Chapter 9 Cameron
nine
Cameron
The best part of living in downtown Denver is the incredible view I have from my penthouse balcony. I’ve always been a city person, so the sounds and bright lights below soothe my soul. Always have.
I bring my water bottle to my mouth and take a swig, wiping the back of my hand across it after to gather the bit of liquid still clinging to my lips.
I can’t believe how much has changed so quickly.
Two weeks ago, I was still a Denver Lizard.
Two weeks ago, I still hated Zhuri Hart.
Now I’m a Colorado Comet, co-captaining the team with the woman who would probably have considered me her nemesis.
And we’re getting along. Actually getting along.
I’m learning we were both far too quick to judge each other when we met, and that first impression set us down on a path we probably could have avoided entirely.
Zhuri’s not bad. Honestly, she might be kind of fun.
I dreaded the new team announcement a couple of weeks ago, but now I’m optimistic about how this season is going to go.
Until my phone rings.
I grab it from my pocket and let out the loudest sigh. My dad seems to have a sense for when I’m happy, and he uses it to bring me right back down.
“Hey, Tata,” I say softly, pressing the speaker button and resting my phone on the balcony railing in front of me.
“Cameron.” His tone is short and dismissive. “Zhuri Hart has the exact same contract as you.”
“I’m aware of that. I think it’s great. She’s always worked hard.”
“It’s fucking pathetic,” he bites. “How are you supposed to make a name for yourself when your worth is already being diminished to that of a woman?”
“Twenty million dollars sounds pretty worthy to me.”
“You should have demanded more. This league is already a joke. The least they can do is pay you more than a woman.”
I pinch my brow. “That ‘woman’ is one of the best left wingers I’ve ever seen. Her gender has nothing to do with what she’s capable of.”
I hear him scoff. “Your mother made you soft, Cameron.”
“My mother taught me fucking empathy and understanding,” I mutter under my breath.
Despite all the biases my father has tried to instill in me over the years, my mother has made sure none of them stuck. I’ve never thought myself better than somebody because of their gender, sexuality, or the color of their skin.
The same can’t be said of Ivor Kova?i?. I’ve never known someone more bigoted in my life.
The fact that my mom kept me from turning into him is a miracle in and of itself.
“You need to take strides to leave an actual legacy,” my dad continues. “I worked hard to make sure you would have a career, and I won’t see you waste it.”
I sigh and hang my head.
He’s right.
I wouldn’t be where I am without him. He may not have had any actual pull with the NHL, but he made sure to always get me the best coaches and as much ice time as possible.
Part of the reason we moved to Croatia when I was twelve was to work with one of the most sought-after coaches in the world.
He and my dad happened to play together when they were young, and that allowed me the opportunity to train with him.
I wouldn’t be the player I am without my dad. I owe my entire career to him.
Something he’s never let me forget.
“I’ll keep working hard, Tata,” I say lightly. “I won’t let the new league impact how I’m viewed. I’ll keep making a name for myself.”
“See to it that you do,” he commands. “You don’t want to become a disappointment.”
With that, he says his goodbye, seemingly satisfied by the now-deflated mood I’m in.
I immediately make my way to my bar, pulling out my best bottle of whiskey. I need something strong right now.
I pour three fingers into a glass, rest my back against the wall, and slide down to the floor. The whiskey burns as I take a long pull, but I welcome the sting.
Sometimes, it feels like that’s what I deserve for being such an ungrateful son.
My dad said he doesn’t want me to become a disappointment, but with the way I feel right now, I’m pretty sure I already am.
The throbbing in my head is way too loud.
I sit myself up and get my bearings, realizing I’m still on my sofa. Must have drunkenly passed out here last night.
When I feel my head throb again, I realize it’s because of a loud pounding.
A loud pounding at my door.
Who the fuck is pounding on my door right now?
I grab my phone from where it must have fallen to the floor and groan at the bright screen.
It’s not even fucking nine in the morning yet.
I begrudgingly get my ass up and drag myself to the door before whoever is on the other side can try to bust it down again.
When I swing it open, I find my mom, stepdad, and shithead little brother.
“Cameron!” my mother yells—far too fucking loudly, of course—when she takes in my disheveled appearance. “What’s wrong?”
“What are you all doing here?” I’m not very hospitable at the moment, and I seem to be unable to hide that.
“Your mother was worried about you,” my stepdad, Forrest, states.
Bodhi shrugs with a smirk on his face. “You didn’t answer your phone for any of us last night, so I suggested we drop by to check on you.”
“Couldn’t have done that later in the day, Bode? I just fucking woke up.”
“Language, Cameron,” my mother chastises, hands on her hips as she stares me down.
Evelyn Allard used to scare the shit out of me. She’s an incredible mom, but I never wanted to be on the receiving end of her irritation.
She should consider herself lucky that I spent my teenage years with my dad in Croatia rather than around here in Boulder. I would’ve driven her fucking mad.
Even now, though, with my six-foot-five frame towering at least a foot over hers, that tone is still enough to send a little bit of fear through me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, even though I’m really not. She wouldn’t survive hearing the way I talk on the ice.
Forrest gives me a sympathetic look. He’s always had this knack for knowing when I’ve talked to my dad. He never forces me to talk about it, but he makes sure to be available to me if I need him.
I’ve always been a bit jealous that Bodhi has Forrest as his dad while I was stuck with Ivor, and it just makes me feel even shittier for thinking that.
Truthfully, I’m glad Bodhi doesn’t have to deal with the same shit I do. He’s too nice. I don’t think he could make it through the darkness the way I do.
Well, the way I try to, at least.
I seem to be doing a pretty shit job at getting through it lately.
Forrest claps a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you let us inside, Cam? Your mother and I can make some coffee while you talk to Bodhi. You seem like you could use some caffeine.”
I let out a deep breath and step aside to finally let them through the door. “Thanks, Forrest.”
My mom hugs me on her way inside before she and my stepdad head toward my kitchen while Bodhi and I settle in the living room.
“You look rough,” Bodhi says gently. He’s a shithead, sure, but he knows to take a step back when it’s something serious.
“No fucking kidding,” I mutter, sinking back against the sofa.
Since he seems to have inherited his dad’s sixth sense, he knows what that means. “Ivor called you last night, didn’t he?”
“How could you tell?” I reply flatly.
He rolls his eyes. “You look like shit, the bottle of whiskey on the floor is half gone, and you smell like you desperately need a shower.”
“You’re a dick.”
He lets that go. “What did he say?”
I sigh. “Just basically that it’s pathetic that Zhuri and I have the same contract. That I should have demanded more since I’m a man.”
“He always does this to you, Cam.” Bodhi shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He always gets you to shrink in on yourself. It’s not healthy.”
“What do you know about any of that?” I ask. “You’re practically still a child.”
“I’m fucking twenty-two, jackass. Not even seven years younger than you.”
For the first time since I ran into Zhuri yesterday after her meeting, I let out a laugh.
How weird is it that the last time I laughed was with Zhuri Hart?
“Let’s talk about something else. Something more pleasant.”
“I have an interview for the equipment manager position tomorrow,” he smiles.
“Congrats. I guess that is the only way you’ll get to spend time with actual athletes,” I tease, and Bodhi flips me off right as our mom and Forrest walk into the room.
“Bodhi James Allard!” she yells, and my brother’s face pales.
He grits his teeth and glares at me. “Could’ve warned me, dick.”
I grin at him. “But it’s so much more fun this way, baby brother.”
Mom starts talking now as Forrest passes out mugs of hot coffee, and I take a sip and let the warmth consume me.
I sure as hell didn’t expect my family to show up this morning, but I’m glad they did.
I needed them right now more than I realized.