Chapter Twenty-Nine Cameron #2
We move as a group of four, wandering the banquet hall. I stand in the back, holding fast to Mason while fancy people greet his family, eyes raking the room in search of the demon hosting this banquet. I swear people are staring at us.
The longer we venture through the hall, the more Mason unfurls. His trembling becomes more pronounced, and when Liam’s father speaks through a microphone to the room, he nearly shoots out of my grip.
“Thank you for attending this special event for my beloved son,” the man says with a cool, aloof smile that reads I’m above you all. “The spread of appetizers is now available. We’ll inform you when to be seated for the main course.”
“You’re fine,” I whisper, massaging the side of Mason’s wrist.
“I don’t see him,” he mumbles.
“Me neither.”
We make our way to the buffet-style table, which is stocked full of warm treats and handhelds. Unfortunately, the smell of food causes Mason’s cheeks to tint green. He staggers away and says, “I need a second. Um.”
His eyes flit to the bathroom.
“I’ll go with you.” I start stepping out of line, but Mason shakes his head, fanning a palm over his stomach.
“No.” He steps farther away, the pale tone worsening in his skin. “Would you get me some bruschetta? I just need a moment. Alone.”
He beelines for the restroom. I have the urge to follow him—who knows when Liam might try to ambush him?
But I don’t want to make things harder if all he truly needs is a minute to himself.
So I pile bruschetta onto a fancy plate and bring it to our designated table.
His parents are seated, and I don’t know that I want to be alone with them, so I return to the appetizer table to find something for myself.
That’s when I see him.
Not Liam.
There’s a bulky, looming man chatting in a group with warm bronze skin, jet-black eyes, and tight cornrows crawling toward the back of his neck. He’s wearing a formal suit and a striped tie. The sight of him freezes my heart against my ribs and ices my breath in my throat.
“Beau Rainey?” I croak.
My football idol twists his head at the sound of his name and latches eyes with me.
I think I’m about to dissolve from the sheer surrealness of seeing him standing there, directly in front of me.
This man I’ve framed my entire future after.
The man who overcame so much adversity and clawed his way to success…
I realize the small cluster of people around him have fallen silent, and they’re watching me, waiting. My mouth is hanging open, so I quickly collect myself, clearing my throat. “Sorry,” I whisper, and I whirl away, because oh my God, oh my God—
“You want to talk?”
His voice pours over me from directly behind. I peek back to find that he’s stepped outside of his group and is looking down at me with a polite, friendly smile.
“Oh my God,” I wheeze out.
He laughs, the sound deep and cavernous. “Fan?” he asks.
“Huge,” I breathe. “I’m…I just…I’m a quarterback, too.”
“Yeah? Whereabouts?”
“Elwood High.” I can’t even hear my own voice. I feel like I’m choking on my own air. “I’m going to play at Alpine. Or I might. If I’m recruited. I have one more game to impress one of their scouts, so…”
“No shit?” Beau Rainey—fucking Beau Rainey—grins at me, giving my shoulder a congratulatory pat. “That’s great, kid. You excited?”
I stare at him, trying to thrust the word “yes” between my lips.
It doesn’t come.
“I don’t know,” I say instead.
His thick, fuzzy brows pop with curiosity.
“I mean, yes,” I correct myself. “I’m…Yeah. I think I’m excited.”
Beau Rainey’s head leans sideways. He’s observing me fondly like I’m a small woodland animal. “You think?” he asks. “Just nervous, maybe?”
I’m not sure why I said those things. I should be utterly thrilled at the chance to be financially stable and famous in the college sports world. I want to confirm it’s just nerves, but…
It’s more than that, isn’t it?
“Can I ask you something?” I mumble.
He shrugs, swirling his glass of champagne. “Shoot.”
“What’s it like? Being a first-string quarterback for a Division I school. Like…did you have a life outside of football?” I ask quietly.
Beau Rainey laughs but raises his hand apologetically when my face flushes.
“Sorry—not trying to tease. I mean, sure, there are classes to attend and meals to eat, but your life is the sport. Working out, treatment, conditioning, NIL obligations, traveling to games, preparing for the next season…Hell, we couldn’t even go home for the holidays because of games.
It’s intense. But manageable if you’re passionate, you know? ”
My jaw clenches with uncertainty. Maybe he notices my expression, because he props his hands on his hips.
“You don’t love it, do you?”
“I do!” I protest, though I feel a pang of guilt for saying it, and I realize I might be lying. “I like it,” I correct, my shoulders buckling. “I like playing and spending time with my teammates. I like having friends. I like being relied on.”
“Ah.” Beau Rainey massages his chin. “Then what’s the drive to play in college?”
“Money,” I admit. “My parents put a lot of work into getting me to this point. I don’t want to put them in more debt by going to college.”
The man’s face softens, and he smiles again.
“There are other ways to pay for college that don’t involve sacrificing your life to a sport you only enjoy playing recreationally,” he says, clapping my shoulder again.
“There are hundreds of scholarship opportunities out there. You could try shooting for a Division II school—it’s a little less intensive, and some of them offer partial rides.
Division III schools also give you a more well-rounded experience, and you could find some that offer financial aid packages and merit-based scholarships.
It’s probably late in your season, but it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to other coaches and send them videos of your performance. You’re not cornered, you know.”
I don’t know what to say. My vision has been so tunneled in, focused on the peak of the mountain before me. Division I. Devoting my life to sports for the next four years, despite the fact that I’m only into it for the camaraderie. Juggling publicity and schooling and training and…
I didn’t notice there were other peaks nearby. Not quite as tall and substantial as the one I’ve been watching, but still rewarding. Still attainable.
Football is fun. I want it to stay fun. I want it to be my hobby.
Not my life.
“I…Thank you,” I say, and it’s all I can manage to blurt out among the chaotic tangle of thoughts in my head. “That really helps. Thank you, Beau Rainey.”
He nods with another friendly smile. “Good luck out there.”
The man turns back to the group of people he was fraternizing with. The moment our gazes break, the world comes flooding back to me. The sounds of upper-class folks chatting over expensive booze, of a gentle orchestra pumping music through the room. I’m in a banquet hall. I’m…
At Liam’s graduation ceremony.
I feel like I’ve suddenly been shot through the chest. The breath flies out of my lungs, and I hurtle toward the bathroom, my vision whitening, flinging the door open.
Mason is gone.