CHAPTER 19
CAMDEN
It wasone of those hits that takes a minute to recover from. Knocked the wind out of me and tweaked my knee. I came down hard on my side, and it laid me out.
Only until I could catch my breath and stand up, walk out the pain in my leg. The medical staff is extra cautious and made me go for a more thorough examination. Perform an X-ray of my knee and ankle since I’ve had previous injuries to both, but after I received the okay and got taped up, I went back out onto the field, having missed a few series and a touchdown scored by one of our running backs, Shaun Campbell.
We end up beating Los Angeles by seven points, and adrenaline courses through my veins as I step into the locker room, with the entire team celebrating. It’s a tidal wave of laughter, shouting, sweat, and the sweet high of victory.
We’re on a winning streak, and Coach gives us a short speech, telling us to enjoy it, which earns a few jeers. “Big Dog” Baynard lets out a couple of rough, low barks, and Shaun jumps on top of a pile of linemen, howling, catching a ball tossed to him.
All around me, my teammates make plans, talking about where they’re going and who they’re going with. Before, I wouldhave been one of them. I’d have found a bar and ordered bottle service. I would have stayed out until everything closed down and then found someone’s house to head to after. I’d have thoroughlyenjoyedit.
Now? I’d rather relax. Watch a movie. Text Nadine. Ask if she saw the game. Because of course she did. Ask her if that hit I took looked as bad on television as it felt in real life. I know she’d respond with something sassy about the way I played, and maybe I’d have the balls to ask if she’d kiss it better when I returned home.
After some rounds of backslaps and rehashing of plays, I head into one of the shower stalls. I let the steam envelop me and wash away all the sweat and grime of the field, checking over my body, glancing at the new scrapes and bruises. A never-ending count.
But god does it feel good to be winning. To know I’m performing exactly how I’m supposed to be. Turning the tide of public perception.
As much as I’d like to pretend it doesn’t bother me, it does. Who doesn’t want to be loved?
I finally feel like the media has moved past the shroud of what happened with my parents and are focused back on me as a player. And without any outstanding antics, I can appreciate what it feels like to be loved simply for doing what I do best.
When I finally emerge from the locker room, changed and with my bag in hand, I run right into Valerie, where she’s waiting in the friends and family area. There aren’t a whole lot because it’s an away game, but occasionally, some family members will travel or friends will meet up to get together.
She is the last person I expect to be here. Smiling at me.
“Hey there, big shot.” She’s dressed in the team colors, a tiny purse over her shoulder, her cell phone in her hand, held up like she might take a picture.
“Hey.” I skirt my gaze around, checking to see if anyone has spotted her or us together. Valerie does have the tendency to callattention to herself even when she’s not trying. Right now, she’s trying.
She steps closer to me, wrapping her arms around my torso. “You played great out there.”
I stiffen, attempting to push her away withoutpushingher away. “Thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” She pulls back to search my face. As if we didn’t break up. As if everything has been normal for the last two weeks and she didn’t tell me I’d regret it. That I’d come crawling back.
But she’s the one here.
She may live in Los Angeles, but there is no reason for her to be at my game.
Unless she wants to come crawling back.
“I don’t know why you’re here.”
She frowns. “I’m here to see you, obviously.”
She acts cute, crowding my side, sliding her hand over my chest, though I’m not having it, and I step back, putting some distance between us.
“I don’t know what you think is happening here. But it’s not. It’s over,” I say, looking straight in her eyes, and she holds my gaze long enough that I think maybe she’s the one who needs a scan for a concussion.
“Seriously?” Her expression darkens. She’s not confused. She’s simply never been turned down before. “Her?”
Valerie can’t even say her name. She can’t fathom that she’s not the center of the world.
But she is certainly not the center of mine. Not even in the same universe. I shrug, stepping back from her. “Yeah.”
Her face flushes with anger. “After everything we’ve been through? You’re really going to let it go?”
