Chapter Three Cameron
Chapter Three
Cameron
Iwalked out of my mother’s house feeling like the world’s biggest bastard. I told her everything—the whole truth, no holding back. How I left Sloane because things between us had gotten bad, and how there was someone else for me. That Evie was now in my life.
It all spilled out, raw and unfiltered, impossible to take back.
My mother looked at me like she didn’t recognize me.
She was disappointed, and I understood why. My father loved her with a loyalty rare in this world. He worshipped the ground she walked on right up until the day heaven took him back. That kind of love casts a long shadow. I always hoped I could live up to it. But in the end, I fell short.
Now here I was, standing in stark contrast to that legacy.
I was banned from my mom’s house—not until Sloane had healed, not until Sloane herself said it was okay. She said that to me, her own son, and I could tell she meant it. I could hear it in her voice. And what stung me the most was that I understood why.
Mom asked me why I hadn’t tried harder to fix things, why I had given up so easily.
I told her, “I did try, Mom, for years. But in the end, we were too broken to be fixed. I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t live this kind of life anymore.”
The damage had already gone too deep.
Sloane and I were fire—blinding, searing. Still, we reached for each other because without one another, everything else was ice. And for a while, the burn felt like living, until it didn’t. Until the pain settled deep and we realized it was never warmth, only ruin wearing a beautiful disguise.
But the question that gutted me was the last one.
“Do you still love Sloane?”
Without thinking, the words slipped out, “I still do. Very much.”
Strange, wasn’t it? That I said it so easily, even though I was the one who walked away.
I was driving through the night, my head heavy with troubles, my heart tight in my chest. My mind kept replaying last night—how broken Sloane was because of me, how she was barely holding on when she used to be so stoic and strong, never letting her guard down.
I knew I would hurt her, but for the life of me, I never imagined it would be this much.
Because all we did lately was trade hate—words sharpened to wound, thrown just to make each other bleed. All she ever said anymore was how much she hated me, how deeply I had disappointed her, how she despised the man I had become.
“Tell me you love me,” I snapped. “Twelve years, Sloane. And I can count on one damn hand how many times you said it. I’ve said it a hundred times more, over and over. So fucking say it. Say it to me now!”
But she didn’t. And she never said it again.
Everything about last night weighed on me so heavily that I shut out Evie completely. Her texts and calls kept coming, but I ignored them all.
How could I tell her I needed time alone to grieve the love I lost and the life I built with Sloane? That I was still trying to make peace with the wreckage I left behind? That walking away wasn’t fucking easy? That every part of me wanted to run back, fall to my knees, and beg her to love me?
Because my heart was shattered beneath it all.
But I wanted to be happy. Evie could make me happy.
Screaming to myself inside my car, I slammed my palm against the steering wheel again and again, trying to release the anger, frustration, and heartbreak burning inside me.
When I finally felt a flicker of calm, I decided to drive to Evie’s place instead of drowning alone in my apartment with a bottle. I picked up my phone and called her.
“Cam?” I heard her voice answering my call.
“I’m coming over. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay,” I heard the smile in her voice.
I hung up and pressed the gas a little harder.
When I arrived, she opened the door wearing a short satin nightgown in soft blue, her brunette hair tied in a messy bun, her face bare of makeup. She looked effortlessly beautiful.
“Hi, babe,” she said, breathless. I stepped inside and pressed a light kiss to her lips.
I smiled at her. “I need to take a quick shower first. Grab a beer for me, please?”
“Sure,” she said, closing the door behind her.
I moved through the apartment, every corner familiar, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower.
When I finished, I realized I hadn’t brought any extra clothes, as I always do.
“Evie,” I called out from the bedroom. “Did I leave any underwear here?”
“Yeah,” she replied from the other room. “There’s one in the middle drawer.”
I walked over to the drawer, rummaging through its contents until I found what I was looking for. I slipped on the black boxers and made my way back to the living room, which was combined with the kitchen.
Evie was stirring something on the stove when I slipped up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her neck.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I murmured.
She turned her head and pressed her lips to mine.
I kissed her back more fiercely than I intended, as there was so much pent-up frustration and anger I needed to release.
“I’m still cooking,” she murmured against my lips, chuckling softly.
“Are you really that hungry?” I asked, trailing my mouth down to suck on her neck.
“I’m cooking for you,” she said between moans.
“I’m not that hungry.”
I spun her around and switched off the stove. Then I lifted her, wrapping her legs around my waist as I carried her toward the bedroom.
“We have more important matters to discuss.”
She laughed. “And what’s that?”
I set her down gently on the bed, standing at the edge.
“I’m getting a divorce.”
Evie froze, staring at me, words caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
We had talked about this before, countless times. She needed reassurance that we were headed somewhere. She knew I was still married but separated in body and heart—that Sloane and I had just been going through the motions, picking our way through the wreckage of a broken marriage.
“She and I talked last night. I told her about you.”
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
I crawled across the bed until I was hovering above her. “I told her your name. And that I care about you so much.”
“Cam,” she breathed, eyes already glistening.
Evie was everything Sloane wasn’t. She was sensitive and soft, her emotions worn openly, easy to read, and impossible to miss.
“So, that’s it,” I said, kissing her. Then I kissed her again, slower this time. “I’m a single man now, Evie. And I’m completely yours.”
That made her pause. “I thought you were already mine...”
“I was. I am. But now the marriage is nothing more than a piece of paper. We don’t have to hide ourselves anymore.”
I kissed her again, wanting to end the conversation and lose myself in her instead.
My kisses deepened, growing more urgent, and she responded with matching heat.
In seconds, I took off her clothes until she was bare, and I slid my hands over her perfect breasts, kneading gently, pinching the tips until she whimpered, her body arching into mine.
I loved how responsive she was—how every touch drew a sound, a reaction, a desperate need.
I was already hard. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, I grabbed a condom. Shifting to the side, I slid off my boxers and rolled it on. Then I went for her, guiding her to straddle me.
“Wreck me, gorgeous,” I whispered, gripping her hips as I pushed myself up into her wet, warm channel, inch by inch.
Her head fell back, lost in the flood of sensation overtaking her.
I started to guide her movements. Her expression was already glazed with lust, blue eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. Then she took over, moving on her own.
She rode me hard, with reckless abandon, our moans tangling and echoing through the room.
It didn’t take long before the urge to take control crashed over me.
I flipped her beneath me, thrusting into her with a pace edged in desperation, like I was trying to wring the pleasure from her—like I was angry.
And for the first time, I came before she did.
I grunted as release overtook me, my head buried in the crook of her neck, my body shaking with the force of it.
I was so out of breath that it took me a few seconds to find my voice.
And then it hit me—what I’d done.
I had whispered Sloane’s name in the aftermath of my ecstasy. It came out in anger, sharp and unguarded, but it didn’t matter. It was still her name.
I pulled back to look at Evie. She was crying.
“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered, her voice sharp and full of hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, panic rising in my throat. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Get off me, Cam.” She pushed at my chest.
“No, please.” I stayed where I was, refusing to move. “Let me make it right. Let me take care of you.”
She shook her head, eyes glassy. “The moment’s gone, Cam. Just get off me.”
Finally, I moved.
She slipped out from under me without a word, grabbing her clothes from the floor and hurrying into the bathroom. The door closed behind her. She didn’t come out for a long time.
I sat there for a moment, staring at nothing. Then I stood, tossed the condom, and got dressed.
There was nothing left to say.
I walked to the door.
Then I left.
It wasn’t until I got into my car that I realized I shouldn’t have come here. I was still raging. The burn from last night hadn’t faded, and I took it out on Evie.
I was angry at myself. At Sloane. Angry at our fights—the bitter battles where love turned to resentment, where tenderness was lost beneath the weight of anger.
Angry at every damn choice I’d ever made that led us to this breaking point.
Because when I walked away from Sloane last night, I tore a huge, searing hole in my own heart where she used to be.
And I knew—God, I fucking knew—she was the only one who could ever fill it.