6. Camden #3
Tess had not sent divorce papers. She had not called an attorney in front of him.
She had not stood in this kitchen and told him the marriage was finished.
She had driven south because she was furious, because he had missed their anniversary, because Chloe had kissed his cheek outside the one bar Tess considered theirs.
He could fix furious.
He had fixed furious before.
“Sir, I need the call.”
Camden closed his fingers around the ring one last time.
Going after Tess tonight meant dragging the league into whatever roadside motel she chose. It meant reporters following the story. It meant showing up angry and cornering her before either of them had slept.
Seattle lasted a weekend.
Their marriage had survived three years.
“The math checks out,” Camden said. “She wants to freeze me out? Fine. I’ll give her the distance to burn this off.”
Marcus stepped back.
Camden opened his jacket and shoved the ring into his pocket, leaving the kitchen before he found another reason to stare at the island.
The hall closet stood open near the foyer. He reached inside, caught the strap of his pre-packed team bag, and hauled it from the shelf. The duffel bumped against his thigh as he turned toward the front door.
“Bag was in there?” the handler asked, tablet tucked against his arm.
“I have it.”
Marcus stepped toward the foyer. “Then move. We’ve wasted enough time feeding this.”
Camden turned to leave, but his gaze drifted back down the empty hall toward the kitchen.
The dinner remained under the pendant lights. Two plates. Burned candles. Food that had waited longer than he deserved.
His stride slowed.
For one second, the urge came back: drop the bag, pull out the phone, start calling hotels, highway patrol, anyone who could tell him where Tess had gone. He could get another vehicle and head south himself. Seattle could wait.
Then the handler’s tablet chimed behind him.
“Departure window just tightened.”
Camden kept walking.
He pulled the front door open to the damp autumn air. Wind slipped beneath his jacket as he crossed the driveway. The black SUV waited near the steps with its engine running, the rear door standing open.
Marcus came down behind him. “Good. Keep your head on the West Coast film. Give her a few days staring at the ocean, and this burns itself out.”
Camden stopped beside the vehicle.
“A few days?”
“She wants distance,” Marcus said. “Let her have enough of it to remember what her life looks like when she stops trying to punish you.”
That version still fit better than the alternative.
Tess angry in some coastal hotel made sense. Tess ordering room service, shutting off her phone, making him sweat through a road game while she waited for an apology—that sounded like a marriage problem.
A marriage ending did not.
Camden put the bag inside the SUV and climbed into the backseat. He pulled the door shut behind him, muting the wind and sealing the cabin.
The handler took the seat across from him and woke the tablet screen.
“If another card authorization hits, do you want contact made?”
“No.”
The handler’s stylus paused.
Camden leaned forward. “Track the Amex pings. Make sure she isn’t stranded, make sure the card keeps moving, but nobody calls her. Nobody sends security. Nobody puts a driver on her bumper.”
Marcus settled beside him. “That’s the first sensible decision you’ve made since we walked in.”
Through the tinted window, the kitchen lights remained visible from the driveway.
“I mean it,” he said to the handler. “The perimeter stays dark. Zero contact. If she wants to freeze me out, she gets the space.”
“What if the card stops overnight?”
“You verify the location through the account and nothing else. If there’s no emergency flag, you leave her alone.”
The handler made the note.
“Monitoring is live, sir. Tarmac slot is fifty minutes from now. Getting into this vehicle gives the apparel side the answer they’ve been waiting for.”
Camden bristled at that.
He had not climbed into this SUV for the apparel executives.
At least, that was what he told himself.
He was here because fifty other players had built their week around the same flight. Because Seattle had a defensive front designed to collapse his pocket before he could get the ball out. Because the playoffs did not stop when somebody’s marriage turned ugly.
And because chasing Tess through the night could put cameras on her.
That last reason mattered most.
It had to.
Camden buckled his seatbelt, and the engine note changed as the driver shifted into gear.
The SUV pulled away from the house.
He pictured Tess somewhere south of the city, driving until exhaustion forced her to stop. She would find a hotel. She would sleep. Tomorrow, the anger would lose some of its edge.
Then Seattle would happen.
He would win.
After the final whistle, he would find her, put the ring back in her hand, and give her the apology she had earned.
One weekend. Then fix it.
Camden looked away from the house and forced his mind onto the football problem waiting on the other side of the country.
Marcus had been right: distance would fix this.