29. Cameron

Chapter 29

Cameron

Daphne and I walk along the stone path behind my family’s property, my siblings’ laughter fading with each step. The night sky is heavy with stars. A cool breeze sweeps through, and I shrug off my jacket and place it over her shoulders. Then I wrap my arm around her, drawing her close.

My eyes are heavy, and exhaustion weighs on my muscles.

Even when I’ve managed to sleep this week, it’s only been for a few hours before I wake up covered in sweat from yet another incessant nightmare. I slink out of my childhood bedroom and run this path into the woods for hours. But no distance has been enough to keep my brain from replaying my fuckup with Overton.

But since Daphne arrived a few hours ago, I’ve found a few moments of silence.

I’ve missed her.

She adjusts the collar of my coat, looking up at me. “Do you think your family liked me?”

“Is that even a question?” I raise a brow at her. “Don’t be surprised if you get some adoption papers in the mail.”

Seeing her with my family, fitting in naturally, just confirms my feelings for her. She’s meant to be by my side.

“They also adore you. When you slipped away to the restroom, Frankie told me that if I hurt you, I’d have to answer to her and Dante.”

“They’re harmless,” I assure her. “Just intense.”

She giggles. “I loved them. You seem to be doing a little better than when I last saw you.”

If only she knew what was ripping me up inside.

Are you her new charity case? Is she trying to fix weak little Cameron Hastings?

I shake the thought from my mind.

Be present.

“I’m staying focused.” I attempt to make my tone lighthearted. “This way.” I lead us up the stone stairs to my old stomping grounds. The motion lights flicker on, casting a glow over Daphne’s face and illuminating the lush grass. The pitch is serene. Goalposts stand silent, nets swaying in the cool breeze. I glance over at her awestruck expression. “Here is where I first fell in love with football.”

I don’t tell her that it’s a feeling I’d forgotten until her.

“Time me,” she says.

“What?”

“Time me! I want to see how long it takes me to run to the goal.” Daphne bolts across the field, only to halt a few yards later. “Scratch that. Running is a terrible idea. I don’t do running.” She huffs, bending over.

“Why do you think I chose to be a goalie?” I approach her.

“Because you’re a smart one, Goose.” She rights herself, twirling around with her arms splayed out toward the sky. Her sweater dress hugs her legs in a ridiculously mouthwatering way. “In gym class, I was always the kid walking laps and picking flowers. Or I became target practice during dodgeball.”

“Your school sounds fucking horrible. If I could, I’d make those kids my target practice.”

“If only we had each other back then to beat up our bullies.” She smiles, and I’m glad we have each other now. She follows me to the goalpost, and we lie right below the net. “So,” she says, keeping her eyes on the stars above.

“So?”

“Are we going to talk about the fact that you called me your girlfriend at dinner?”

Fuck. A slip of the tongue, as casual as it felt. I had hoped we’d have a proper conversation about it rather than me blurting it out in front of my family like an idiot.

I turn and look at her, really look at her. She has this uncanny knack of seeing straight into the heart of things.

It’s everything. Her laughter, her kindness, her just being there. She’s created this safe space around me, and for a moment, I want to be vulnerable. A part of me screams that after all my fuckups, I don’t deserve to be happy, but tonight I want to be brave. As brave as Daphne was when she announced she was going to kiss me that first night we spent together.

“You have me,” I mutter, the words feeling as true as the air I breathe. Like they’ve always been a part of me, just waiting for the right moment to be spoken. “You can do whatever you want with that, but you have me.”

She tips her temple to my shoulder and looks up at me. “You have me too.”

“Good.”

She tosses her legs over mine, scooting closer to the grass. The comforting weight of her body eases my nerves. “Maybe when we’re back in London, we can just…continue to spend time together?”

“I’d like that.” I don’t want anything to change between us.

“You know, I’ve fallen in love with my life there the past couple of months. A big part of that is thanks to you.”

My pulse elevates at her insinuation. The consequences of my actions at the Overton game multiply. I could truly lose my spot on the team. All the work I’ve put in, the fact that I’m in my prime, slipped away because I let Charlie’s betrayal get into my head once again.

I want a shot at making things right. I want a real shot at something real with this precious woman beside me.

“Same.” My voice is quiet. I’m dying to tell her that I’m crazy about her, that I’m praying to every god I know to get re-signed to Lyndhurst. But I can’t, because honestly, I’m waiting for the moment she realizes she’s worth more than everything I can try to provide her. So instead, I say, “With the tabloid drama back home, maybe we can just tell the people we’re close to that we’re dating?”

“That feels right to me.”

“And maybe I can spend the night at your place. If you’re okay with me waking up at 4:45 every morning?”

“Are you going to be grumpy if my livestreams go past midnight?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“I like that. Guess that means I need to give you my spare key.” She squeezes me close. “Things are going to be different when we get back.”

The familiar strum of nerves returns, crashing me out of the little bubble we’ve built under the safety of the net. “How so?”

“Well, the last few days, being back home, I realized that I’m glad I took a social media detox. I really needed it to clear my head. I gave those bullies way too much power over me, and I don’t want to do that anymore,” she says, running her hand over my stubble.

“What’s your plan, sweet girl?”

“I don’t want to be scared of being in the public eye. Sure, the ridiculous tabloids brought in a lot of hate, but the Stone Times article about my beanies gave me the boost I needed to start my retreat. So, in a way, the media helped me.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever felt the same way,” I grunt, uneasiness building in my chest. “But I hear where you’re coming from.”

Those around me, from Charlie to Mal, have all benefited from the toxic press. Charlie returned to the starting string. Mal got her Lust Island spot and the chance to be the victim after my livestream hit the news. Everyone seems to be using the tabloids to their advantage, but I have no interest in that. The last thing those vultures need is more of my blood.

“Your family seems to have a good perspective on the whole media circus. The headlines are impossible to run from, and, like you just saw, I can’t run very far.” She nudges me, trying to lighten the mood.

“None of them experienced it the way I have.”

“You’re right. I can’t imagine what those weeks after Charlie’s cruelty felt like,” she says with a trembling lip. For the first time, her understanding feels like pity. Though I’m certain that’s just my fear talking. “And honestly, what happened to you and what I experienced last month has made me realize that I want to use my platform to help people stand up to cyberbullying.”

Daphne Quinn is a saint.

“Has anyone told you how incredible you are? Strong and determined. I’m so proud of you.”

“I like when you say nice things about me.” She chuckles.

I hesitate with the next words because they feel monumental. “I don’t want to hold you back. I want to support you in every way I can, but I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready to return to the limelight after what happened.” The last thing I would want is to have my scandal and shame associated with her well-deserved and impactful success. Maybe, in this way, our worlds don’t mix well.

“Cameron, if you want to keep a low profile, then I’m fine with that.” Her hand finds mine, stopping the picking I didn’t even realize I was doing. “Hopefully, when we get back, the only articles that’ll get published will be about my initiatives and your football.”

She’s right. I can ignore the tabloids again. All that matters is getting back in the game and winning the Premier League. I want to be better for my team, and I want to be better for her.

“Speaking of football, I don’t know if I’ll be able to play for the rest of the season. The last update I got from the club was a text from my agent saying she was talking to Coach, but truthfully, I deserve to sit out.” At Overton, Rossi wouldn’t have hesitated to pull me for weeks. I know I’m a good keeper. I know I can be one of the best, but even still, his constant criticism has been the voice of doubt inside of me.

“Don’t say—”

“No, I do,” I say. “I made selfish moves. I let my feelings get in the way of the match, and now my team can’t trust me to not be impulsive on the field. If I don’t make things right, my career will be over.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is. My team tried with me, and when I started letting them in, I pushed them all away again. They didn’t even look me in the eye during halftime.”

“You just need to talk to them. Once they know what happened at Overton and with Charlie, they won’t hold it against you.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know how, or if they’ll even care.” I sigh, reaching my free hand up and running it over the net above us.

“Don’t write them off,” she advises, her voice soft but firm. “Your past isn’t your identity, not really. It’s the steps you take after. That’s where you truly find yourself.”

I nod. “You’re right.” At this point, I have nothing to lose—well, except my contract, career, and everything I worked my entire life for. “Can I come to your next knitting circle and try to make amends there?”

“I think that’s a good idea. Tamu will be there, and so will your defense.”

Okay. That’s a good place to start. However, I haven’t a clue about the reality TV they watch. “Are you going to be watching Lust Island ?” I cringe. The thought of seeing my ex-situationship on the screen while I attempt to smooth things over with my teammates sounds like hell.

“No, silly. That show has tragically come to an end. The contestant I was rooting for won, Georgia Woods.” She smiles. “We’re watching The Great British Bake Off now. It’s really easy to follow.”

“Okay.” I sigh. “This is going to be hard for me. I’m not great at sharing my feelings.”

“Yeah, and you’re not great at apologizing either,” she teases.

“Hey!” I drop my hand from twirling her hair and tickle her side.

“I’m kidding! Look, from what I’ve seen, you’re definitely capable of opening up. You can start small, and I’ll be there with you. Be honest, and talk from the heart.”

What if they use the livestream against me? Or think I’m lying? What if they think I’m weak? “Maybe I could also get them some gifts. You liked the soft serve machine, so—” I stop, my voice faltering. Doubt gnaws at me.

“Wouldn’t hurt your case.”

I run through the ideas. “A new TV for all of them?”

“Probably needs to be a little more personal than that.” She tilts her chin upward, the light illuminating her neck.

“Right.”

“Show them that you know who they are. It’s not about grand gestures; it’s the small stuff that counts. Show them they matter, that you see them, that you care about their friendship.”

“Um—well, I’ve noticed that Tae-woo…” I start.

“Maybe let’s start with calling them by their first names,” Daphne suggests. “They never call each other by their last names.”

That’s an easy switch. “Jung always has a new pair of sneakers and a ton of designer shit; maybe I could get him a cool pair of kicks?”

“Yes. Perfect!” She nods approvingly. “You know, Sven is really homesick. Maybe get him some treats from Norway that might remind him of home?”

“I can figure out how to import a basket of stuff.”

“Make sure to add a few things in there for me.” She winks.

In a few minutes, we have the rest of the gifts figured out. I’ll talk to Dante and get Omar a VIP membership to the hottest London club. I’ll get Ibrahim tickets to a music festival, maybe Tomorrowland. Tamu collects watches, and I have a great guy in London who services my Rolexes and could probably hook me up.

Hopefully, it’s enough to convince them that I’m showing up in ways that matter. It could be the start of making things right.

“Thank you, Daphne.”

“Of course.” She slinks back into the net, lies on the grass, and reaches back to loop the net through her fingers. The smell of dewy grass makes me feel at home. She makes me feel at home. “You can really be a total sentimental mush, you know?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, you finally took me back to the stars,” she says.

“I have a lot more to show you.”

For months, she’s helped me rediscover feelings I thought I’d lost. Happiness. Genuine, unadulterated happiness. Safety, too. Trust. The most basic things—the smack of the ball against my glove, the electric thrill that zips through the locker room after a win, the taste of my morning protein shakes. Even the quiet walks to practice on crisp London mornings all feel better.

Daphne Quinn has painted my world in vibrant colors, and I’ll be damned if I let it fade again.