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I click my car door closed as softly as possible and scoot up the sidewalk to the porch. The bouquet’s gone.
Shit.
I’m sure my dad brought it into the house when he came home. But that won’t necessarily raise any red flags. He knows I’m dating Cam.
Was dating Cam. Past tense.
Pushing through the door, I stifle a groan. My dad’s sitting on the sofa, watching ESPN and drinking a beer.
“Hey, baby. Looks like you got flowers. Sure I can guess who they’re from.” He tips his head toward the kitchen table. “I put them in there for you. They’re real pretty.”
I force a smile in his direction before moving into the kitchen. My dad’s correct—the roses are stunning, all four dozen of them.
I pluck the small envelope from the plastic trident, my name scrawled across the front in swirly handwriting. Holding my breath, I tear out the square card and read:
Trouble,
I’ll always believe in love. Because of you.
Please forgive me.
xoxo,
Cam
My breath hitches, stuck in my chest, and hot tears blur my vision.
Damn him.
Still acting like Prince Charming, trying to sell me on the happy ending.
But not this time. There’s nowhere to go from here. I can’t move to Florida with him, pretend like nothing happened. Like I’ll ever be enough. And I can’t stay here and just blindly trust him.
Not anymore.
I slide the note into my pocket and swipe the tears from my lashes, try my best to act normal as I saunter back into the living room.
“You want dinner? There’s some chicken and rice in thefridge. I ate on the way home from practice.” My dad glances up from the TV for a split second.
“Nah, I’m good.” I want to duck into my room, but that will raise suspicion. So I lean against the armrest of the sofa, quickly changing the subject before he asks me about the roses.
“How was practice?”
“Good. Things are coming together. Although I need Langley to step it up. I want to give him the spot, but it’s gonna be hard to justify ceding QB to a freshman if he doesn’t nail every pass.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’ve always had good instincts about the game. Speaking of which—how’s it going with Cam down in Florida? You hear anything?”
The question’s loaded, the mere mention of his name shaking me to my core. Avoiding eye contact with my dad, I rub at a frayed pink embossed flower on the sofa cushion.
“Uh, good. He got the position. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself tomorrow at practice—he’s back in town. But he’s leaving Thunder Creek in ten days.”
My dad takes a swig of beer. “Is that so? He’s back home and you’re not together right now?”
He stares over at me and my face heats under his laser gaze, my throat tight.
I shrug, being as nonchalant as I possibly can. “We broke up.”
