35. Cameron

Chapter 35

Cameron

January 13

Influencer Daphne Quinn Knits a New Narrative on Cyberbullying Awareness

“Hastings!” Coach yells, stopping me on my way out of the locker room. “Come into my office for a second.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you guys in the parking lot,” I call out to my defensive line.

“Don’t keep him for too long; he challenged me to a Mortal Kombat battle.” Omar tilts his head, pointing to me.

“It’ll be the quickest fifty pounds you ever lost.” I scoff before following Coach to his office. “Hey,” I say, sitting in the chair opposite his desk.

“That new play you collaborated on with Sven in practice today is exactly what Ivan and I have been looking for.” Coach shoots me a toothy smile. “Great job utilizing his strengths.”

I can only nod. “Trying to work with the team.”

We came up with the play last week by rewatching the Parkside City match together. As much as I’ve fucking hated sitting on the bench, at least now I can watch tapes and be objective about my teammates instead of mentally rewinding each of my fuckups.

Today, we executed a new play together. Tamu pushed forward, with Omar and Ibrahim closing in. He flashed his left pinky upward—the signal we made up. Jung got into position, and Sven readied for backup. Following my lead, Sven intercepted the ball with a header, sending it to Jung, who navigated it to midfield.

Another good practice in the books.

“You’ve shown good initiative over the last two weeks. Team says you’ve been warming up with them, figuratively and literally.” He laughs. “How do you think it’s going?” He stares at me, tapping his fingers over his desk.

My insides twist. I’m realizing that this guy is just genuinely nice, however much his constant grin freaks me out.

I suck in a breath, knowing my two-word answers and grunts won’t cut it anymore. “Good. Being benched reminded me what I have to lose—not just my place on this team, but my love for the game.”

Coach stands, leans over his desk, and clasps his hand on my shoulder. “There it is. The Hastings spark I glimpsed when you played in LA. That’s how I know you’re ready to start against Riverton tomorrow.”

I clench my fist. Fuck yeah . “I won’t let the club down.” I stand to shake his hand, but then he gives me a cocky grin and holds up his other arm like he wants to hug me.

Oh, what the hell?

I hug my coach for the first time since that last championship game in LA. “I’m proud of you, Cameron.”

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” I say, pulling away.

Overton has climbed the table. Last year’s champions, Parkside City, are falling behind. Right now, we’re sitting in the seventh spot. There are twenty games left this season. If we win at least sixteen of those, there’s a chance—the smallest chance—we could snag the championship. Every match from here on will be a battle, and Lyndhurst needs to bring our A-game for every. Single. One.

For the first time this season, I can feel the cold metal of the trophy in my hands. Hear the shouts in the stadium, the roar of fans pouring onto the pitch like a damn flood. The purple and white confetti raining from the sky.

One hundred and thirty-four days.

We can still win.

I leave Coach’s office, pull out my phone, and open the neglected text chain with my Los Angeles team.

Cameron

How do you guys feel about coming to the final Lyndhurst match in May?

#8 Dynamo Diego Rivera

FUCK YEAH!

#4 Octo Ollie Bennett

Can’t wait 2 fucking celebrate when ur holding that trophy bro

Cameron

Let me know who can make it. I’ll organize your tickets.

Leaving the stadium, I’m immediately overwhelmed by flashing lights.

“Hastings, when do you think you’ll be back on the field again?” a voice shouts.

Fucking hell. I throw my hand up in front of my face, propelling myself into the media circus. Microphones and cameras line my path. The reporters stick to me like gnats.

“Is this the end of your legacy?”

“How do you feel about the anniversary of your livestream next month?”

My nerves explode, and the high I felt moments ago crashes. It’s like being caught in an earthquake, each flash and question jolting me. For the past month, I’ve been tormenting myself, each moment of peace overshadowed by intrusive thoughts that scream that no matter how hard I try to fix things, I’ll just end up losing it all again. The reporters’ voices amplify my fears a hundredfold.

“No comment,” I say, inhaling deep breaths.

“How are you handling being benched?”

“Are you going to throw in the towel at your prime?”

“What toll is this taking on your personal life?”

My heart races faster. I shield my face with my jacket, trying to block them out.

“Give him some space!” a familiar voice shouts.

Another one follows. “Back off!”

Jung, Omar, and Sven surround me, ushering me to my car.

“Meet you there,” Sven says, closing my door and yelling at the media to back up. I’m mad I didn’t give these men a chance sooner.

Ten minutes later, I enter the arcade next door to the Lion’s Lodge. The sounds of clinking coins fill the old, musty place. Most of the team is already here. Pitchers of beer and pint glasses clutter the large wooden table in the center of the place.

“Those knobheads never stop. Had to sprint to my car. Didn’t have time to warn you,” Ivan says, approaching me and clapping me on the back. “You all right?”

I nod, and my words stick in my throat like they always do when the spotlight burns too brightly. “Yeah,” I assure him.

“Spoke to Coach today. Glad you’re starting tomorrow.”

“Not mad that you’re sitting out?” I scan Ivan’s face, and a whisper of panic brushes down my neck.

“No, my knee’s been giving me hell.” He waves his hand at me, looking genuinely relieved. “I’m glad to see you’re fitting in with the team. Knew you’d come around.”

For once, it doesn’t sound patronizing. It’s nice to know someone had faith in me. “Had to sort out my priorities.”

“Good,” he says. Then he pauses as if he’s holding back something important.

I scan the arcade, spotting Omar over at Mortal Kombat already. “Are we good?” I ask.

“Have you thought more about reporting Rossi to the Football Federation?” Ivan prods. “If not him, you’ve got solid evidence against Charlie.”

I grit my teeth, recoiling. Going public with the livestream business is a nonstarter. One accusation leads to another. If there’s a case against Charlie, the media will be all over me even more.

“Not worth it.”

“I get that coming forward isn’t easy,” he says, his tone serious. “But it’s important to make sure that kind of misconduct doesn’t happen again.”

Maybe he’s right, but I don’t want to be a martyr. The claims will be dismissed as exaggerated, and I’ll be left alone to deal with the fallout. I can’t handle the possibility of reliving that nightmare.

“I hear you,” I mutter, shrugging like I couldn’t care less, even though my insides are twisting. “But I’m not gonna be the poster boy for this. The game’s brutal, and the media’s worse. I have other people to think about.” Daphne’s been out there, making waves about cyberbullying and gaining traction for her retreat. The last thing she needs is to be dragged back into my mess.

Ivan looks unimpressed. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”

“Hastings, let’s go!” Omar shouts, shaking a cup full of coins at me, offering me an escape from this conversation.

“Thanks, Ivan. Appreciate it,” I say, walking off.

Life is finally improving. My team and I are getting along, things with Daphne are amazing, and I have a shot at winning the trophy again. I don’t want to jeopardize all of that. Let the midfielders and strikers chase the glory. As the goalkeeper, my job is to keep the ball out of the net and focus. That’s where I’ll stay, right where things make sense.

“Ready to lose some money?” I sidle up next to Omar, who’s already loading Mortal Kombat II with coins, his grin radiating an overconfidence that’s disgustingly infectious.

“You wish.” He nudges my shoulder.

At least for the length of this tournament against Omar, my brain will be quiet.

The game starts with its nostalgic intro, the music blasting louder than a heavy metal concert. The roster of fighters appears in all their pixelated glory: Sub-Zero, Scorpion, Raiden, and more. I pick Johnny Cage with his signature sunglasses, and the battle begins.

Thirty minutes later, I’m ahead by two wins. Omar’s not one to give up easily, though. He picks Liu Kang, determined to make a comeback. The arcade around us is a cacophony of flashing lights and electronic beeps, the smell of popcorn and soda filling the air, reminding me of her.

“Come on, Johnny, don’t fail me now,” I mutter, fingers flying over the buttons.

Omar grunts, his eyes never leaving the screen. “I’m going to beat you this time.”

Our characters clash, trading blows and special moves. The tension rises as our health bars dwindle.

Finally, with a well-timed shadow kick, I land the final blow. “Yes!” I shout, throwing my hands up in victory.

Omar laughs, shaking his head. “Go again!”

“You enjoy losing, don’t you?”

“I’m Scorpion this time.” He feeds more coins into the machine. As the game loads, I sip my seltzer, but an unexpected, sickly sweetness floods my mouth. Instead of swallowing, I perform an involuntary, over-the-top spit take, sending the liquid cascading down my black tee.

“What the hell?” I mutter, glaring daggers at Omar.

“Oi! That was my cosmo twist.”

“What was the twist?” I ask, horror creeping into my voice.

“No vodka, extra syrup.”

I gag, shaking my head. “I’m texting Daphne to bring me a change of clothes.”

Knowing she’s likely prepping for her livestream in a few hours, I quickly type out a message.

Cameron

Any chance you can please bring one of my t-shirts down to the arcade?

Duck

Arcade!? Yes. I’ll be down in a minute.

Thank God.

Moments later, Daphne bursts through the doors.

“Who’s ready to rumble?” Her voice booms across the dimly lit, neon-hued arcade, shattering my concentration on the fight. She skips over, wearing that thigh-length sweater that makes her look like a pair of perfect legs wrapped in knitted yarn. She’s carrying a flower-print crochet bag. A sense of calm overcomes me.

The team erupts in cheers at her arrival. “Daphne! Daphne! Daphne!”

Her hair glows and twirls as she does a dramatic spin and bows before making her way to me. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, a mix of adrenaline from the game and the excitement of seeing her.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Omar challenges.

Well, I’m not about to lose in front of my girl.

“You wish,” I mutter, refocusing on the screen.

“Come on, guys, let’s see some action!” Daphne shouts. Her enthusiasm is infectious as she stands next to me, her presence a bright spot amid the sensory overload. My thumbs work in overdrive as Johnny Cage trades brutal blows with Scorpion.

“Finish him!” echoes in the background.

“I got the goods,” she whispers conspiratorially into my ear. The smell of vanilla fills my senses, distracting me.

“Thanks,” I say, leaning over to kiss her—and losing the game in the process.

“Fatality!” screams the game as Scorpion delivers the final blow to Johnny Cage. Everyone around us yells and cheers, but all I can focus on is her. Worth it.

“You’re such a sap.” Omar cackles, slapping my back. I shoot him a glare.

“Shut up, Omar. Let’s go again. Load it up.”

As Omar shoves more coins into the machine, I yank off my tee and grab the shirt Daphne brought me without looking. When I pull it on, the room erupts into laughter. I glance at Daphne and see her doubled over, barely holding back her giggles.

“Nice shirt, man! Where’d you get it, the Big Balls Emporium?” Ibrahim calls out.

“Hey, does that come in my size?” Sven yells.

What now?

I look down at the tee, which reads, I Like Big Balls and I Cannot Lie in yarn letters, with a skein right in the middle.

“Are you serious?” I scold as I attempt to keep a straight face.

“It was all I could find on such short notice!” she says, failing to suppress the dimples forming in her cheeks.

I roll my eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I lean down toward her, and her hot breath hits my neck. I’ve been practically living at her place and have a dresser drawer full of clothes there.

“I’m pretty sure I had a couple more shirts at your place.”

She flashes her innocent Bambie eyes. “Guess they were in the laundry.”

“I dry-clean them,” I counter, narrowing my eyes.

“Who dry-cleans T-shirts?” She scrunches her nose, leaning her body into the corner of the arcade machine. I love being this close to her with people around.

“They come out extra crispy that way,” I say, pretending to be defensive but failing miserably.

“My particular man.” She giggles and tiptoes up to kiss me before running her hand over the wording across my chest. “I think it looks adorable on you.”

“Of course you do,” I grumble.

She bites her bottom lip, tilting her head in a ridiculously adorable way. “You’re just pretending to be mad, but I can see right through the fact that you’ve been dying to borrow one of these.”

“Like you’ve been dying to borrow my earring?”

“Aye aye, captain!”

I cup my hand around her lower back and growl into her ear, “Don’t think you’re getting away with this. I’ll make you pay for it later.”

She presses her body into mine. “Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely,” I murmur, letting my hand slide down to her waist. “Just wait until we’re alone. I’ll make sure you lose track of every stitch.”

“Again?” She shivers, her breath catching. “I look forward to it.”

I pull her in for another kiss, the arcade fading away as I lose myself in her. “That was for good luck.”

“You don’t need it,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“You two are disgustingly cute.” Omar is propped up on his elbow on the other side of the machine, staring at us. Sven’s head bobbles between us with a smile on his face. “Now I can see why you bought a scarf from the Femi auction for ten thousand pounds.”

“What?” Daphne gasps loudly. “You never told me that.”

I never mentioned the scarf to her because of what happened with the paparazzi the next day. I keep it tucked away in my closet. Supporting her and the team in any way I could felt like the least I could do at the time.

“It’s cold out. Needed to keep my neck warm.” I shrug. Her face lights up, and a wave of happiness washes over me. I love seeing her happy. Then I turn to Omar. “All right, let’s do this,” I say, cracking my knuckles and taking my position.

Daphne stands beside me and claps. “Get ’em, Goose!”

I dive into the game, my focus sharper than ever. I’ve learned that winning is lackluster in comparison to proving to Daphne that I’m worth rooting for. The arcade buzzes around us, but all I hear is her voice.