TWENTY-SIX
Cammie
He left me that night. Pushed my sofas back to how they used to be and walked out the door. I’m still sinking.
“Spot two.” Mary’s terse call breaks me from my daze.
Shoot. The light’s nowhere near my frustrated leading lady.
“Sorry.”
“Come see me after. LX35, ready … and go.”
The lights change, the scene picking up pace as my gut sinks. I’ve been in a funk since Duke went home. I realised too late that I don’t even know his number to call—never thinking to get it since I could always reach him at the house—and now I don’t have the kahunas to ask Archie what it is. He literally left my life without a trace, other than an overgrown lawn that still looks pretty in stripes.
I buckle down and manage to get through the rest of the Saturday night show without losing focus again, keeping my arm too close to the light in places so that the burn keeps me alert.
The crowd filters out as Susie crosses over from her platform, the frown on her face telling me she’s concerned before she even opens her mouth. “What’s going on, love?”
“Nothing.” I flick my hair out of the way, stashing my half-empty water bottle in my bag, knowing when I get home that I’ll stack it with the others just so I feel like Duke is still around.
“You can’t bullshit a bullshit artist.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile.
I slump down on the edge of my platform, my bag slung between my legs. “That guy who stayed with me?”
“Duke?”
“You remember his name?” I frown. She didn’t even talk to him when he came the other night.
“I think everyone in town knows his name,” she deadpans. “Nobody’s seen you that happy in years.”
Urgh. “He left.”
“Well, no duh.” She screws her top lip up. “He had to take the car home, right?”
I narrow my gaze on her. “Just how much did everyone talk about us?”
Susie rubs a nervous hand over the back of her neck. “A little.”
“Great.” I push to my feet abruptly enough that she takes a hasty step backward. “I better go see Mary.”
I get my arse handed to me on a platter. Mary’s the type that takes no shit, and if you’ve got issues outside the theatre she doesn’t care, which suits me fine. I need somebody to slap me back into line. I don’t want to be babied over a pathetic broken heart. I shouldn’t be letting Duke’s departure hurt me this much—he was only here for six days.
And yet it felt like a lifetime.
I manage to get as far as my car before my carefully stacked tower of confidence slips and topples. A part of me is thankful for the lack of streetlights near the parking lot as I rest my head on the steering wheel and burst into tears, but the remainder of me is torn apart as I sit in the very thing that reminds me of Duke the most: the darkness.
“Get it together, Cam,” I whisper to myself. I can’t let myself fall to pieces—not yet, anyway. I have to stay strong considering Jared is coming over with the new contract tomorrow. It seems Duke did one good thing before he left: he scared my ex enough to ensure I have the agent I want for the sale.
Ridiculous. I would have signed with Terry if it meant keeping Duke here longer. If only I had one more day.
I damn near jump out of my skin as a solid knock sounds on my window. “Holy, shit!” Clicking the key around one, I drop the window and frown at Bevan. “I almost died of a heart attack.”
“Better than dying because you wallowed in your heartache,” he counters.
“Touché.” I look over his shoulder at Susie standing a little way back, having a smoke. “What do you two want?”
“You.” Bevan reaches out and opens my door. “We’re heading to the pub. I’d ask if you want to come, but it’s not up for negotiation.”
“I’m not dressed for it,” I protest weakly, touched that they want to include me.
“Shut up,” Susie teases, stamping her smoke out. “It’s Burbank. You’d fit right in wearing stubbies and gumboots.”
“I said to leave you alone,” Bevan explains, “but Susie here was adamant we can’t stand by and watch you self-destruct.” He rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I realise we’re just theatre buddies and all that, but you know—”
“We thought you might like company,” Susie finishes for him.
I do—not theirs, is all. “Fine. A drink can’t hurt.”
“Fine,” Bevan echoes, putting my window up. “We’re getting an Uber.” He reaches in and snags my keys. “Grab your bag, princess.”
I spend the ride to the pub wondering how in the hell I was so blind that I didn’t notice a burgeoning romance between these two. Oh, that’s right—I had a moody soldier keeping me distracted. Susie does her best to fend Bevan off, probably aware how the sight of them cosying up might affect me, but I can see it. They’re smitten with each other. I want to punch them each in the face, and then dance on their happiness.
The local rugby team pour in fresh on the heels of another victory as I nurse my vodka at the bar. Sweat and testosterone envelops me as the burly guys crowd into the only available spots to order their drinks.
Susie squeezes in between what appears to be a prop and me. “Plenty of talent for you tonight.”
Talent, aka fuckable men.
“I’m not interested.” Not when the thought of getting naked with anyone but Duke makes me feel physically ill. So ruined.
“Come on.” She nudges me as Bevan hands her a new drink. “Have a dance at least. If I wanted you to sit around feeling sorry for yourself, I would have let you go home.”
One look at her sorrowful face and I know I should. They’ve done me good, making sure I come out tonight. The least I can do is try to have fun.
The troublesome duo spends the next two hours plying me with drinks until I’m literally one of the last left on the small dance floor, shaking my arse to some song I’ve never heard before. It’s not pretty, but thanks to the numbing effects of the vodka sloshing around in my empty stomach, I don’t care.
I’m still sober enough, though, that the attention my uncoordinated dancing gets doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You need to slow down,” Mr Tall-and-Jacked-Rugby-Player says as he slides in behind me, his hands to my hips.
I move out of his reach, not wanting him to touch me, but not minding the distraction his conversation provides. “I’m fine,” I slur, slicing my hand through the air.
He chuckles, steadying me on my feet. The guy’s quite handsome: blond hair, chiselled jaw, thick neck. In another time, maybe … “How about you sit down and I’ll get you a water?”
I shrug. Sitting isn’t a bad idea; my feet hurt. “Okay.”
I look around for Susie and Bevan as he steers me toward an empty table tucked around the side of the bar, but whether it’s my blurred vision, or the dim lights in here, I don’t know—I can’t see them.
My arse hits the seat, and by the time the rugby guy comes back with an iced water, I’m almost asleep with my head on the table.
“Thanks,” I murmur, reaching for the glass and managing to avoid spilling it in the nick of time.
“Cammie, right?”
“How do you know?” I point what I hope is an angry finger his way, my head still on the table, but given his smile I’d say I don’t quite pull it off.
“You went to school with my big sister.”
Of course I did. Wait. Did he say big sister?
“How old are you?” I ask sceptically.
“Twenty-five. Why?”
Pfft. Baby. “No reason.”
I manage to get the glass to my lips and sip the tasteless water. Ugh.
“What brings you out tonight?” Rugby Boy asks. “You’re not usually here on a Saturday.”
“Usually too busy,” I answer. Sitting at home, wallowing in my misery.
Fuck drunk tears. I swipe at my face, trying to stop the flow.
“You okay?” he asks. “Should we step outside and find you somewhere quiet, more private?”
Because somewhere quieter where the echo of Duke’s words will fill my head like angry thunder is exactly what I need. “No. I’m fine.” I use my sleeve to wipe the last of the tears away. “Do I look okay?” I ask hopefully, aware I probably resemble a road kill racoon about now.
He smirks, handing me a paper napkin. “You might want to go to the ladies to use the mirror.”
“Right.” God, I’m such a mess.
I push to my feet using the table as ballast, and head in the general direction of the toilets. I only need to correct my wayward path a couple of times, which, given how many vodkas I’ve consumed tonight, is quite the achievement.
I push through the swing door to find exactly where Susie and Bevan went.
“You realise I can see your reflection in the mirror,” I announce. “You really should check you shut the stall door properly.”
“Oh my God,” Susie exclaims slamming the door shut.
Frantic whispers ensue before she appears, looking rather sheepish, Bevan in tow. “Sorry, Cam.”
“It’s okay.” I wave my hand dismissively at them … and then promptly vomit into a hand basin.
“Oh, shit,” Bevan cries, doing the typical male thing by backing away from the mess in such a rush that he collides with the wall.
“Fuck, Cam.” Susie, on the other hand, rushes to my side to scoop my hair out of the way. “Time to go home, huh?”
“I don’t want to ruin your night,” I mumble into the basin as I turn the tap on.
She exchanges a look with Bevan in the mirror and sighs. “It’s okay, honey. Your welfare comes first.”
“No.” I swat a hand at her, hitting her shoulder. “Rugby Boy can take me home later.”
“Rugby Boy?” Bevan suddenly finds his balls, stepping forward into the fray.
“That young thing out there who gave me water to drink.”
They exchange another look before Bevan announces, “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Honestly,” I call after him before the door swings shut. “He’ll be fine with it.”
I have no idea if he will, but just because my love life spent all of six days trying to fly before it crashed from its nest in an angry, wrinkly pink ball doesn’t mean Susie and Bevan can’t start something beautiful here tonight. Even if it is rather shocking and somewhat unhygienic in a bathroom stall.
Each to their own, I guess.
By the time I’ve wiped my face clear and chewed a dozen of Susie’s mints, Bevan returns looking suitably satisfied.
“Nixon will take her home,” he tells Susie. “He’s not drinking. On that mega-serious training shiz for the provincial team.”
“Nixon?” I ask, double-checking there’s no vomit in the ends of my hair.
“Yeah. Jimmy Nixon. That’s who you were talking to.”
“Oh.” Winning. “Thanks for checking with him. You two go enjoy yourselves.”
I shoo them out the door as two drunk women crash in, doing a double take at Bevan standing in the ladies.
“I’m leaving,” he acquiesces, his hands raised.
Susie pushes him out the door, but not before placing a quick kiss to my cheek. “Be careful. And message me if it turns ugly; I’ll come right back.”
“Go,” I repeat, waving them goodbye as the pair disappear up the hallway back to the bar.
I manage to make it back to the table in a singular straight line, but Jimmy’s not there. Whatever. I take a seat anyway, knocking back half the glass of water.
“Hey, you’re back.”
I turn my head to my left to find my chivalrous rugby boy standing with a huge grin on his face.
I plaster a matching, yet fake, one on mine to say, “I sure am,” with as much gusto as possible.
Yep, I’m back. Because if not here, then where? Not as though I have anything to go home to anymore.
Or anyone.