Chapter 10
HANNAH
His smile had blinded me. The way he spoke.
His mesmerizing eyes. That’s what I told myself at least. How could I have not figured it out?
He was going out of town at the same time as my father and the team were.
I met him at the quarterback’s party; nobody there was not linked to the team in some way or another.
He was tall like a player, built like one.
I allowed myself to be a fool and, in turn, felt like one.
Had he known who I was? No, he couldn’t have.
The way he looked at me in the locker room was evident that he didn’t.
Though did he think I knew him? Perhaps he believed I picked him and held in my last name as a ploy.
How could this be happening? How had I allowed this to happen?
I am from Sandusky. My father is the team’s head coach, and I didn’t know one of his players.
Had my hate for the game caused me to live under a rock?
Marty knew who he was, she knew them all, and yet I’m the stupid one who spends an incredible night with one in total ignorance.
I wanted to talk to him and ask if he knew, but there was no time and no place.
What should I have done? Ask him in front of my father, who would explode if he knew I had spent the night with Cameron.
He would never believe I hadn’t planned it, and yet it wouldn’t have been me to feel his wrath.
I could have called him or texted him, but what would I have said?
The whole thing made me sick to my stomach.
Even if I ignored the facts, there could be nothing between us.
My father wouldn’t allow it. My mother would accuse me of trying to ruin my father’s new job.
That nickname I used to hear growing up would haunt me again: 'player bunny.
' My private everyday life would be extinguished.
Not to mention what it would do to Cameron and his career.
Sitting on my parents’ sofa, waiting for the game to start, I glanced back at Marty and my mother in a conversation.
Taking the moment alone, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed his name into the search engine.
I exhaled with a pause, guessing if I should do this.
Would knowing more about him make it easier to walk away?
Would anything at this point? With another glance back at my mother’s guest joining her in a conversation, I slumped down slightly and hit enter.
His name appeared on a long page of links to past interviews, videos, pictures, and statistics.
I could learn everything about him with the click of a button.
I scrolled through page after page, knowing he had grown up in Kentucky and was the half-brother of Easton West, also on the team, and the man who Marty had pointed out as her company from the party.
Cameron was a second-round, twenty-first pick, and his entire career was with the Jaguars.
He was nicknamed the enforcer because of his forceful plays.
My eyes glanced at the small picture of him on the left of his bio, him in his uniform.
A small smile pulled at the corner of my lips. I couldn’t deny he looked so handsome.
Clicking onto another page, I hit pictures, and to say I swooned would be an understatement.
Pictures of him with fans, just out and about in the city like a regular guy.
His grin lit up whatever space he stood in, and those eyes were so inviting.
One swipe after the other, I fell into this rabbit hole; one I enjoyed more than I knew I should have.
Photos of him at animal rescues, a man holding a kitten and puppy, or loving on a senior animal, warm the heart.
A small laugh moved from my lips as I watched him laugh while feeding a cow.
Why did he have to be so inviting? Glancing briefly away from my phone, I continued my viewing, seeing him at sporting events with other team members, his brother, and, of course, more fans.
He lived a life I couldn’t imagine. No privacy, something I valued far too much.
That didn’t stop me from feeling jealous whenever he was photographed with another woman.
One after the other, not that I’m surprised, but there was one that kept popping up.
Outside restaurants, at what looked like movie premieres, clubs, and even at the stadium.
She was beautiful, elegant, someone who would be perfect for such a spotlight.
Had I been the other woman? No, nobody would cheat on such a woman with someone as common as me, at least that’s what I told myself.
I needed to stop torturing myself; I just had to chalk it up to an experience that was now over.
It was only one night, nothing to be hung up on. Right?
“What are you looking at?” Lowering my phone as Marty sat next to me, I gave a short glance over at her.
“Nothing.”
Marty knew me better than I knew myself. I should have just come clean. She reached over and took my phone. Embarrassed, I lowered my head. “Nothing, huh?”
Snatching my phone back, I glanced at the picture before clicking it off. “It doesn’t matter, so yeah, it’s nothing,” I replied sharply.
“She’s probably just a friend.” Marty’s words were meant to comfort and confirm I hadn’t been the one nighter, but they only caused that sickness to return to my stomach.
“Sure,” I replied with a scoff.
I wanted nothing more than to leave, go home, and crawl into bed, but I knew there was no excuse I could give my mother.
She would accept nothing. The idea of watching the game, seeing him play, on the sidelines, would be more than I could handle.
I could say I wasn’t feeling well; it wouldn’t be that far from the truth.
I sat up, readying myself, when my mother came over and sat next to me with a pat on my leg.
The television volume increased as the announcers began to discuss the kickoff.
It was too late. I wasn’t getting out of there.
My attention shifted to the screen as their song played, and the team charged onto the field.
I thought I had readied myself to see him in action, in his uniform on the field, but as I watched him run out and move to the sidelines, I realized I had failed.
Sitting up straight, my eyes were glued to Cameron.
On the sidelines, I felt a sense of calmness, if you didn’t count the butterflies in my stomach.
It was different each time he was put in the game.
I was anxious and knew this must be what Lola felt when she watched Maximus.
As hard as I tried to control my reactions, I couldn’t.
Each hit Cameron made, I jumped. Rocking back and forth before each play, hoping he wouldn’t get hurt.
Biting at my nails, Marty gave a playful nudge against me.
I wanted to tell her to shut up, but when Cameron was on the field, nothing else mattered.
The play started. He moved with perfection when he caught an interception.
I jumped to my feet with a loud yell; my smile was so large that my cheeks hurt.
“Damn, Hannah, I’ve never seen you so into the game before.” I turned toward my father’s old school friend and shrugged.
“Good game,” I replied, my gaze connecting to Marty’s as I returned it to the screen, sitting back next to her.
“Yeah, sure, it’s just the game,” Marty whispered teasingly.
“Shut up,” I replied.
As the game ended, the Jaguars won. I would typically have been in the car before the field emptied, yet this time, I was frozen.
Reporters surrounded Peyton, moments with my father, and other key players.
They spoke of how the team came together, how the plays were designed perfectly, and they were ready for an undefeated season.
I scanned each face, hoping the camera would get a short glimpse of him before they returned to the locker rooms.
“Sweetie, are you staying for your father’s call?
” I looked at my mother, and there was a short pause when Marty nudged me.
She motioned toward the screen, my mother’s question going unanswered as I saw him in the background.
He stood with his brother and Austin, laughing and chatting.
They were always together, I thought with a smile.
I wanted to call him to congratulate him on winning and his outstanding plays, but I knew I couldn’t.
Shouldn’t. Not only did he have a supermodel-like girlfriend, but he had fans, fans who would do anything to be close to him.
He had a busy public life that I found frightening.
Even if I could get past that, and he was genuinely interested in me, the fact was that his job, his life, was linked to my father’s.
Rule one for my father has always been 'no players with his daughter,' a rule I was fine with, until now.
I needed to accept the reality: my short time with Cameron Walters was over.
A brief adventure that I would take with me, but never to be repeated.