and turn off all large electronics, switching cell phones to airplane mode in preparation for takeoff.”
Powering down my phone, I shove it into the pocket of my joggers and close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do for the next hour except figure out what exactly I’m going to say to earn Sloane’s forgiveness.
After landing, I head straight to Thunder Creek. I don’t bother calling or texting Sloane again, figuring she won’t respond anyway.
Instead, I track her location and drive over to the library. Her Volvo’s one of the few cars still in the lot. I cut the engine and thump the leather steering wheel. She gets off work in less than twenty minutes. I don’t want to risk a big scene in front of Ms. Mabel and/or Langley’s mom.
So I wait, every square inch of me twitchy with nerves.
The anticipation’s worse than any tryout. At least then I was sure of myself, in control. This is a whole different situation. I have no idea what Sloane’s thinking, how she’s feeling. For all I know, she’ll tell me to go to hell.
Lights flicker in the window and it’s go-time. I slump down in the leather seat, watching as Ms. Mabel shuffles to her car and drives off. A few minutes later, Sloane walks out the double-doors, arms folded across her chest.
She makes her way through the parking lot, shoulders slumped forward, waves of dark hair shielding her face. She’s so small, so fragile.
I did this.