42. Cameron

Chapter 42

Cameron

Daphne’s gone.

Because of me.

I’ve been holed up in my apartment the past two nights, too afraid of being around her, of seeing her face, of wishing I could take back everything I said and beg for another chance.

Which turned out to be pointless, because when I went to practice today, Sven and Omar asked me why Daphne left. She texted them this morning, saying she was heading back to California. She said she loved London and wanted to stay, but she left because of what I did to us.

I never wanted this to happen, but maybe if we’re five thousand miles apart, I can’t ruin her life any more than I already have. Maybe it’s for the best. I can finally learn to stand on my own. The reminder of how lonely I felt when I was trying to do just that floats to my mind. I shudder at the thought and force my attention back on the road.

Rain pounds the windshield of my Stradale as I speed between Royal Albert and Royal Victoria Docks, engine roaring, wipers struggling with the downpour. My grip on the black leather steering wheel burns my palm.

Cameron Pathetic Hastings.

How could I have ignored my own fucking unresolved issues for so long? I did the right thing by walking away from her.

The thought doesn’t feel convincing, but I’m certain it’s true.

The radio crackles to life, a familiar melody cutting through the static as the streets blur past.

You’ll never be good enough. Be better.

The ghostly piano melody for “Bring Me to Life” sends chills down my spine before it’s drowned out by the crash of guitar riffs, the thunder of drums, and the scream of strings.

Save me from the nothing I’ve become.

I slam my hand on the dash as the car skids on a slick patch of water in the road. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Adrenaline spikes, ramming my heart against my ribs. I’m pushing too hard, driving too fast, but I can’t slow down. It’s like speed could somehow outpace the memories, outrun the regret.

But they’re always there, she’s always there, in the rearview mirror, no matter how fast I go.

The radio volume climbs as my speed picks up. Damn it. I relax my neck and flex my fingers, seeking control. Then I latch on to the lyrics.

“Wake me up inside!” I yell along with the tune. My teammates were right. I’m just like a fucking moody teenager. My hands beat a relentless rhythm on the steering wheel.

I glance at the center console and spot a strand of purple hair, a stark contrast against the dark interior. She’s everywhere. I swipe at the strand, feeling its silkiness between my fingers.

The hollow ache inside me cracks open. My nose tingles, my eyes sting.

In a futile attempt to hold back the onslaught of emotion, I slam my palm against my face. Too late. One more flaw she discovered in me, turning me into some pathetic, weeping bastard.

Outside, the rain intensifies, the roads becoming rivers. I should ease off the accelerator, but I don’t give a damn.

Whatever the future holds, I’ve earned it. The failure, the loss, the gaping void where she once fit perfectly.

What if this was a mistake? What if, in losing her, there won’t be any saving me?

I arrive at the Lion’s Lodge with barely a gallon of gas left. The rain is still relentless as I run upstairs and hover in front of her door. The last place I saw her.

Fucking hell. At least there’s no temptation to knock, knowing she’s far away from here.

I unlock my apartment, yank my jacket off, and toss the leather onto the couch. As I do, something on the inside sleeve catches my eye.

Curious, I run my fingertips over a small black heart embroidered into the leather. How did I not notice this before? It’s a tiny, intricate detail, almost like a secret message sewn into the fabric.

Daphne.

Heartache grips me as I bundle up my jacket in my fist. I look up and spot the kitchen counter, cluttered with the checkered coasters and potholders she knitted for me. My gaze drifts over to the stack of blankets piled next to the couch, each one a reminder of her warmth and care.

I can’t breathe. I dash to my bedroom, and mocking me from my bed is the tiny football she gifted me at Christmas. It’s too hot in here. I pull off my sweater and go to the closet, searching for a new shirt. Wedged between my clothes and kits is the red sweater she knitted. My vision blurs as I tear through my things, finding her everywhere—hearts stitched into sleeves, the scarf I bought at Femi’s auction, black and charcoal sweaters.

I drop to the floor, clutching the red sweater.

I rake my hands through my hair, realizing I wrecked the best thing in my life because of my stupid fears. She always treated me with kindness and patience, and I repaid her by walking out on her without ever admitting how broken I truly am. I relied on her to be the sun in every single day of my life. Even with my teammates helping me rediscover myself, I haven’t been able to silence the voices gnawing at my mind. The brief moments of peace I got were because she was near.

The voices in my head are telling me I’m pathetic. Shouting at me about the things I don’t deserve.

Daphne doesn’t need a person who’s haunted by the ghosts of his past, who hasn’t been able to move forward. And besides, how can I achieve greatness on the pitch when I can barely breathe in my own apartment?

I kept my mouth shut while tabloids spread nonsense. I let Rossi relentlessly tell me I’m worthless instead of standing up for myself. I let Charlie get away with hurting me because I was too afraid of letting him have that power over me. The years at Overton and the livestream leak have been eating at me, poisoning the best thing in my life. I could’ve taken control of the story, reported it to the Football Federation. Instead, I acted like a coward.

I ran from her like a coward.

My mistakes pile up like a bad car wreck. Every moment I chose silence over courage, every time I forewent being soft to fake being tough.

I have to make myself right, like I promised. Not just for the game I’ve dedicated my life to, but to ever have a chance at getting Daphne back. I have to prove to her that I can be who she needs me to be.

I want to be the man I deserve to be.

Now that I’m alone, the weight of my actions hits me like a freight train.

I need help. Serious help. Someone to talk to. My past trauma can’t keep holding me back. Even if Daphne and I are done, I owe it to myself to stop prioritizing saves on the field and start saving myself.

It’s time for me to find a bottom I can bounce off of.

Cameron Underdog Hastings.

Now that feels like something very familiar.

Cameron

Hey.

Do you have a therapist you can recommend? I know you did a lot of research for yours.

Brooklyn

Of course, I have just the one!!

Are you alright?

Jenny Therapist Contact

Cameron

Trying to be.

Brooklyn

:( Okay

I’m on a plane heading to a meet but I’ll call you after!!

What’s going on?

Cameron

Broke it off with Daphne.

Brooklyn

What?!??? Why?

Cameron

Need to get better.

Brooklyn

Cam…

We’ll chat more tonight. I’m proud of you for reaching out. This is a big step and I’m here for you!!!!

Cameron

Shouldn’t have kept you at arms length for this long.

Sorry.

Brooklyn

I get it. We all do 3

Everything will be alright…I’m sure of it.

Cameron

Thanks.