Chapter 9
CAMDEN
Nadine answers my phone call with a wary voice. “Camden? Are you okay?”
“No. I am absolutely not okay.”
“What’s going on?”
“Paisley got her period.”
A beat passes before the cruel little witch laughs at me.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Kinda. Why are you calling me about it?”
“Because!” I fling my hand out to the rainbow of products in front of me, even though she can’t see it. “My sister got her first period, and I’m at the store and I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to buy.”
The last thing I want to or should be doing is buying menstrual products for my fourteen-year-old sister, especially after another grueling day at camp, but when Paisley shuffled into my bedroom in near tears, I was ready to bring the apartment complex down to rubble.
She’d apparently learned about the birds and bees and everything that goes along with it, but without Mom here to guide her through this, she doesn’t know what to do.
I don’t either.
So I’d kissed the top of her head, told her to hang tight, and then I sprinted out to the closest CVS, where I very quickly realized I was out of my depth. Which is when I reached for my cell phone. And the contact for the not-nanny nanny.
Nadine hums. “What does she want to use? Pads or tampons?”
If anyone on my team heard the sound that escapes my throat, they’d never let me touch a football again. “I have no idea.”
She breathes a laugh, amused at my discomfort. But it’s not that I’m disgusted at the biological function; it’s that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help.
I’ve been staring at the wings and no wings, light or super, cardboard or plastic, organic and non-organic options for what feels like an hour.
“Why don’t you buy her one package of pads and one box of regular tampons? Can you do that?” Nadine suggests, as if she’s speaking to a toddler.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Okay, you do that, and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
I blow out a relieved breath. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m getting my keys now. See you in half an hour. Just stay calm.”
Stay calm?
Yeah, sure, okay. I’ll stay fucking calm.
I pluck one box of everything off the shelf, every type of pad, tampon, and panty liner available, and then head directly to the candy aisle, throwing in a few bags of chocolates and gummy candy. Then because I hate feeling useless, I add a pair of socks, a few face masks, and a Get Well Soon card.
By the time I make it home, Nadine is pulling into the parking garage at the same time. Once again, she laughs when she spies me and the five bags.
Only she would laugh at a time like this.
“What did you buy?” she asks, casually walking toward me in an oversized T-shirt that reads First of all, I’m a delight with a snarling raccoon on it—appropriate—and itty-bitty shorts, some of her hair wrapped up into a bun on the top of her head, flip-flops on.
I wonder if she was in the middle of getting ready for bed and darted out of her brother’s house.
I don’t know why I like that possibility.
I hold up the loot. “Is it enough?”
“Yeah.” She smothers a grin, closing the distance between us. “It’s enough.”
She follows me into the elevator up to the top floor, silence stretched thin between us, and I know I should thank her, tell her that I know she didn’t have to show up, but I’m so glad she did.
Except when she angles her head my way, lips pursed, as if waiting for me to speak, I can’t. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
I don’t want to go back to what we were before, snipping and sniping. It’s only been a few days since we crossed an unseen ceasefire line. Everything is too delicate and new for me to go and fuck it up, so I keep quiet and jut my chin in the direction for her to exit first when the elevator stops.
I gave her the key code for my place before training camp, so she hits the numbers now—2280, my birthday backward—then holds the door open for me. Inside, I set all the bags on the kitchen counter, while Nadine snorts beside me, taking in exactly how much I bought.
“You didn’t stay calm, did you?”
I find a pen and scrawl my name inside the card, but before I can place it in the envelope, she intercepts it from me, eyes wide as she takes in the cartoon chocolate chip cookie with the words You’re one tough cookie around it.
“Camden,” she says in a voice low with barely constrained amusement that sends a shiver down my spine. “She’s not sick.”
I snatch it back from her. “I know that, but there’s no Happy first period card, so I got this one instead.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, blue eyes tipped up in the corners, head shaking at me like I’m the dumbest man on the face of the planet. Possibly in the universe.
I feel like it.
But there is no training for this.
No class or pamphlet and certainly no warning about this when I talked to the lawyers and doctors about taking guardianship of Paisley. Feed her, keep her safe, make her happy, of course.
Walk her through her period?
Fuck no. I’m not equipped for this.
Nadine plucks the card from my hand, along with the bags, before patting my shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You did good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nods, eyes clear like she means it.
After she disappears down the hall, I inhale a ragged breath and snag a sparkling water from the fridge before returning to my room to remove my contacts and put on my glasses.
Before Paisley had told me about…everything, I’d been in the process of winding down, but there will be no winding until I know she is all right, so I head out to the terrace.
It wraps around much of the apartment, and I pace the length of it, taking in the glittering Philly skyline as I finish off the La Croix.
My teammates have always made fun of me for drinking it, but during the season, I’m strict about my diet and alcohol consumption. It’s the off-season when I indulge.
Too much.
It’s been good to be back to work, doing what I do best, though it’s been a rocky start. Not that I expected much different.
My teammates are still pissed.
A lot of them did come to Iowa for the funeral, but when it comes time to play, they hold a lot of resentment.
No matter what anyone says about team sports, it’s still too easy to take the blame for a loss on yourself, especially when it’s true.
When I’m on the field, I have tunnel vision.
Like a lot of players, I only see what’s in front of me.
And I know I’ve earned a reputation for being a dick; I’ve been arrogant and played up my showmanship on and off the field for some fun, enjoyed it all a little too much—the money and women and fame.
But when I caught that pass from Erik with zero seconds to go, I legitimately thought I was in the end zone.
Maybe I’d imagined it too many times, scoring the winning touchdown so that I saw myself already there instead of taking that extra step, but in the two seconds I spent dancing to when I was tackled, the entire stadium went silent.
Then it all came roaring back, and instead of cheers, it was boos. They loved me for being an asshole, and now they hate me for being an asshole.
To lead off the team meeting last week, I asked Coach Roberts if I could address the elephant in the room. I thanked my teammates for showing up when I needed them and apologized for letting them down, promising I would make it up to them.
I know they don’t all believe me, but there isn’t much I can do besides show up.
So I have been.
I’ve been working as hard or maybe harder than I did my rookie year to prove myself. And it’s exhausting.
It feels a lot different at almost thirty than it did coming out of college.
Having the boulder of guilt on my back feels even worse.
Carrying the new responsibility at home? It’s made me reevaluate everything.
Reflecting back on the last few years of my life, the last one in particular, it’s like watching a horror movie with the guy running to the barn where the murderer is hiding with the machete.
To know he’s making all the wrong choices.
And sprinting straight to his end.
That’s what it felt like standing at the graveyard, the double tombstone bearing the names of my parents, Lorraine and Kenneth Long.
The epitaph of Forever in our hearts inscribed underneath their first and last days.
I rub at the pressure in my chest, grief hitting me all over again, and it’s too hard to remain upright, so I lean against the railing, allowing my head to drop, the tears falling down toward the sidewalk, twenty-two stories below.
I know I was already disappointing them, but I don’t want to continue to. I promised them I’d change. That I’d be different. Take care of Paisley. But there are moments when I think it’s too late.
That I’ve fucked up too much, and they’ll never forgive me.
Not my team, the city of Philadelphia, or my parents.
I’ll never be able to speak to them again to know.
“Hey, there you are.”
I quickly wipe my face with the collar of my T-shirt, readjusting my glasses before turning around to Nadine. Under the glow of the outdoor lights, she looks angelic, all soft lines and even softer eyes when she tilts her chin up to study my face. “You okay?”
I nod, sniffing away the emotion, though I doubt she believes me. Still, she doesn’t push, only meets me at the railing, close enough that her elbow brushes my forearm. A dozen heartbeats pass before she speaks again. “I didn’t know you wear glasses.”
“Since I was a kid,” I tell her, thankful she doesn’t ask about the reason I have yet to look her in the eyes. “Started wearing contacts in middle school.”
“You should wear the glasses more. Makes you look smart,” she says, back to her regular waspish attitude, like a shot of adrenaline in my veins.
“I am smart. Have a college degree in math, graduated magna cum laude and everything.”
That has her whipping her head toward me. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” I finally meet her surprised gaze, eyebrows up to her hairline. “Can’t use any more dumb jock jokes.”