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Chapter Forty-Four

Cameron

There is nothing I can do but watch him walk out my door. Chasing after him won’t do any good. Pleading with him will do nothing. Apologizing won’t do anything. When Austen gets like this, he’s got tunnel vision. He doesn’t deal with being hurt well, and I mean, who does? But he completely shuts down and turns into someone else. I saw it that night in Vegas, and here I am seeing it again. As if hurting him once in a lifetime wasn’t bad enough. Now I’ve done it twice.

No, everything in Vegas wasn’t my fault and we’ve yet to even discuss any of that, but I’m not blameless, either.

But this… this is my fault. Not a single thing about this can be put on him or anyone else. I lied to him. I kept this from him. I should have told him, and I didn’t. I knew it from the get go, yet… I didn’t want to see him hurt again. Honestly, I have no idea what I was thinking or how I thought this was going to go. Maybe I was pretending, too. Pretending that this—whatever this is—was the way it was supposed to be, when I knew it couldn’t be. Part of me wishes I’d never have seen Savannah with that guy at all, while another part just wishes I’d have told him the truth.

I should have fucking told him.

I dig my fingers through my hair, tugging on the strands as tears fill my eyes. I storm into the kitchen grabbing the bottle of Macallan he bought me the other day, and swig right from the bottle. No, it’s not the type of alcohol you guzzle, but it’s about to be. Getting shit-face drunk is the only way I’m going to handle how badly I fucked up.

The alcohol burns going down and it doesn’t settle right in my stomach. It’ll probably come back up at some point and that’s just too fucking bad.

Slamming the bottle on the table, I go to the living room in search of my phone.

Fuck this phone. Fuck technology.

How the hell did I fuck up so badly? Not only did I let him see this video, the video I made, but I cast it to my giant fucking TV. Seeing it that fucking clearly must’ve only made it worse, like rubbing salt in the wound. Not only did he see his wife cheating on him, but he saw it in 4k Ultra HD. Fuck, I’m an asshole. I am such an asshole.

I delete the video from my phone because I don’t know why I kept it in the first place. Of course I knew it was there, but I just... I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything anymore.

I pull up his contact, my finger hovering over the call button. It’s unlikely he’ll answer, but I have to try. I should have gone after him in the first place. No, no. Austen doesn’t deal well with that shit. He needs his space, but I can’t let him think I don’t care. Because I do. I care so much and I am such an idiot for this. I ruined it all. I ruined everything.

I finally get the exact thing I want. I have Austen here with me, in my house, and everything is perfect. And I ruined it. Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I knew things would never work out with us in the end anyway. He is married, after all. So maybe it was a subconscious thing. I mean, how the fuck did I put that video on over the one of us from college rocking out to My Chem in the studio?

I go back into the kitchen to snatch up the bottle of Macallan and bring it to my lips. Tipping my head back, I take mouthful after mouthful. It makes my stomach sick, and when I put the bottle down, it’s halfway gone. Yep, definitely going to be sick, but it’s less than what I deserve.

I look at my phone again, wanting to call him. Fuck it.

I hit the button, but it goes right to voicemail. Damnit. I try again. Same thing.

Did he… block me? Shut his phone off? Just in a bad service area?

I try one more time and when it goes to voicemail, I let it play out and leave a message.

“Austen… fuck, I am so sorry. I’m… I know my words don’t mean anything. I know you’re pissed and you deserve to be and—” I sigh. “Please just fucking call me,” I say, my voice breaking. I end the call with trembling fingers, then I pick up the bottle and finish it off.

I feel like death. I haven’t been this hungover since college. It’s nothing compared to what I deserve though. Nothing.

My head is spinning and my stomach fucking hurts. My mouth tastes like—oh yeah. It tastes like vomit because I fucking threw up.

Groaning, I roll out of bed and bring myself to the bathroom where I take a cold shower and brush my teeth twice just to get the taste out. The entire shower, I feel like I’m going to pass out and throw up. Thankfully, I make it through without doing either. I am too dizzy to do anything though, so I lay back down in bed and order food. It’s afternoon already, but I want breakfast, so I find a diner close by and order one of everything. I let the front desk know to bring it up when it gets here and leave it at my door.

I close my eyes, willing the room to stop spinning and I must pass out. When I wake up, I notice an hour has gone by and I bet my food is here. I don’t feel any better so I get out of bed and carefully make my way to the front door, where my food is waiting in four different plastic bags.

Bringing it all inside, I lay them on the island and tear them open, pulling all the containers out and opening them. I pick at this and that, but go for the sausage, bacon, and French toast first. It’s too sweet and greasy and not what I want. It’s not Austen’s cooking, that’s for sure. Just as the thought enters my brain, I shove it away. I eat a ridiculous amount of food, then feel sick again, so I go back to my bed and lie down.

My fucking life is ruined. Seriously. I ruined it so bad, there is no way it’ll ever be fixed. The dream I could so perfectly envision after these last nearly two weeks with Austen, is shattered. And I only have myself to blame. I stare at my phone on the end table, wishing I had someone to call. I have no friends. Austen was the only one. He’s always been the only one, and when that was ruined last time, it just stayed that way. Sure, there are people I talk to, or that I’m friendly with, but no one I trust. Not like I trust him. No one who knows the history of Austen and I. Having to explain it all isn’t what I want to do. I just wish I had someone to fucking talk to. Then I get an idea.

I open up that hook up app and I’m grateful when I see JJ’s profile still there. I send him a message because at least he got some of the story. He’s not a friend, but he was cool. Fun. And he’s someone I can talk to.

Hey

I stare at the message, waiting for a response, but I don’t get one. It doesn’t even say he’s online.

“Fuck,” I groan, dropping my phone and staring up at the ceiling.

What else is there to do but go back to sleep? So I roll over and force myself to sleep.

When I wake up, I feel a little better. My head isn’t spinning as much, and I don’t feel sick like I did. Still pretty terrible, but at least better than earlier.

My phone alerts me of an email, so I grab it, but ignore the email and instead tap on the message from JJ.

Hey, what’s up?

My life is fucking over.

???

Remember the cheating wife?

Yes…

Well, my best friend just found out I knew and didn’t tell him.

Ouch.

I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I doubt he cares. But he was there, he experienced it with me, and that just feels… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything lately.

He and I were kind of seeing each other so…

Well, this sounds like the kind of conversation that needs a drink.

I huff out a laugh, but get nauseous over the thought of more alcohol.

I’m back on the east side.

Bummer.

Well, feel free to vent.

It’s such a long story…

Video chat?

I consider it, and don’t see anything wrong with it so I give him my number and a moment later, my phone is ringing. I accept the call. His eyes widen when he sees me.

“Wow, you look like shit.” He grins wide, the bright California sun shining behind him. He looks like he’s at the beach or something.

“Thanks. Are you at the beach?”

“Nope, just getting back home from a run.”

“Oh, you work out, huh?”

“Well, I’m a firefighter, so I need to stay in shape. ”Hm… we didn’t discuss that. How much of an asshole am I? I never even asked the guy what he does for work. Damn.

“So, tell me what’s going on,” he says.

With a sigh, I dive in. I didn’t want to have to explain all of this to someone, but JJ is easy to talk to. I’m glad we didn’t hook up that night because I feel like maybe he could be a friend and that would have made things complicated.

I would know.

He whistles when I’m done. “Damn. And I thought my life was complicated.”

“I’m sure your life is a walk in the park.”

“Considering my husband refuses to admit he’s gay but refuses to give me a divorce, I’d say it’s not.”

“Well, fuck.”

If I weren’t so fucked up, I’d be shocked that he’s married.

He chuckles. “Yeah, uh… he actually owns that restaurant we went to.”

I frown. “You used me.”

He shrugs. “Maybe a little. Anyway, back to you. What do you plan to do?”

I can’t even be mad about this. I’m glad it worked out how it did with him.

“I have no fucking idea.” I groan, chewing on my lip. “I don’t know if I should go after him, keep calling him, give him space… I have no idea. But the last time something big happened, we didn’t talk for seven years and I can’t let that happen again.”

“Then there’s your answer.” I raise a brow. “You have to go get him.”

Yeah, maybe I do.