Chapter 2
Cameron could see a tiny sliver of Lake Ontario out of the corner of the biggest window in his living room if he craned his head just right while he was on the far end of his couch.
It wasn’t the nicest apartment tower in downtown Toronto, but Cam had still nearly choked when he’d heard the monthly rent.
His dad had needed to remind him again how much money he was making now—and how much money he’d probably end up making if he stayed the Thunder’s new punter through an entire season and they signed him to an extended contract.
Still, Cam was pretty sure he was paying a shit ton of unnecessary money for that sliver of a view.
Even though it was barely visible, Cam had found himself not bothering to occupy the middle of his couch, but instead sitting in that one spot on the very end, figuring that if he was paying for it, he might as well get as much enjoyment out of it that he could.
It was a one-bedroom place, tiny honestly, but even though it felt like it was barely bigger than the closet he’d had at his dad’s house in Montana, the walls didn’t feel confining. Instead, they felt cozy, like they were keeping him in, keeping him safe and whole and together.
“When’s the last time you left your apartment?” His dad’s voice echoed against the bare-ish walls. Cam shifted uncomfortably, jostling the phone balancing on his knee.
“I leave every day. I have practice,” Cam reminded him. “Remember, Dad? I’m a football player. Kind of hard to do that in a five-hundred-square-foot apartment.”
His dad made a disgruntled noise. “Not today you weren’t. It’s your day off. Did you go do something fun? See any more of the city? Hang out with anyone? Even go to the grocery store?”
“Dad,” Cam chided. “This is civilization. We get our shit delivered.”
Maybe the only thing he really liked about Toronto, besides the team: the ability to get just about anything he could think of delivered right to his door.
It meant he never really had to leave his apartment if he didn’t want to, and the truth was, he didn’t want to.
A fact he had scrupulously tried to keep from his dad and from his teammates, but obviously he hadn’t done a very good job, because his dad was pressing now, like he knew. Or had, at the very least, guessed.
“Cameron,” Shane Greene warned.
“Just saying,” Cam retorted, but without much heat.
“I’m worried about you. It seems like you never go out,” his dad said. “Every time I call, you’re at home.”
“You’re just calling at a good time. And um, we went out twice, the last couple weeks, as a team. Remember that bar I told you about?” Cam wasn’t going to mention that the first time his teammates had dragged him to Vault, he’d nearly had a heart attack.
“You go out by yourself?”
“Uh,” Cam hesitated. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to make his dad worry, the way he was worrying now.
“Kid, you can’t hide away in that little box.”
“It’s not that little,” Cam argued. But it was.
It was a tiny-ass apartment, and he probably shouldn’t be so happy here.
When he’d first walked in, before he’d signed on the dotted line, he’d actually worried that living here would feel confining.
He remembered asking the sales manager showing him the place where the nearest green spaces and parks were, because he’d been sure that he’d not just want to see a tree, but need to see a tree.
But then he’d moved here for camp, and the thing had almost happened, and suddenly the four walls of this apartment had started to look really good. Not right away, but more and more each day, then each week.
“It’s fucking tiny,” Shane griped. “I hate the thought of you cramped in there.”
“Dad, it’s really not that bad. I like it.” That wasn’t a lie at all. He did like it, but what he wasn’t going to share was that he probably liked it more because of what it wasn’t.
“I’m just worried about you. And then yesterday—Hall looked pretty pissed on the sideline.”
Cam winced, glad that Dawson hadn’t overheard that comment. He’d have believed no matter what that Dawson wouldn’t have liked everyone to know how much he hated missing the kick. But with how well Cam knew Dawson now, he was becoming so much more familiar with how deep that frustration would go.
He’d tried so hard to hide it on the sideline during the game. Cam had watched him school his expression like somehow not showing the wound of the missed field goal might change the ball’s final trajectory.
“Yeah, it just . . .it was just one of those things. He’s solid.
” Cam hesitated. Unsure of how much he should say.
He’d never worried about sharing with his dad before, but ever since coming to Toronto and starting his professional football career for real, it was tougher.
“I think I probably fucked up the hold.”
“You got the ball down in time.”
“Barely,” Cam said heavily. He’d been thinking about that two seconds for the last twenty-four hours and now even if he looked at the tape and it proved it wasn’t his fault, it still wouldn’t matter.
“Kid, you need to take it easy on yourself. You’ve only been holding for him for what . . .a few weeks?”
Cam didn’t need to tell his dad that it wouldn’t matter if he’d never held for Dawson before last week’s game, that it didn’t matter if he was unpracticed and unprepared, that mistakes—even slight, barely even mistakes like yesterday’s—weren’t something he could get away with. Especially now that he was in the NFL.
If he couldn’t do it, there’d be a hundred guys behind him, aching for the chance.
But he didn’t say any of that. There wasn’t any point in rehashing it. Maybe his dad had lived in the middle of nowhere, Montana, for practically his whole life, but he still was a lifelong football fan. He understood.
“We’re going to get it figured out,” Cam said optimistically. More optimistically than he currently felt, anyway.
“If this whole thing doesn’t work out—” his dad started to say, but Cam cut him off.
“Dad,” Cam said in a hard voice. “No.”
Shane gave an embarrassed laugh. “God, I sound like one of those fathers now, don’t I?”
Cam rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t be any good as an over-involved sports dad, anyway. You’re too emotionally healthy for that shit.”
“Yeah, probably. Doesn’t mean I’m not tempted into it, once in a while.
Having you so far away sucks. I trust you can take care of yourself—you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid—but doesn’t mean I don’t worry sometimes.
On days like yesterday. Days like today, when I think you’re just gonna hide in that apartment forever. ”
Ugh. Ugh. Cam hated the guilt that swamped him.
“Sorry, Dad. I wish—” Cam cut off. Unsure what else he could say. Unsure what else he should say.
He’d felt okay leaving his dad to his busy, fulfilled life in Montana. But every once in a while it hit him how much he just plain missed having him around.
Other dads cared more if their sons succeeded in making it to the NFL or the NHL or to MLB or whatever overachieving goal they’d set for them than they did their actual sons.
But Shane had never been like that. He’d wanted Cam to have goals and aspirations, sure, but Cam had never felt like achieving those was a requirement for his dad’s love. He’d have it, regardless.
He’d have it even if he didn’t make it with the Thunder, or with any other team that tried him. Even if he went back to Montana and picked up the threads of a life he’d put together as a backup plan: managing his dad’s veterinary business with the business degree he’d gotten in college.
“You’re fine, kid,” his dad said softly.
It would be a small life, but probably a satisfying one. There was a part of him—stronger than he’d expected—that wondered if he should just call it now. Tell his dad that maybe this whole NFL experiment had been crazy. Pushing too hard, pushing way past his comfort zone.
But he didn’t need Shane to tell him that if he was out of his comfort zone, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
“Actually,” Cam admitted, “I’m not sure you’re wrong.”
“About?”
It was hard to be honest, especially now. Hard to admit what he’d refused to even really acknowledge to himself back then, and to do it now, to his dad, knowing how he was going to react.
Cam swallowed hard. “I haven’t really wanted to leave the apartment.”
There was an understandable silence from his dad. Then he cleared his throat. “Kid, it’s not that surprising. Toronto’s a big city.”
“Yeah it’s that. It’s . . .it’s scarier than I thought it would be.” And scarier, too, to admit it to his dad. “And well . . .”
“Well?” Shane prompted.
God, this was so hard to say. “I know people say big cities are different, but they really are.”
“Kid, what happened?”
“Nothing really. When I say it, it’s so stupid.
But I got lost late one night. Ducked into the PATH—you know, one of those tunnels under the buildings?
Ran into a bad group of guys. I think they were a bad group of guys, anyway.
I wasn’t sure—didn’t want to risk it though.
Got out of there, fast. But they followed me.
I was sure I was gonna get jumped.” And for what, Cam had thought then.
He didn’t even own anything that was worth money.
Just his contract, and that was a piece of paper and cash in the bank, not in his pocket.
There was another tense silence, like his dad was having trouble not losing his shit. This was exactly why Cam hadn’t told him. “And?”
“And it was fine, in the end. I ran into another group, different guys. I think they were drunk, but cool, you know? Asked them for directions, made it back to my place in one piece. But . . .” It had been hard to admit any of this, but it was harder to admit this.
“You’ve got to just spit it out, Cameron,” his dad said, a little sternly, but mostly all Cam felt was the love echoing across the line.