41. Cameron

Chapter 41

Cameron

March 8

Lyndhurst FC Blaze to Victory: Oakwood United Win Marks Tenth Straight!

Cameron

Stopped by the complex. Forgot Jung’s gift.

See you soon.

Duck

Okay! xo

Hurry though, or you’ll miss the flash mob dance Bea and I just choreographed.

Cameron

And miss you shaking that pretty ass around?

Wouldn’t dare.

Duck

Especially since I wore the low-back sweater dress that didn’t block properly.

Dangerously short.

Cameron

Killing me.

Duck

Might need your big, strong hands to block any unwanted flashes. ;)

Cameron

Good time to remind everyone on the team that I can throw a fucking punch.

Duck

Why is that doing it for me?

In all seriousness, no violence.

Cameron

In all non-seriousness?

Duck

I’ll save the move where I raise my hands in the air for when you’re here.

See you soon. xxxxx

Cameron

x

I flick on the lights in Daphne’s apartment, which has felt more and more like home to me over the past two months. The soft glow illuminates the fresh bouquet of flowers, a framed photo of Daphne and me snowshoeing in Finland, and a half-eaten box of pastries on the kitchen counter. My eyes land on the purple gift bag meant for Jung when my phone vibrates again.

I’m half expecting a sneak peek of my girl’s dance routine or a snapshot of her in that sexy sweater dress. But instead, it’s a message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number

rumors goin around ur tryin to get me suspended…….

well i got smthn to say about u

Article From The Stone Times - The Talk of The Town Section

How the fuck did Charlie get this number?

I still haven’t pressed charges with the Football Federation. Even though I detest causing a scene, I went out of my way to gather evidence and secure the footage. We’ve got a video of him recording me inside the Overton locker rooms, and the security guard’s ready to give a statement. If I pushed it, I could make a case. But the truth is, I don’t want to go up against Charlie. The thought of it makes my chest ache, like there’s a weight I can’t shake off.

I take a breath. I should ignore the message and head to Ivan’s for Jung’s birthday, but curiosity gnaws at me, and I click the link.

March 10

Daphne Quinn’s Charitable Heart Saves Lyndhurst FC Keeper, Cameron Hastings

Cameron Hastings hasn’t just had a rough start at Lyndhurst FC this Premier League season; he’s had a disastrous year. After the humiliating nude livestream he himself leaked last March and a forced benching mid-season, he’s been desperately trying to get his act together. Thankfully, Lyndhurst FC has been on a tear as of late. We can’t help but question how much of that has to do with the keeper’s skillset.

The footballer was linked to knitting influencer Daphne Quinn nearly five months ago. Rumors had died down, but the pair have recently been sighted clubbing around London and at an airport in Finland.

So who is this woman mending Cameron Hastings’s heart? Is she the reason for his sudden form? And, most of all, what happens to Lyndhurst when she inevitably leaves him?

She’s not just about yarn and needles. Here she is pictured at UCSF Medical Center in San Francisco after donating over one thousand beanies! In November, she spearheaded an auction for Lyndhurst’s beloved groundskeeper, and she hosted a fabulous mental health awareness knitting retreat last weekend, raising a whopping fifty thousand pounds for an anti-cyberbullying charity.

Hastings’s former teammate, Charlie Lewis, stated in an interview yesterday that Hastings has always been “a troubled, broken man” who likes the media to see him as a victim.

The public can’t help but question if the keeper’s recent success is due to his new fling breathing life back into his game. Can her charitable heart continue to help him turn over a new leaf? As the last two months of the season unfold, all eyes will be glued to this compelling duo.

Next to the article is a photograph of Daphne’s beaming face beside a blurred screenshot of me in the shower from last year’s fucking livestream.

Hundreds of thousands of people are devouring this article.

My vision starts to swim. Every one of my deepest fears is laid bare. Daphne Quinn, too good for Cameron Hastings. The catalyst for his sudden turnaround.

What will happen to me if she leaves?

My fingers clench around the phone, the device practically groaning under the strain. I read the article again and again and again until the words start to echo in my mind.

This is the truth, isn’t it? Beneath this relationship lies a broken man. What was I thinking letting Daphne treat me like I wasn’t? How could I ever pretend I’m not?

I knew, deep down, that being with me would only tarnish her image. Future headlines play out in my mind: Cameron Hastings Flounders as Another Influencer Leaves Him. Cameron Hastings Surrenders Another Girlfriend. Each imaginary article feels like a dagger to my heart.

I’m a complete fool for ever thinking I deserved her. For believing our relationship had a chance. Everyone sees me for what I am—broken. My heart twists in anguish, a vise tightening around my chest. What if every moment we shared was built on me being someone I’m not? Daphne deserves the world, and all I’ve ever brought anyone is darkness. A trail of failures that shadows my every step.

I try to read the article again, but I can barely make it past the first few lines.

“Fuckkkkk!” The word rips from my throat.

I wasn’t strong enough to keep the paparazzi from ruining my life.

Couldn’t put an end to their tabloid nonsense after all this time.

I hate that I can’t be the person Daphne deserves.

I hate…me.

The truth I’ve been dodging all year has been staring me in the face. The livestream, that mess at Overton, Charlie’s betrayal, even Mal Kelly’s absurd press parade—each one chiseled away at me, reshaped who I am.

I’m not the old Cam, no matter how desperately I wish I could be when I’m with Daphne. That Cam, the one who’d have truly earned the right to be with her, is long gone.

The room feels like it’s closing in on me. The walls seem to tilt, and I collapse onto the couch, clutching my head in an attempt to quiet the storm of thoughts. But they only grow louder, more insistent.

Pathetic, Hastings. Rossi’s voice is now my own, bouncing around my skull with unrelenting force.

Time becomes meaningless—minutes, hours, who knows—until the front door creaks open.

“Cameron?” Daphne’s voice calls out. No . She can’t see me like this.

“I thought you were at Bea’s?” I spring up from the couch, my voice harsher than intended.

“I hopped in the car the moment I saw the article.” She takes a cautious step back, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?”

“I need to leave,” I mumble, my voice barely audible. I avoid her eyes as I head for the door. I can’t face her right now. I’m not strong enough to figure this out.

“Wait. That story was awful,” she says, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. I flinch away. “None of it is true. You know that, right? The reporters are just doing their job. It’s how they make a living.”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep the anger swelling in my chest from spilling over onto the one person who’s always been there for me. “Daphne.” My chest tightens. “I—I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

This is the only way. The only way to keep her safe from my mess.

“Yeah, those reporters are absolute jerks!” Sourness churns in my gut. She takes two small steps forward, approaching me like I’m a stray cat.

I look away, unsure if I can say what needs to be said. “You don’t understand.” My fingers pick at my bleeding cuticles.

At first, I thought she was just a distraction. A beautiful, maddening, way-too-good-for-me distraction. But Daphne’s become something else entirely—a mirror that reflects the man I’m not. A man who would worship and adore a woman like her. Who would succeed on his own two feet. Who wouldn’t have his shame attached to her accomplishments. Who wouldn’t need to save his relationship with his own team. Who wouldn’t need her to praise him into usefulness on the pitch.

She shouldn’t have to carry the weight of my burdens. Daphne deserves someone whole, someone who isn’t a work in progress.

“You deserve someone who isn’t a project, Daphne.”

“Everyone’s a project, aren’t they?” she murmurs, her thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t even realize had fallen. Her eyes are glassy and filled with a sorrow that cuts me deeper than any words ever could. I hate that I’m the one causing her pain again, but I should’ve never let it get to this point.

“You’re not listening,” I say, my voice rough. “I can’t be the man you need.”

“What does that even mean?”

“This whole year, all I’ve brought into your life is chaos. The tabloids, the hateful comments. You had to step away from what mattered to you because of me.” The words are a bitter pill I can’t seem to swallow. She’s too good, too kind, too perfect. “I can’t keep asking you to clean up my messes. I can’t rely on you to be the only source of happiness in my life. Because you do make me happy, Daphne. So incredibly happy. You’ve brought color and joy into my world, but without you, I don’t even know who I am. And I can’t do that to you. I need—” The words feel like shards of glass in my throat. “I need to figure things out on my own. I need to fix myself.”

“Hey, wait a minute! Don’t I get a vote here? Isn’t it up to me if I want you, flaws and all, even if you think you need a major renovation?” She tries to sound stern, but her voice wobbles.

I take a step back, my eyes tracing every detail of her face. “I’ve messed up with you once before. Twice, if you count me leaving after that first night. I can’t start something real with you until I’m a man you can be proud of.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“We’re done.”

“Can’t we talk about this?”

My heart clenches painfully. “I can’t say something I’ll regret.”

I turn away, my feet heavy. Each step feels like I’m abandoning the only anchor I’ve ever had. She’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like I have a place in this world, and yet here I am, walking away from the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But somewhere deep inside, I hope that one day I will be the partner she deserves.