I don’t want to go back to what we were before, snipping and sniping. It’s only been a few days since we crossed an unseen ceasefire line. Everything is too delicate and new for me to go and fuck it up, so I keep quiet and jut my chin in the direction for her to exit first when the elevator stops.
I gave her the key code for my place before training camp, so she hits the numbers now—2280, my birthday backward—then holds the door open for me. Inside, I set all the bags on the kitchen counter, while Nadine snorts beside me, taking in exactly how much I bought.
“You didn’t stay calm, did you?”
I find a pen and scrawl my name inside the card, but before I can place it in the envelope, she intercepts it from me, eyes wide as she takes in the cartoon chocolate chip cookie with the wordsYou’re one tough cookiearound it.
“Camden,” she says in a voice low with barely constrained amusement that sends a shiver down my spine. “She’s not sick.”
I snatch it back from her. “I know that, but there’s noHappy first periodcard, so I got this one instead.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, blue eyes tipped up inthe corners, head shaking at me like I’m the dumbest man on the face of the planet. Possibly in the universe.
I feel like it.
But there is no training for this.
No class or pamphlet and certainly no warning about this when I talked to the lawyers and doctors about taking guardianship of Paisley. Feed her, keep her safe, make her happy, of course.
Walk her through her period?
Fuck no. I’m not equipped for this.
Nadine plucks the card from my hand, along with the bags, before patting my shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You did good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nods, eyes clear like she means it.
After she disappears down the hall, I inhale a ragged breath and snag a sparkling water from the fridge before returning to my room to remove my contacts and put on my glasses. Before Paisley had told me about…everything, I’d been in the process of winding down, but there will be no winding until I know she is all right, so I head out to the terrace. It wraps around much of the apartment, and I pace the length of it, taking in the glittering Philly skyline as I finish off the La Croix. My teammates have always made fun of me for drinking it, but during the season, I’m strict about my diet and alcohol consumption. It’s the off-season when I indulge.
Too much.
It’s been good to be back to work, doing what I do best, though it’s been a rocky start. Not that I expected much different.
My teammates are still pissed.
A lot of them did come to Iowa for the funeral, but when it comes time to play, they hold a lot of resentment.
No matter what anyone says about team sports, it’s still tooeasy to take the blame for a loss on yourself, especially when it’s true.
When I’m on the field, I have tunnel vision. Like a lot of players, I only see what’s in front of me. And I know I’ve earned a reputation for being a dick; I’ve been arrogant and played up my showmanship on and off the field for some fun, enjoyed it all a little too much—the money and women and fame. But when I caught that pass from Erik with zero seconds to go, I legitimately thought I was in the end zone. Maybe I’d imagined it too many times, scoring the winning touchdown so that I saw myself already there instead of taking that extra step, but in the two seconds I spent dancing to when I was tackled, the entire stadium went silent.
Then it all came roaring back, and instead of cheers, it was boos. They loved me for being an asshole, and now they hate me for being an asshole.
To lead off the team meeting last week, I asked Coach Roberts if I could address the elephant in the room. I thanked my teammates for showing up when I needed them and apologized for letting them down, promising I would make it up to them.
I know they don’t all believe me, but there isn’t much I can do besides show up.
So I have been.
I’ve been working as hard or maybe harder than I did my rookie year to prove myself. And it’s exhausting.
It feels a lot different at almost thirty than it did coming out of college.
Having the boulder of guilt on my back feels even worse.
Carrying the new responsibility at home? It’s made me reevaluate everything.
