10. Cameron

Chapter 10

Cameron

September 27

Lyndhurst’s Defense Fails to Catch Up in the Third Loss of the Season

Pathetic .

I hit rewind again. Kamara’s image fades, leaving my box exposed. Rosemont’s striker fakes left; I’m too slow. The whistle haunts me, then the stadium erupts with cheers.

One goal. That’s all it took.

We’ve lost three out of six games. Lyndhurst’s— my —chances of winning the championship slip farther away each week. I can’t help but wrestle with regret for not staying with my old club. Overton has eleven points; we’re stuck with five. The thought has been sprouting up more often than not.

Parkside City, the top team for the past two years, is struggling due to injuries and club drama. If there was any year to win, it’s now.

I refocus on the screen. My teammates rely on each other, but not on me. I’m a liability. I need to find that old fire before it’s too late. I rewind the tape over and over, wincing as the ball hits the net repeatedly. I don’t deserve to rest until I learn from my mistakes.

Rossi’s voice echoes in my head. You call that a defense? You’re pathetic , he’d sneer, making me rewatch every miniscule error.

Exhaustion clings to me as I slump on the sectional in the common room. I grab one of Daphne’s soft blankets, draping it over my head. The warmth provides a momentary solace.

Footsteps on the stairs send a panic through me. I fling the blanket and pillow aside, trying to appear nonchalant.

“ Lust Island on Wednesday and Sunday nights, bum, bum, bap, boo, bap!” Daphne’s singing sprinkles into the common room like a burst of confetti. She freezes. Her eyes flit to the discarded blanket and pillow before they meet mine. Does she know what I was doing? “Oops.” She stumbles. “Forget I was here!”

No matter how many boxes I lift or spiders I banish, it doesn’t negate the fact that I was an ass.

“Wait!” I call after her.

She spins around frantically in the doorway, and her knitting project snags on the door handle. Stepping back into the common room, she tries to free it, but in the midst of the struggle, the door swings shut.

“No, no, no, please, this can’t be happening.” She sighs, wrestling with the knob. I pause the television and stroll to the end of the sofa.

“What’s wrong?”

She taps her forehead on the door three times before spinning toward me. “The house is built on an incline, so if this old door shuts, it gets jammed, which means we’re stuck.” This must be the universe’s way of nudging an I’m sorry out of me. “Can you call one of your teammates to let us out?” She throws her hands on her hips.

“I don’t have my phone. Don’t you always need to have yours for influencing?”

She scowls. “You know what? It’s fine. Everything is going to be okay. How about I stay on this side of the room?” She passes me, tossing the soft orange blanket onto the couch and sitting down to work on her knitting. “And you can have that side. Someone will get us out of here soon.”

She grabs the remote and switches to Lust Island . My jaw ticks. Fuck . She hates me. I’ve actually made a woman who looks like she would skip down a sidewalk to avoid stepping on an ant hate me.

Guilt claws at my throat. It’s easier if she hates me, if I continue pushing her away like I have with everyone else. Keeping people at arm’s length is safer. But I miss how alive I feel around her—a glimpse of who I was before signing my first Premier League contract.

Daphne’s like a vibrant lifeline in my dull world. When I’m around her, a door cracks open, just a bit, and I want to step through it without fear.

No .

Being around her is bad news. Dangerous. Exhilarating.

You can’t be him again, Cameron.

Selfishly, I long to feel alive with her again. Loneliness urges me to connect with her, with my teammates. But my fear is like an overrun field of weeds.

I pace behind the couch.

Regardless of how I feel, she’s owed an apology. But where would I even start?

Sorry that my influencer ex decided to use my lowest moment as a stepping stone for some cheap reality TV fame.

That because of Mal’s shifty moves, the mere thought of being around a woman sets me on edge?

Or, sorry for my sharp edge and trust issues.

None of these apologies cover the most important point.

Forgive me for feeling drawn to you even though I don’t fully understand why. For the heat that flares inside my blood every time I see you. You’ve got me tangled up, and I’m scared of what it might mean for both of us. Sorry that your constant presence consumes my every waking thought, and I’m pissed because the only thing that’s ever taken up that much fucking real estate in my mind is football .

Yeah, dumbass, tell her that.

Reluctantly, I drag myself to the opposite end of the sofa. She’s stubbornly glued to the TV, refusing to acknowledge my existence. “Hey, look, I’m—” My words choke off as she tears her gaze from the screen, blinking at me in anticipation. “Sorry about what happened.”

“ And? ” Her eyebrow arches at me, challenging.

“And?” I echo back, baffled.

“You don’t need me to tell you that that was a terrible apology,” she retorts, her eyes glinting with a fire that does that annoying, fucking funny thing to my insides.

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard. I want to make this right. “I’m sorry that I accused you of stalking me.” I tip my head to one side, flexing my jaw. “Not a lot of people call me out on my behavior. That sounds bigheaded, but it’s true.”

And damn it, she’s attractive when she’s putting me in my place.

She studies me, probably trying to figure out if I’m playing games. I’m not. But getting her to believe that? A long shot.

“That’s a start,” she says.

I roll my shoulders, my hands finding refuge in my jeans pockets. “I’ve been dealing with stuff.”

“Not very well,” she snaps back, and I smirk.

My sisters would get a kick out of her sass. “No. Not very well.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk to someone who’s making a genuine effort to be nice to you,” she says.

“I was an asshole,” I admit. “But I’ve been trying. The boxes? The spider?”

“Words hurt, Cameron.”

I know how true that is. “Sorry again.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. What more can I do? Beg for her forgiveness? Ask her to come upstairs and let me show her how sorry I am? It’s ridiculous to feel this way about a fling. “Can I make it up to you?” The words slip out.

“Perhaps.”

“What do I have to do?”

She thinks for a moment before saying, “One hundred push-ups.”

“Not the response I was expecting.”

“Maybe stop making assumptions about me,” she scolds me, highlighting the adorable wrinkle in her nose.

“I—uh, I lost a match today.”

My legs are on fire from all the sprinting. My core feels like it’s been through a blender. And let’s not even talk about my shoulders and arms. Am I actually considering this?

“You asked me what you could do. Now all I’m hearing are excuses.”

Is her forgiveness even worth it? What am I trying to get out of this? Being just neighbors doesn’t feel right, but I have no time for another situationship. My sister’s advice echoes in my head: Maybe you could make some new friends?

Could Daphne, of all people, be a friend?

It seems absurd to hang out with an influencer while also dodging the media, but Daphne isn’t like Mal. Online, she paints herself as kind and charitable. She advocates for mental health. The Stone Times described her as genuinely good-hearted.

Maybe I need someone like Daphne, who sees through me without trying to fix me.

“Okay,” I manage, shrugging off my leather jacket, feeling every ache in my lats. “One hundred push-ups, and we can be friends?”

“ Friends? ” Her forehead wrinkles in surprise. “You don’t even want to be neighbors with me.”

God, she has no idea.

“I do, I—” I can’t articulate what I want.

“Right, sorry, you don’t want to be thinking about me at all.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” I palm the back of my neck. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. You trip me up, and—fuck, I don’t know what the right move is around you.”

“I’m a person, not a game. There’s no right move.”

She’s got a point. I’ve become so used to walking on eggshells during every interaction I have. There used to be consequences if I said the wrong thing or didn’t act right. Used to be . Guess I haven’t shaken the habit of treating my relationships like they were a play on the pitch.

“The real reason that I’ve been so hot and cold is because you’re a reminder that I let my guard down when I should’ve been focused on football.” There it is, the truth laid bare. “I should be keeping my mind on the most important thing in my life instead of thinking about what happened between us. My head’s scrambled.”

“Football, foosball, or ultimate frisbee, I have no idea why it matters that much. Or why I, someone who hasn’t a clue about sports, am causing you to act like a stereotypical meathead when you were nothing like this when we first met.”

“I had a rough year. How I’ve been toward you—it isn’t me.” I collect my breath. It wasn’t the old Cam at all. “I’m sorry again, Daphne. I want to be better.”

“That’s a much better apology.” She stares at me, eyebrows raised. “But I still want my hundred push-ups.”

No woman I’ve slept with has ever spoken to me the way she does. And some misbehaved part of me wants to prove myself to her. The same part that strived harder, gave more, and paid closer attention when she praised me during our night together.

I want that praise.

I crave her approval.

If a woman like her could see something in me, then maybe I’m not the complete disaster I fear I am.

“Fine,” I grumble, dropping to the worn-out carpet.

“Count them out loud,” she orders. “I’m not the best with numbers, and we wouldn’t want you to lose track and have to start over, would we?”

The corners of my lips curl up.She’s amused by this. The competitor in me is too.

“Yes, ma’am.” I inhale a sharp breath and begin. “One, two, three…” I fall into an easy rhythm. Before I know it, I exhale, “Fifty.” I toss the hair out of my face. “If you wanted to make this a challenge, you’d sit on top of me.”

“I tried that once and got accused of stalking.”

“I deserve that,” I say, counting down the remaining fifty. By the hundredth push-up, my biceps and back scream, and sweat drips from my brow. I stand up, brushing my hands off on my jeans. “So, friends?”

“ Trial friends.” She nods approvingly. “But I’m not having sex with you again.”

That was to be expected, but disappointment still floods my chest. She’ll be the first woman I fucked first and friended later. Probably for the best. Sleeping with friends sounds messy.

“Understood.”

“After what happened between us, I’ve sworn off soccer boys for the rest of my life.”

Relief coats my disappointment. Despite having no right to get possessive over her, I’m not exactly thrilled by the idea of my new…friend fooling around with my teammates.

“Smart girl.” Silence lingers between us. How do I stop this conversation from falling apart? The first time we spoke, it felt effortless. Think, Cameron. Think. A memory flashes to mind. “How’s your Yes Year going?”

Her eyes light up. “You remember that?”

“Hard to forget.” Hard to forget anything about you.

“It’s actually going really well. To think that on my birthday I committed to a completely new lifestyle, and then two days later, we met. Life is so strange.”

“We hooked up two days after your birthday?” June twenty-ninth. Why hadn’t she mentioned it?

“Yes, and because of my Yes Year, I’m living across the world and planning a knitting retreat.”

I vaguely remember a mention of a retreat in the Stone Times article. “Do you normally do events like that?”

She shrugs. “No. Usually, I create knitting patterns and share them with my followers. I do livestreams on Thursdays and Saturdays and a bunch of other knitting things.”Well, that explains who she’s always talking to behind the shared bedroom wall of our apartments.

“And you get famous off of that?” I awkwardly kick my feet around.

She frowns. “There you go again with the judgment and assumptions. Stop it. I have no interest in being famous. Knitting is a way for me to connect with people.”

“I guess I haven’t met many people who do what you do and don’t want fame out of it.”

“Is that why you have something against people in my profession?”

On the television, Mal Kelly and a group of women sit around a firepit. I wince. Daphne seems to notice, flipping the channel. I expect her to ask for more details, but she doesn’t.

“Not against ,” I say. “You just continue to surprise me.”

“It’s quite fun doing that.” She smiles. “Who knows, if you’re not a bad friend, I might even reserve a spot for you at my retreat. You can see what it’s like to be around people who share their feelings.”

“Don’t think so.”

“You say that now, but if I managed to get you to open up tonight, then you might learn to talk about all the stuff you’re mysteriously figuring out.”

The comment makes me want to nudge her shoulder, but maybe we’re not quite that friendly yet. “To be fair, I had no choice. We’re locked in here.”

“Watch it, you’re on thin ice.” She laughs.

I laugh too, the foreign feeling warming my bones. I glance at the sofa again. It’s big enough to seat a group of eight, and I consider the spot farthest from where she’s sitting the most appropriate place I could choose without disrupting our trial friendship. I settle opposite her, and one of my fingers brushes over the orange blanket I’ve become very well acquainted with. “This is really impressive.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks dimple. “You can use it if you want. It doesn’t bite.”

“That’s all right.” I pull my hand away.

“Come on, what are you afraid of? That you’ll like it?” You have no idea just how much I like it, Duck. She stands, grabbing the throw and shaking it out. I freeze as she drapes it over my shoulders, the familiar softness and warmth encasing me. “There. Much better.”

Sure is .

The silence dares me to reach out and feel the smooth skin of her cheek and the silky texture of her lavender hair. How can someone so unfamiliar feel so safe?

A noise from the television grabs Daphne’s attention, and she returns to her seat.

An urgency erupts inside of me. I need to cement this friendship. Who knows how much longer we have in this room alone. I can’t lose this feeling of ease now that I’ve got a real taste for it.

“Can I propose something?”I ask.

“Proposing already? We just became friends.”

Smartass. “What if I can help make your Yes Year more exciting? To make up for how much of a jerk I was to you.”

She raises a brow at me. “Tell me more about this being-a-jerk-to-me part.”

I shoot her a glare. “ Enough .”

“Then just the making-it-up-to-me part.”

I lean my forearms on my thighs. The next words feel like a gamble. “What if I give you some more opportunities to say yes?”

“I already said this is platonic.”

I suck air through my teeth, shaking my head at her. “What a filthy mind. But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Oh, hush!” She drops her knitting project and tosses a pillow at me, but I block it, tucking it into my chest and holding it close. “Guess that was never going to work.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re literally a professional.”

“I’m sure you’ll get past my defenses eventually.” The easy flirting spills into our conversation. “I only meant that I can show you a different side to London, one you haven’t seen before. I’ve lived here for a few years.”

She considers me. “Maybe. As long as I don’t have to make any acquaintances with the grumpy storm cloud that follows you around.” Frankly, I’m growing tired of it too. This could be good for me. A way to get my mind off of this terrible season and how much I’m fucking up my communication on the field. “What do you even like to do for fun? Ignore puppies?”

How is it that every single thing that comes out of her mouth shocks me? “What?”

“Never mind.”

“Okay.” I reluctantly don’t probe. “Honestly, it’s been a while since I had any kind of fun.”

“You’re doing a terrible job at selling me on this tour.”

“Between games and practice, I don’t have that much time.”

“Your team does.”

She’s right. I could sacrifice a night of game replays and studying our competitor’s stats for a break. Last season, rest wasn’t an option, but if keeping my mind off of football for even one night would feel as good as this does, then it may be worth it. It may make me a better player. “Well, on Mondays and Wednesdays, our practice ends at one o’clock.”

“Then why do you get home so late?”

My pulse rises. “You tracking my schedule?”

“Gotta be sure I avoid those hallway run-ins.”

She’s really going to make me work for it, isn’t she? “I stay back to extend my training. But I could be better about rest days like my teammates. We could hang out then.”

“Restful adventure? Sounds right up my alley.” She nods. “Wednesdays I’m committed to the guys, so Mondays work for me. But no funny business.”

“No funny business,” I promise.

She stares at me for a while. “We’re really going to hang out…as friends? In the real world?”

The gravity of the question sets the hairs on the backs of my arms on edge.

Am I really going to risk getting seen out in public? And put her in danger of the tabloids? It’s only been six months since the back-to-back scandals broke.

Surely enough time has passed, but maybe not?

A scared part of me wants to flee, but another part buried deep inside of me—the old Cam—refuses to give in.

“We are.” I’ll just need to figure out where I could take a girl like her without getting harassed by the paparazzi. “But…can I ask you to not post about whatever we do online? I like my privacy.”

She softens. “I won’t. I like my privacy too. Besides, my followers don’t know a single thing about sports. The last thing they want to see is content about soc— football players.”

I believe her. “Then expect to hear from me.”

“Okay,” she says speculatively.

I readjust her blanket on my shoulders. I love its comforting weight and wish I could keep it on my bed, just to hold on to that feeling. “So, where in California are you from?”

“Santa Cruz, born and raised. And you?”

“Marin County.”

“ Oh, bougie .” Her fingers return to working yarn onto her knitting needles. She’s like a machine with that thing.

“What about your parents? You mentioned your mom owns this apartment?”

She gives me a half smile. “My mom, Prim, paints wedding portraits. She was born in London. Before your team bought out the entire building, this used to be housing for young artists. This city is where she met my other mom, Dani, who’s an accountant from San Francisco. An opposites-attract story.”

“My parents are the same.” It’s strange to reveal morsels of information about myself so easily.

“A painter and an accountant?”

“No.” I chuckle. “An opposites-attract story. My dad’s in tech, and my mom’s a three-time WNBA champion.”

“Yeah, I learned that in my stalking of you.” My pulse escalates, and I freeze. She immediately notices the discomfort. “I’m joking. Well, only a bit. I looked you up. After I found out who you were.”

My pointer digs into my cuticle as my nerves take over. “Don’t believe everything you read online.”

“I only skimmed the top half of your Wikipedia page. Had to make sure you weren’t a criminal moonlighting as a sports person. You do live right next to me.”

There’s no point in being a hypocrite. I’ve perused her account almost daily. “Fair enough.”

She continues clicking her needles together. “The night we met, you said you had handlers in the area. Want to tell me about them, Goose?”

The silly code name tugs at the corners of my lips. “I was celebrating my parents’ anniversary at Benu with all five of my siblings. ”

“Let me guess, you’re the middle child.”

I shrug. “Yes. Two sisters and three brothers.”

“That explains everything.”

She stirs another fraction of laughter out of me. “And you’re the youngest?”

“My oldest sister, Juni, never lets me forget it.”

“Explains everything,” I mock in return.

“You don’t act like you come from a big family. But I guess you do have the whole holing-up-in-your-room-and-not-talking-to-anyone thing down.”

“I talk to people,” I say defensively.

“People who don’t live in this apartment building?” she deadpans.

“My family.” Though it’s been weeks since I’ve properly checked in with them. Before every game, the group chat explodes with good luck messages. Yet I haven’t mustered up the nerve to explain that the Lyndhurst season so far hasn’t been a success, and I’m the root of the problem.

“You miss them?” Her voice softens. “I miss my family a lot.”

She’s so open about her feelings. I stop my nervous picking and clutch the pillow harder into my chest. “I do.”

“At least you have your teammates here. They’re really nice.”

“After today’s loss, I doubt any of them want to be on the same team as me.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of a team? To be together when you lose?”

Now she sounds like Coach.

Before I have a chance to answer, a ruckus blares from behind the door of the common room. Daphne’s ears perk up.I yank the orange blanket off of my shoulders and toss the pillow onto the sofa, quickly sliding back into my leather jacket.

A muffled shout seeps into the common room. “Who closed the door?”

“Yay! The rescue crew has arrived.” She stands. “We’re in here!”

“Daphne? Is that you?” A large bang slams against the door. “We’ll get you out.”

I sober at the realization that our moment together is over. As she walks past me, I reach out and gently lock my fingers around her wrist. Those blue-green eyes glance over her shoulder at me.What a fucking sight for sore eyes.

“I’ll slip my number under your door,” I say. “Plan on next Monday at three?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She lifts the corner of her lip at me, and I let go of her.

The door slams open, and half of my teammates rush in.

“Hastings?” Okafor’s voice snaps me to attention.

“What were you two doing in here?” Mohamed’s eyes scan the pinball machine, the blankets on the couch, and the television.

“Cameron asked for a knitting lesson,” she teases.

“Are you going to help with the auction for Femi?” Okafor chimes in. A pang of jealousy hits me—not the romantic kind, but the kind that comes from seeing the ease with which she’s bonded with my teammates. I feel like a kid in a sandbox, wanting to be part of their friendship.

“She meant spiders.” I clear my throat. “I was helping Daphne prepare for another spider emergency.”

“Another spider?” Gustafsson cries, his voice an octave higher than usual. I grin at the hulking footballer, who could probably bench-press a car, quivering at the thought of a tiny arachnid. “I can’t handle those things, man. They’re like tiny, creepy ninjas.”

I nod at Daphne before pushing past them. “Don’t worry, Gustafsson, you can leave the spider battles to me.”

The guys stare at me in disbelief. I slip upstairs, listening to the chatter and laughter pouring out of the common room. For the first time in months, their liveliness doesn’t sting. When I step inside my apartment, I catch my faint smile in the window reflection. Ideas for things to do with my new friends start tumbling around in my mind.

My heart races, and my palms sweat. I might have a chance, after all this time, to not just exist, but to try and live again.

Cameron

Need a nice London spot for a Monday afternoon.

Where should I go?

No press. No phones.

Brooklyn

Cam has finally entered the chat!

After a long hiatus……………

Cameron

Been busy.

Mom

Are you going on a date?

Give me a call this week. Dad and I miss your face!

Dante

Let’s not jump to conclusions, perhaps Cameron’s simply attempting to take himself out.

Cameron

Nvm.

Brooklyn

We’re kidding

But how nice are we talking? Dinner? Cocktails? An activity? A show?

I have so many questions

Dante

You’re in luck, brother. An old friend of mine owns a private botanical garden on the outskirts of London. I can overnight you the key.

Cameron

A key?

Who’s the friend?

Brooklyn

Fancyyyyy

Dante

Klaus is a good guy, don’t worry. He and his wife bought it from a minor lord last year. The place is very exclusive and private.

Frankie

sry was on the track. don’t take her to rise, got food poisoning there. not sexy for first date

if taking the ferrari, DO NOT bring food in it.

Alec

how are you handling this recent loss?

Cameron

Fine.

Ezra

Nice save in the last 10 mins of the game:)

Brooklyn

Season going better than Overton?

Made any new friends?

Cameron

Mail the key, Dante. Thx. Gtg.

Brooklyn

Don’t ghost again!!!!!