Cam blasted the music, a silent message to shut the hell up and ride. A dull throb had formed behind my eyes. I massaged my forehead as I thought through what got me to this point.
I’d never promised him anything, and I’d been up front with my stance on marriage. Damn, Cam. The man always wanted me to give more than I was capable of, wanted to strip me bare until I was raw and vulnerable. Been there, done that, and at the tender age of eleven years old, I promised myself to never let a man hurt me again. My sperm donor of a father taught me that hard lesson.
After a short drive, Cam parked his Audi in our garage, yanked out his key fob, and jumped out of the car.
Scrambling to grab my purse and phone, I rushed behind him. Despite the drama from tonight, I didn’t want to lose him. Cam was rarely in a bad mood, and when he was, I could usually tease him out of it. Not this time. I didn’t have a plan, or the time to formulate one.
“Cam!” I shouted as he strode through the breezeway connecting the garage and house. I nearly tripped on my shoes to keep up. Kicking off the death-trap heels, I followed him into the house. “Dammit, slow down!”
Thankfully, he stopped to deactivate the alarm. He swung around to face me. “What, Raina?”
“We need to talk.”
“You’re not going to talk your way out of this.”
“I don’t want to talk my way out. I want to fix this.”
“Fine.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I want to get married. You don’t. What else is there?”
Patience, Raina. “My view on marriage hasn’t changed since you asked me a few months ago. I’m not sure why you asked me in public, of all places.”
“Few months?” He gave me an ugly look that curled my stomach. “I asked you a year and a half ago.”
I racked my brain. When he’d asked, it had been a few days before Thanksgiving . . . the year before. Damn. “Okay, so it’s been a while, but we haven’t had a formal discussion about it since then.”
“Not from my lack of trying. My God, woman, what do you think we’ve been doing this whole time? We bought a fucking house together with how many bedrooms?”
“F-four.” I cleared my throat. “Four bedrooms.”
“We’re using one bedroom. What did you think we would have three extra bedrooms for?”
I shrugged. “An office for me—”
“Your attic is the office. Still have three rooms left.”
“You’ve always wanted an exercise room, and then your man cave. Th-that’s two rooms. The third is for guests.”
He shook his head and laughed, but it wasn’t a warm, fun Cam-laugh. It was alien, scary, hard. I didn’t know this man in front of me.
He wagged his finger at me, pacing the floor. “You know, my friends said you were playing me. That you were flighty as hell. Told me to get out while I can. But what did my dumb ass do? Buy a damn house with you.”
“That’s not dumb, Cam. Like you said, we’re investing in our future.”
“We don’t have a future!” He waved his arm about the room. “We can never make this house a home because you’re too damn scared that you’ll be hurt again. So, your dad left you. You aren’t the only child that grew up fatherless. Stop using that shit as an excuse and fucking grow up.”
I snapped my head back. “Grow up, huh? So, what, we can be married for five to seven years and then start hating each other? Oh, and have kids and use them as leverage or hurt them in the process? You see what’s going on with Kara and Nikki. Do their marriages seem like fun and fucking rainbows?”
“Married or not, you can’t avoid conflict. I don’t know why I have to tell a radio therapist this shit. Dig deep and give yourself the advice you like to dish out.”
“Fine. I’d tell me to find a man who isn’t stuck on the idea of marriage because it’s a piece of fucking paper. An expensive piece of paper. God! Why can’t you just be happy with what we have?”
“Because I love you. I want to marry you. And if, God forbid, something happens to me, I want to make sure you’re taken care of. Because I want to have kids and raise a family with you.” He was yelling by the end, a vein throbbing in his neck. Like a balloon losing its helium, his body folded and then slumped against a wall.
“Cam . . .” I reached for his face. He slapped my hands away, and pushed off the wall.
“I can’t—I can’t do this. We can’t do this.”
Fear quadrupled my heartbeat. This was it. I knew the day would come, but not like this.
“You’ve gotta go.”
“W-what?” Water drowned my lungs, swooshed through my chest, and clogged my throat.
“You need to leave. Be gone by the time I return from my trip. Three days is plenty of time.”
The dull headache from earlier had turned into a full-on migraine. A tingle shot through my fingers and gave way to numbness. “But I helped you with the down payment and the mortgage for months.”
“I’ll give you the money back. I’ve been setting aside the money. Silly me, I thought we could use that for our wedding.”
I reached for him again, this time grabbing his hand. “Don’t do this,” I whispered, unable to speak loudly. My voice was fragile, my throat tender.
“I’m not doing anything. It’s you.” With a firm grip, he pushed away my hands.
My knees buckled until my ass hit the floor. I scooted against the couch, tucked my legs in, and rocked. He knelt beside me. We stared at each other, his eyes wet but resolved. He wasn’t changing his mind. This was it. I knew it.
They all leave.
“Three days,” he repeated. His voice was not unkind but matter-of-fact. He stood and left the room. The stairs creaked under his weight.
A tear escaped. Tears were okay if no one saw them. I licked my lips, tasting the salt, remembering the last time I’d tasted them.
Twenty-two years ago.
Daddy was leaving, this time for good. Ma followed him, wringing her hands and pleading with him to stay. “What about us?” she’d asked him for the umpteenth time.
“I told you, Vanessa. It’s over.” The finality of his tone seemed to push Ma over the edge. Slumping on the floor, she gripped her thin cotton dress and wailed. Daddy looked over her, scanned the house, and then walked out the door. I jumped from my hiding place and rushed outside. Daddy loved me. He wouldn’t leave me with Ma. She was too timid, too weak, always begging. Daddy said he and I were two of a kind. I was his special girl.
“Daddy!” I yanked the door and tackled him from behind, wrapping my arms around his waist.
Suitcase in hand, he continued to walk, the tips of my Keds dragging along the pavement. “Stop it, Rae.”
He never called me just Rae. I was always his Rae of sunshine. The good-luck charm he hugged when he returned from his casino trips and needed a spot of luck.
“C’mon, baby. Stop this.” He finally reached his Caddy. Unwrapping my arms from around him, he hustled to the trunk and threw in his suitcase.
I folded my arms across my chest. Despite the beautiful sunny day, goose bumps formed along my arms. I tilted my head back, staring at the sun, waiting for him to stop me. Daddy always joked that I’d go blind. Waves of heat attacked my vision, forcing me to blink away the moisture that had formed.