Chapter 14 Nadine
NADINE
With so much time on my hands, I’ve been doing a lot of introspection.
I started journaling and have explored a variety of graduate programs, which would allow me to look into different careers in the education field.
With so much extra spending money from Daddy Warbucks, I can easily pay for another degree.
Especially because I paid off my student loans in one big chunk.
I never realized how stressed my money situation made me. Sure, I was single and had a full-time job, but not having any savings was like being followed by the Grim Reaper, his scythe ready to drop at any moment. Money really does make life so much easier.
Like staying in this penthouse every day, I feel like I’m auditioning for a reality show.
After dropping Paisley off at school, I might run an errand or two, but for the most part, I enjoy my morning cup of tea on the terrace, which is really more like an outdoor living room, and then I might watch said reality shows on the wall-to-wall screen in the media room.
Take a dip in the heated pool on the third floor.
Or glide across the penthouse bamboo flooring in socks and an oversized shirt just for funsies.
I’ve done it all, but today is the first day I’m daring to enter the gym. It is everything you’d expect from a gym in a luxury apartment building with a near 360 view, sauna, and personal trainer at your beck and call.
“Hey,” he says, strolling around a small desk toward me to extend his hand out to me. “I’m Brendan. Are you new to the building?”
“No, but I’ve never been to the gym before, so I thought I’d come and check it out.” I’m hesitant to tell him who I work for, although I know the employees know Camden lives in the building.
“Great. Well, it’s nice to meet you…?”
“Nadine.”
He grins. “Nice to meet you, Nadine. There is always a person on staff here to help with whatever you need.” He gestures around us. “For now, I’d be happy to give you a tour. Make sure you’re comfortable with everything.”
An older man is working out in the corner with some kind of machine, and a woman who appears to be in her 30s or 40s is getting in a good sweat on the elliptical. When I shrug in agreement, I earn another friendly smile. “How often do you exercise now? What do you like to do?”
“I’m not much into weights.” I glance around again, mostly interested in seeing if there is some new magic machine that can shave the cellulite off my thighs without my having to do much work. “But I’ve done group classes. I like them.”
He nods, rubbing his hands together as if he’s about to rock my world.
With a bit of a farmer’s tan and a gap between his front teeth, he has a Woody Harrelson quality about him that puts me at ease.
“Okay. Well, for starters, let me walk you through all the equipment, and you can let me know if you have any questions.”
I agree with a nod, and he spends the next ten minutes showing me the free weights, an array of cardio and weight machines, how to use the sauna, and the small area in the back for personal training sessions.
He says all I have to do is make an appointment in the online system, and he’d be able to design a program for me.
Since I have some time, and he seems nice enough, I let him show me a few exercises now, and he makes me feel proud of myself for lifting even the tiniest weight.
I never would have been able to walk into a public gym, too embarrassed by my lack of knowledge and intimidated by everyone who actually does know what they’re doing, but Brendan is so relaxed, it’s impossible not to enjoy it.
He has an easy smile, a gentle spirit, and a body carved from the side of a mountain, so of course when he asks if I’ll be back, I agree and make an appointment with him right then and there.
Afterward, I head back up to the penthouse to shower and change so I can pick up Paisley from school.
While I’m waiting in the car line, my mind drifts to my former students and how my old colleagues are doing.
I text Lindsey—another special education teacher there—to check in, and it’s the usual stuff of kids being annoying, a fight over a boy, stress over reevaluations.
Until she informs me of a huge anonymous donation that bought all of the supplies every single teacher needed. For the entire district.
Teachers spend hundreds of dollars of their own money for classroom necessities like tissues, hand sanitizer, folders, pens, and decorations.
It doesn’t seem like much, but it adds up, and for every single teacher to receive what they need, it had to be at least half a million dollars.
I’m not sure who would have done that, but it’s an incredibly generous gift to the students and teachers.
And something about the coincidence makes me start to sweat, even though the temperature has cooled off enough that I’m wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt today. I yank the cotton up to my elbows, exhaling a big breath because it wouldn’t have been…
Camden wouldn’t have done it.
He would have no reason to.
Except me.
And…
When I saw you that night, I thought you were stunning. Took my breath away.
I’ve been replaying those words in my head for the last week and a half, wondering if he meant it.
If he still thinks that way. If it’s possible that we’ve been fighting with each other this whole time because my feelings were hurt over a misunderstanding, and I’ve refused to see how judgmental I can be.
I open the text thread with him, to the latest message he wrote, informing me that he wouldn’t be home until the early morning hours.
He doesn’t have a lot of Thursday night games, but this one is against Tampa Bay.
And when he left yesterday, he once again reminded me to use his credit card to purchase whatever I wanted for the guest bedroom I’ve been using while he’s away. To buy anything I might need.
But ever since our conversation about that night, I haven’t been able to take him up on the offer. Spite purchases? Absolutely yes. Buying something when I know it’s coming from a genuine place? Makes me feel like a shrew.
I don’t want to believe that I was the asshole in that situation, but I very well might have been.
It’s even made me view all of his well-reported bad behavior through a new lens.
All the stupid stuff he’s done, it’s never involved anyone else.
He’s never hurt anyone. At least, not that I know of, and certainly not on purpose.
If I am to believe what he said is true, he never insulted me and only ever wanted to protect me.
Could I have gotten it so wrong?
It’s the question that has been troubling me every day as I enter his apartment and find my tea and the kettle he bought, the guinea pigs he’s become attached to and can never leave the house without saying goodbye to, the bracelet he wears from his sister, the smiles and hugs he offers her, the way his gaze coasts over me from head to toe every time I enter a room he’s in, as if he’s making sure I’m all right before ever uttering a single word to me.
I never thought of myself as a particularly prideful person, but it has been a struggle to accept that I was the one who fucked up. I was the one who jumped to conclusions. I was the one to kick off this sparring relationship. Me. I’m the problem.
And I don’t know how to begin to apologize.
But there is also another part of me that doesn’t want to because he may not have deliberately hurt my feelings that first time, yet he continued to every other time. I am not the only one who acted out of anger.
We were like bickering children, poking each other until the other one flinched.
Well, he’s got me flinching.
So much so that I’ve been keeping as much distance as possible from him.
Physically and emotionally.
Except that’s hard to do when Paisley and I turn on his game later.
Paisley is mostly uninterested, texting her best friend, only lifting her attention to it every few minutes.
I have the volume up and the captions on, and as the camera zooms in on Camden, he tunnels his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, his woven bracelet still on his wrist. I notice Paisley smile to herself until the commentators start dissecting his private life.
“Long’s comeback after an embarrassing display, which cost the Founders their national championship, and a terrible tragedy in the off-season has had a surprising upward trajectory.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to come back so well, or at all. With a personal loss like that, you never know how it’s going to affect a player.”
At that moment, they cut away to a prepackaged video, a montage of Camden’s highest and lowest moments.
Next to me, Paisley shifts as the commentators go on.
“Long’s a smart player, a natural-born talent.
We saw that in his rookie year. Coming out of college, the kid threw up statistics that matched veteran players. ”
“But you said the keyword there—kid. For as mature a player as he is on the field, he doesn’t have that same maturity off the field.”
“It’s still early in the season, but it seems he did a lot of growing up.”
“He had to. You don’t lose both of your parents at the same time without it changing you as a person.”
The camera pans back to Camden as he stalks to the fifty-yard line with Erik and the other two captains for the coin toss. The Founders win and choose to defer, but Paisley doesn’t stay. She tells me that she’s going to her bedroom, leaving me alone to watch the game.
I don’t have to, and yet I don’t turn it off. Instead, I curl up under a blanket with a mug of hot tea and watch as Camden Long once again displays his maturity on the field. If only they knew what his life has been like off the field these last few months.
He plays well, and though he doesn’t score any points, he has a couple of catches and a great block in the third quarter so my brother can score on a rushing touchdown.
I try to stay awake to watch the postgame wrap-up and interviews, but it’s almost midnight and I pass out right there on the couch in the living room.
I don’t know what time it is when I come to with a gentle hand on my shoulder and a quietly rumbled, “River, honey, wake up.”
I feel like I’m moving in mud, and it takes my brain a moment to process that I’m still on the couch in Camden’s penthouse.
He’s in front of me, sitting back on his haunches, his face mere inches from mine.
All the lights in the main areas of the condo turn off automatically at midnight, so only the glow of the television remains to illuminate the room, casting his face mostly in shadow.
But he’s wearing his glasses, and I find myself smiling in my exhausted delirium. “I like when you wear them,” I murmur, forcing myself to sit up. “I like the Clark Kent version of you.”
“Yeah?” I can hear more than see the arrogant tilt to his lips. “You don’t want Superman?”
I shake my head. “Too many people know him. But I know the real version. Only I know Clark.”
He doesn’t reply, merely makes a soft sound, one I can’t interpret, but then his hand is under the blanket, wrapping around my calf, his thumb stroking the back of my knee. And I reflexively extend my leg farther out, giving his fingers more room.
“You feel okay?” he asks. “These couches can’t be too comfortable to sleep on.”
I yawn. “It’s okay. The blanket makes up for it.”
The plush fleece in the color Cappuccino, the one I bought with his credit card.
He brushes his other hand along the edge. “You should order a few more of these if you like them.”
“A few more items to ruin your bachelor aesthetic,” I tease, and he mutters an assent before tugging the blanket off me to find my hands.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“Yes, just give me a few minutes, and I’ll head out.”
He pauses. “Head out?”
My brain is still fuzzy with sleep, and I don’t understand. “Yes…?”
“It’s almost four in the morning. You’re not going anywhere.”
I nearly trip into him when he tows me up to standing, my hands landing on his chest. His palms come around my waist, holding me steady, and I blink a few times. “I figured now that you’re home…”
“I’m not sending you out driving now. You’re going to sleep here.”
“But I—”
“You’re sleeping here.” He slides his hands to my shoulders, and with him towering over me, I can’t see anything but the reflection off his glasses. “Now, can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”
It’s a tempting offer. To give in to the heaviness of my limbs and let him take me in his arms, but even in my sleep-addled brain, I know it’s not a good idea. Not for my heart or our fragile truce.
“I can walk.”
He lets me step away from him but keeps his hand on my lower back, guiding me through the living room and kitchen to the hall, where I suddenly remember an idea I had. I don’t want to forget in the morning.
Spinning around, I grab his biceps, my fingers barely spanning the round muscles. “I was thinking about Paisley’s birthday. She really misses Ava, and I was hoping we could plan something. Maybe fly her out here.”
“Ava is the best friend, right?” When I nod, he inclines his head a few inches, his fingertips tracing over my hips, slipping under the hem of my T-shirt and over my shorts. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. That’ll make her happy.”
“Happier,” I correct, and I can smell mint on his breath when he exhales harshly.
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
“Mostly because of you.”
But I won’t let him escape the credit on this. “No. It’s because you’re taking care of her. She adores you.”
He digs his fingertips into my hips, and with my heart jackrabbiting so loud in my chest, I can’t be sure if I heard it or if I imagined it.
I adore you.
“Come on.” He urges me to the guest room. “You need sleep, and so do I.”
“I’ll be up to take Paisley to school tomorrow.”
“I’m going to. It’s our rest day, and you need time off.”
“It’s okay.”
“River,” he warns, opening the door for me, flicking on the light, which makes me wince. Although being able to finally see him makes it better.
He smiles down at me, runs his hand over my sleep-mussed hair that probably looks like a rat’s nest. “Sleep well.”
Then he nudges me inside, closing the door after me.
I adore you too.