“I’m glad you’re here today. I’m glad you showed up, but I’m gonna need you to continue to show up.”
“I understand.”
His brows tick up in silent question.Do you?“You haven’t spoken to Pearce yet.”
The team’s counselor. It wasn’t a question, but I answer anyway. “No.”
“You need to.”
I start to argue, tell Coach I’m fine, but he stops me.
“I’m not asking. You’ve been through a lot these last few years, and I’m not putting you on the field without being 110% sure that you are ready.”
I swallow down the sick feeling in my throat. He doesn’t think I’m ready.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” His tone is the one he uses when we get in our heads after a mistake—missing a block or dropping the pass. I didn’t do that.
What I did is much worse.
I let everything outside of the field become bigger than what I didonthe field.
“I imagine losing both of your parents is hell, and I’m willing to give you all the time you need to sort your head out. But I’m telling you now, if your heart isn’t in the right place, none of this—” he sweeps his hand around his office, encompassing all of his success “—is worth it.”
I clamp my jaw shut, unable to lift my gaze up from where the organ he’s so worried about is splayed out between my Nikes, beat-up and barely working.
“You are one of the most talented athletes I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” he goes on. “But I need you to remember why you love this game. I need you to find the fun in it again. Not what fun you can have because of it, but why you wanted to play in the first place.”
I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip and nod.
“Camden.”
My attention immediately shoots up because he rarely refers to us by our first names. His dark eyes hold mine, and his chin dips, as if he can imbue his words with extra meaning. “You’re not in this alone.”
I clear my throat of the sudden dust there, but my voice still sounds like it’s been through a wood chipper. “Thanks, Coach.”
He stands and offers me his hand, and when I take it, he pulls me into a hug, his other arm banding tightly around me. He doesn’t say anything else, but the way his hand lands heavily against my shoulder blade reminds me of the way my father hugged me, and I’m too overwhelmed with familiarity and grief to let myself accept it, so I push away, sniffing a quick, “See you later.”
“Make that appointment with Pearce,” he calls after me, and I offer a single wave over my head in return.
Having no intention of making that appointment.
But I do let Monica run me ragged for an hour and a half, putting me through the paces before stretching me out while she makes fun of me for whining, busting my balls so much, it makes me feel like maybe things can get back to normal.
By the time I arrive home, I’ve made plans for Valerie to come over for dinner since she’s in town for the night, but I’m not really feeling it. After the short but rough talk with Coach and being reintroduced to shuttle runs and box jumps, I’d rather relax on the couch, but we don’t see each other very often, and I owe my girlfriend some time.
Valerie and I met at a party in Vegas. I don’t even remember what it was for at this point—I think an anniversary of some tequila company. Or maybe somebody’s birthday. All I recall is that she hopped into my limo and had my cock in her mouth before we even stopped at the first red light. Had gotten me off by the time we arrived back at my hotel, so I invited her up.
We’ve been arranging nights together ever since, but between her shooting schedule and my season, it’s rare we spend more than a night or two together, especially because she lives in LA.
When I open the door to the penthouse, I don’t immediately see Paisley or Nadine, but there is some god-awful smell coming from the kitchen. Beyond the mess of dishes in the sink and on the counter, the microwave has been left open, and apparentlyairing out from the burned popcorn, the evidence of which I find in the garbage can.
I peek around, checking the terrace and Paisley’s bedroom before heading to the media room, where I find the lights off and Heath Ledger on the big screen, dancing across the stands in10 Things I Hate About Youwith the captioning on the bottom.
Making my way down the steps toward the big recliner they’re sharing, I raise my voice above the chatter of the movie. “Hey.”
Nadine startles, throwing her bowl of popcorn in the air with a gasped, “Oh my god” while Paisley slowly turns and waves.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Nadine slaps hand to her chest, and I hop down the rest of the incline to the floor, where I hit the lighting panel on the wall, illuminating the room. With popcorn strewn all over the love seat and floor.
