8. 8 Nathan
8: Nathan
M y father has some nerve. I’m unsure exactly how he manages to get past security and sneak into our locker room after every game. But I imagine all he has to do is show the security a few photographs of him and me together, and they let him through, thinking he’s a proud father who just wants to congratulate his son.
But he’d stormed in here as if he were a coach. Not only did he speak to me like shit, but my team, and that’s a line he knows not to cross. I’m protective of them. They don’t deserve to be subjected to his deprecation.
Cam, our physio, calls me into his office, and I lie down on the small cot he’s set up. It’s far too small for my six-foot-three frame, and I shift uncomfortably, the scratchy paper on top of it gyrating against my skin.
“You’ve got to invest in a bigger bed, Cam. I beg you,” I say, allowing my head to flop back onto the plump pillow.
He chuckles, oiling his hands up and manoeuvring my leg upright, my knee pointing to the ceiling. He gets to work, and I hiss in pain, gritting my teeth.
Cam’s a decent guy who joined the team last season after finishing school. However, he’s Renee’s son, and although he claims he isn’t overly involved in her life, I’m still wary of him. But he has a job to do, and so do I.
“Well, maybe you guys should just stop growing,” he responds as he digs into my skin with the pad of his thumbs, my hamstring screaming, tense and tight.
“Ease up, man.”
He stops and gestures for me to flip over. With every press and knead, the tension my body so desperately wants to hold onto begins to dissipate, the pain transforming into nothing more than a dull throb.
Massages are known for being relaxing, but sports massages are far from pleasurable. It’s almost as if Cam gets satisfaction from causing us pain.
Is that what they taught him in school? To be a psychopath?
“How’s the volunteering going? I saw the photos.”
“Fine. We’re going back to the animal shelter tomorrow.”
“You don’t strike me as an animal kind of guy.”
I don’t respond, opting for a low grunt instead. As a child, I was desperate for a bunny. I still remember the day my parents got into a raging argument because my mother came home with one as a surprise for me.
My father wasn’t best pleased, and he threatened to boil it for dinner. I spent that evening crying into my mother’s shoulder while hugging Tiggles—a name nine-year-old me had come up with—but when I woke up the following day, Tiggles was gone.
My father had made my mother return him. He claimed I didn’t have time for pets. That they were a waste of time and it was only going to die and leave me heartbroken, distracting me from practice.
“How’s Mae settling in?”
Cam’s question catches me off guard. I clear my throat, feeling the frustration begin to rebuild in my body as I think of Mae’s delighted face when we stepped into the animal shelter and how I’d rained on her parade by being a grouchy asshole.
Does a part of me feel bad? Yes. But can I let it distract me? No.
Something is fascinating about her, though. Not only because she’s beautiful but because of how she carries herself. The apparent bone-deep love she has for animals. The fake smile she plasters on even though there’s sadness lingering deep within those almond-shaped eyes. That smart mouth of hers, snarky comments slipping out before she can bite her tongue.
I can’t help but find the strange combination somewhat intriguing.
And I don’t fucking know why.
Mae is Renee’s daughter and Cam’s sister.
Our ships may be crossing right now, but they have different destinations. She’s here for a short time before leaving to start her veterinarian training.
And I’ll still be here. Doing all I know how to do.
“Nathan? You’re not going to nut, are you?”
“Shut up,” I grumble, running a hand down my face, sighing when Cam raises his eyebrows at me, pressing me to answer his first question about his sister. “Yeah, Mae seems good,” is all I can bring myself to say.
He hums. “My mom giving you a hard time about keeping your hands off her?” He’s kidding. He knows I don’t mess with the cheerleaders, but the question still irks me.
Without permission, my head conjures up a scene of Mae and I together. In bed. No clothes. Sweat coating our bodies as our lips lock, and her body trembles beneath mine.
Fuck, she’d sound good moaning my name.
“I wouldn’t risk my entire career for a one-night stand.”
“So you’re saying that if your career wasn’t on the line, you might consider it?” Cam wears a cheesy grin, but I can see a glint of something else behind his eyes. It looks like protectiveness, and I completely understand where he’s coming from.
The idea of anybody here touching my own sister makes me feel sick. She’s a consenting adult, sure, but we both know I’ll always see her as my baby sister. It’s just the way it is.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “No.”
Mae and will never go there. I don’t want it to go there. She pisses me off.
“Good. Okay.” Cam steps back from me and claps his hands together. “You’re all done. Come back if the muscle is giving you trouble between now and the next game.”
“You know it will.”
It’s the effect of consistently pushing my body to its limit, but I don’t know any other way of life. When I’m not training, a member of another team is, which means they could better their skills beyond mine. I’m not as young as I once was, and some new, fresh twenty-one-year-old could be just around the corner, ready to take my spot.
I reach forwards to push the door open, but as I lay my hand on the metal knob, Cam stops me with a low clear of his throat.
“Nathan, I don’t want to be that guy, but I’m being serious about not going there with Mae. I don’t think you would, but I just have to put it out there. She’s had a tough childhood and doesn’t need any more drama in her life. Not from our mom. Not from the media. And not from a football player.”
I offer him a stiff nod as a reply, exiting his office. I’m not a man of many words, but I’m sure Cam can tell I’ve taken his concern seriously.
Still, much to my dissatisfaction, I can’t help but wonder what Mae experienced in her childhood to make Cam so protective of her.
Usually, I wouldn’t give a fuck, and that’s what’s irritating the hell out of me.
Football hurts.
So does being tackled to the ground and having the cracked part of your helmet near your mouth bend and stick into your chin.
It’s halftime, and even though the medics rush over to tend to me, I wave them away. I need time to breathe.
My father is watching me from his seat, eyes sharp. Even though we’re winning, I know he’s not impressed with the injury I’ve just sustained.
It made you look weak he'll tell me later.
I exit the playing field and head to the men’s locker room, where I clean myself up. It’s a minor injury, but the skin on the face is thin, with more blood vessels close to the surface, meaning it doesn’t stop oozing.
My teammates won’t be too worried about me. I often disappear during halftime to give myself a pep talk—and to avoid my father’s less-than-sympathetic one.
As I exit the locker room, I almost walk into a petite figure, and I gaze down to see Mae standing in front of me, her tits fucking distracting as they sit perfectly on her chest.
I get they didn’t have time to make her a custom outfit, but could they not have stuck her in something a little less enticing? I shouldn’t find the coach’s daughter this good to look at.
“What are you doing?” I question as I narrow my eyes at her.
She tilts her head at me like it’s obvious. “Going to the bathroom. Is that okay?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
I tilt my head to the sky.
Fuck me.
I don’t need to see that.
Most people don’t speak to me. They avoid me, and I can’t blame them. I’m not the warmest guy to be around when on-season. I don’t have the patience for small talk and I’m not known for sugar-coating things. People keep their distance besides those who know me well, and honestly, that suits me just fine.
But then there’s Mae.
She doesn’t recoil when I shoot her a sharp comment or an infamous glare. If anything, she fires right back with that smart mouth of hers. I’d want most people to back off, but a part of me enjoys the back talk with her.
It’s like she knows how to handle me.
I find it endearing.
But I remind myself I need to keep my distance.
“That’s fine with me, princess.”
Her eyebrows hike up at the nickname.
It’s what I’ve been calling her in my head since I found out she was Renee’s daughter.
“Princess? Why the hell am I a princess?” She looks taken aback and places her hands on her hips before jutting them out.
“You’re related to the queen.” I roll my eyes. “That makes you the princess.”
She doesn’t look impressed, bordering on offended. I just know she’s going to come back with something, and I tilt my head to the side, waiting. Why the hell do I enjoy teasing her so much?
After a few seconds, a cocky smile finds its way to Mae’s face. “Right. Well, Nate—oh, can I call you Nate?”
My eyes flare. “No.”
“Good. You took quite a hit there, Nate.” She laughs. “Sure you’re not suffering from a concussion or something?”
I fucking hate that nickname, and she knows it. She’s clearly done her research. A part of me is flattered.
Still hate the nickname, though.
“Football is a contact sport. I’m used to it.”
She nods to my chin, eyes rounding just the tiniest bit. “It’s still bleeding.”
I wipe it with my sleeve.
“Well, that’s a sure way to get an infection.”
“Nothing a little dirt can do to me, princess.”
Mae’s jaw flexes as I step back. “Don’t call me that.”
I move past her, shaking my head, a tiny chuckle slipping out from between my lips. “That’s a hard pass.”
I can feel the steam radiating from her, hitting my back.
Not a fan of football puns.
Noted.