43. Cameron

Chapter 43

Cameron

March 27

Lyndhurst FC’s Winning Streak Has Ended with Another Draw Against Northwood City

Sweat sears my face as I pummel the treadmill’s speed button.

My body revolts, every muscle screaming for mercy, lungs clawing for air like a drowning man. Sleep has become a stranger these past three weeks, and nothing is helping. Each evening blends into the next, a never-ending cycle of regret and longing.

It’s not just the physical exhaustion beating me down; it’s the heartache. I see her in my dreams and feel her absence in every corner of my life. I miss her so much.

Every step on this treadmill feels like a step away from the life I could have had with her.

Jenny, the therapist I started seeing three weeks ago—on Brooklyn’s recommendation—has made me expose the uncomfortable by discussing personal and painful experiences. We began with my move to the UK and how I started to sever ties with my family and LA team shortly after. Begrudgingly, I’ve been logging in twice a week for our virtual sessions.

Daphne always emphasized the importance of a support system, and she was right. Talking to someone with no preconceived opinions about me has been helpful.

Therapy has been revealing, though uncomfortable. The symptoms I’m experiencing—insomnia, hypervigilance, and emotional numbness—are consistent with Complex PTSD. Hearing that was tough, but it made sense. The nightmares, constant dread, and inability to connect with others are deeper wounds, not just stress. Jenny has been guiding me to confront these feelings rather than bury them. It’s a slow process, but each session feels like peeling back layers of scar tissue. Finally putting a name to what I’m experiencing brings a strange sort of comfort. It means there’s a path to recovery, even if it’s a long one. I feel like I’m walking two steps forward and one step back every day. There’s no progression without regression , Jenny always reminds me.

It’s exhausting.

A long, lonely road.

“Cameron.” A voice slices through the relentless rhythm pounding in my ears. My vision flickers, but I’m unyielding, forcing the speed, demanding more from my drained body. I can be better. “Cameron!” Ivan’s shout stabs through the fog.

My head shakes in refusal. With an exasperated sigh, he yanks the treadmill’s cord from its socket. The belt grinds to a jarring halt, and I rip off my headphones.

“What?” I bark, my breaths jagged. The Lyndhurst gym reverberates with my outburst, filled only with the defensive line and our captain. All of their eyes are trained on me.

“You were going so hard, you were going to hurt yourself,” Ivan declares, handing me a towel.

I glance at my heart rate monitor. 185 bpm . Fuck . “My mind’s elsewhere.”

“We noticed,” Sven says with a frown.

“We’ve got nine matches left,” Tamu reminds me. “We can’t afford another draw. Not when Lyndhurst has a shot at victory for the first time in ten years.”

“I know.” The memory of that draw-deciding goal is still fresh. The sting of the ball on my gloves, the sinking feeling as it sailed past. The echo of my mistake is a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.

Jung tries to ease the tension. “You wanna talk about it?”

They’re trying to help, but their words just scrape over my raw wounds.

Noise. All of it is noise. A dull roar in the back of my mind.

All I see is purple. Everywhere. In our uniforms, in our stadium seats, anytime I close my eyes.

I can’t bring myself to reach out to her. Every time I think about it, I freeze, mulling over the right words, trying to ensure I won’t bolt again. Do I even deserve her forgiveness? I keep my back turned, masking my face. They can’t see how much this is tearing me apart.

“I’m in a bad place,” I admit.

My defense line flanks me, and I collapse onto the nearby bench.

“What’s going on?” Tamu asks.

My stomach twists. I feel broken in front of them, but they’re all I got. Besides my family, they’re the ones who’ve been with me through everything. “I fucked it up with Daphne.”

“She’s in love with you. Don’t be a muppet,” Omar says.

“Whatever happened can be fixed,” Jung suggests.

Right here, in front of my team, I feel myself unravel. My face sinks into my hands, the weight of everything pressing down as I struggle to keep it together.

“The man she thought she had was not one I could be.” I let the words escape from my mouth. “I’ve been working on myself and trying to make things right, but I’m scared it won’t be enough. Some part of me is afraid that I don’t deserve her.”

Ivan sits beside me. “Cameron, I’ve been married a long time, and to this day I am still trying to reach my wife’s level. If you feel like you don’t deserve Daphne, you have to work that out for yourself. That’s what’s blocking you both from being happy.”

“Everything that happened at Overton. Rossi’s…abuse. What Charlie did. I hadn’t realized how much it broke me. It shattered any sense of self I had. It destroyed me. And instead of fixing it, instead of being a man and working on things with her, I pushed Daphne away.”

“There are many ways to be a man,” Ivan says, his voice steady and firm.

It’s hard to drown out the months of negative thoughts that have been on repeat in my head. It’s not easy to just flip a switch and believe I’m enough.

Tamu is the first to break the silence. “There’s this idea that men have to be tough, that showing emotion is a sign of weakness.” His tone is serious but soft. “It’s what makes us bottle things up and have heart attacks at forty instead of ever asking for help. It’s what made you think you had to deal with what happened at Overton on your own.”

Ivan nods. “We’ve all been there. Feeling like we have to be invincible, that we can’t show vulnerability. But that’s bullshit. Being a man isn’t about being tough all the time. It’s about being honest and being able to admit when you’re hurt and when you need help.”

“You’ve been through hell, Cameron. No one expects you to handle it alone. You said it yourself—you’ve been broken. But that doesn’t make you less of a man. It just makes you human,” Sven says. I look up at my friends.

“Daphne loved the person you are. Whatever you did, certainly there’s a path back.” Jung pats my shoulder.

“She’s already given me my second chance. She may not want anything to do with me after the way I left things.” Guilt and shame tug at each of my nerves. “I don’t know if I can make things right,” I admit.

“We never leave a lion behind, remember?”

Omar bumps his sneakers against mine. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“You’ll find your way to being the man you want to be.” Ivan nods. “You know, speaking out about things like this is important. Especially in sports. It’s something Daphne would have pushed for. Just a thought, but maybe it’s something to consider.”

I nod, taking in their words.

“I think I’m ready to press charges against Charlie,” I admit, my voice steadier than I feel.

It’s the next step.

Ivan’s eyebrows lift, a flicker of surprise breaking his usual gruff demeanor. “Really?” he asks, a hint of something—pride, maybe?—in his voice. I nod again. “I happen to know someone at the Football Federation,” he says, his tone softening. “They can help speed things up. With the footage of him recording you and the security guard’s testimony, it should be a straightforward case.”

“Fuck yeah,” Omar says.

My heart thrums wildly in my chest.

No more running away.

No more letting fear dictate my life.

The livestream has gnawed at the edges of my sanity for a year. It’s time for justice to be served. Not just for me, but for anyone this might happen to in the future.

My mind flashes with the headlines that will surely be published after I come forward, but I push them aside. I can’t keep letting them have this power over me. It’s the reason I lost Daphne. I have to seize control, even if it’s daunting. There’s no other way I can start to heal, to rebuild.

If there’s a way forward, then there’s also a way toward Daphne. She deserves someone who can face the tabloids. Someone with courage and integrity, not like the coward I’ve been. I need to stop letting my fears and trauma steal my life from me. I need to be brave. For her and for us.

“And, most importantly, if I want to get my girl back,” I say. “I’ll need your help.”

This isn’t just about me anymore; it’s about her knowing I will fight for our future. I still have a shot at becoming the man she thought I was.

I’ll win her back.