Chapter 11
Camille stepped into the church and immediately zeroed in on Aaron.
He was deep in conversation with the pastor.
She’d dressed a little more casually this time, partly to match the culture of the church and partly to avoid having to worry about long dresses if Madison wanted to play.
She’d chosen a fuchsia, close-fitting top paired with black, wide-legged pants.
Tinted pink sunglasses shielded her eyes.
She waved to Aaron, then slid into the pew where he’d sat the week before, assuming—perhaps boldly—that it was his pew.
Madison’s toys were tucked beside a well-worn Bible, which only reinforced the impression.
A couple of congregants approached to welcome Camille back.
She appreciated the warmth of the gesture; the church really was remarkably friendly.
While one of the women was still chatting, Aaron slipped into the seat beside her.
“Hey there,” he said, smiling.
“Hey yourself.”
He glanced politely at the woman, Carrie, as she finished speaking. Moments later, she scurried off, leaving them alone.
Camille turned toward him. Her heart gave a light, traitorous beat—not just because of his closeness, but because of how good he looked. Jeans. A T-shirt. And because of how good he smelled—something manly and spicy—it made her want to lean in and breathe him in at the line of his jaw.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.
She tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”
“The shades,” he said. “You look like a rock star the morning after a concert.”
She chuckled and removed them. “I hope that’s the end of your rock-star analogies. Especially as they relate to me.”
He smirked. “We’ll see.”
They drifted into a conversation about food, of all things. She took a sip of her latte, and he asked if that was breakfast. She admitted that it was.
“So you don’t eat breakfast?” he asked.
“I eat breakfast like a pauper and lunch like a queen.”
That made him laugh. He mentioned noticing the special meals delivered to her trailer and admitted he’d been curious about what she ordered. Her choices prompted him to comment that she seemed like a true foodie—liable to follow good food wherever it led.
She asked about his favorite meals.
“Italian,” he said without hesitation. Then, almost casually, “So—you’re half Italian, I hear?”
She nodded, lifting her cup again. “On my father’s side.”
“Where was his family from?”
“Naples.”
He stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Why?”
“My grandfather is from there. We went often when I was a kid.”
Before Camille could respond, Madison came bouncing toward them. She wore a fuchsia-and-black plaid dress with black leggings and was delighted to discover she and Camille were wearing the same colors. Camille couldn’t help thinking it was a remarkable coincidence.
The service itself was wonderful. Camille listened intently, riveted by the pastor’s teaching on Jesus’ divinity. Once again, she found herself struck by how engaged Aaron was—how fully present.
After church, they gathered at Aaron’s house as usual. This time, though, something was different. Aaron spent more time with Camille than with the other guys. He and Madison sat with her while he regaled her with stories from his college football days. Camille was genuinely intrigued.
“Why did you leave football?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced away and focused on helping Madison cut her meat.
Camille assumed he wouldn’t respond. He seemed distressed about whatever led to his decision. She was about to change the subject, when Madison hopped down to ask to use the bathroom, Aaron took her inside. When they returned, Madison ran off toward the swings, and Aaron turned back to Camille.
~*~*~*~
“After my wife died, I lost the appetite for it,” Aaron said quietly, answering the question he’d been weighing whether to answer at all.
His voice dropped on the last word, roughened by memory.
“Oh,” Camille breathed.
“I met Scarlette when I was in the NFL. She was a cheerleader.”
His gaze drifted toward Madison, but his mind had already gone back to that time.
Scarlette Swinton had been the love of his life.
He’d signed with the Los Angeles Rams as a tight end in August that year but didn’t meet her until November, at a Thanksgiving charity event.
She was a Rams cheerleader—gorgeous, all endless blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a kind of radiance that made people turn without realizing why.
It was like she lit up every space she entered.
Like he’d been struck with a lightning bolt when she turned that megawatt smile on him.
He knew, almost immediately, that he needed to know her.
He also knew the rules. Players and cheerleaders didn’t mix. In the battle between following the rules and following his heart, his heart won.
Through a teammate, he passed his number to her.
He hoped that she would call but he hadn’t really expected her to. She was brilliant. Popular. A star cheerleader. She wouldn’t risk sanctions to go out with a rookie. Or so he’d believed. When his phone rang one night from an unfamiliar number, he answered, “Who’s this?”
Her voice teased, “Didn’t you want me to call you?”
“Scarlette?” he’d blurted, stunned.
She laughed. And that was it.
They kept the relationship secret at first, but the secret couldn’t last. When it became known, they faced a choice. Breaking up was never an option. Scarlette had to leave the Rams but decided to leave cheerleading altogether, unwilling to cheer for another team.
“How did she feel about that?” Camille asked.
“About what?”
“Giving up her job.”
He studied her. “Why do you ask?”
“Some women might resent being the one who had to give up her career.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I should have quit instead?”
She shrugged. “Is that unreasonable?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “As the man, I was expected to provide.”
“That sounds a little macho.”
“I’d say it’s more biblical than macho,” he replied.
“Oh?” she said lightly. “Which verse would you say supports that?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies… For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it…That’s in Ephesians.
” He picked up his phone and did a search.
“Specifically chapter 5 verses 28 to 29.” He handed the phone to her.
As she read he said, “This verse is often understood to include material provision as part of a husband’s duty to nourish and care for his wife. ”
Camille tilted her head, considering him. “Provision doesn’t have to be exclusive to the man, though. The Proverbs 31woman works, trades, invests. She’s hardly passive.”
Aaron nodded. “Agreed. Scripture never condemns a woman for working. But notice why she works—for the good of her household. Her labor complements her husband’s calling; it doesn’t replace it.”
Camille leaned back in her chair. “So you believe in male headship.”
“Absolutely. Scripture makes it clear that while it’s a right it’s also a serious responsibility. Men have to answer to God for how they lead,” Aaron replied evenly. “Headship means accountability. If a home falters, Scripture doesn’t point first to the wife—it looks to the husband.”
She studied him for a moment. “You sound very sure.”
“I am,” he said quietly. “Because Christ doesn’t lead the church by asking her to sacrifice first. He bears the weight Himself. Do you understand?”
He felt that it was important that she understood.
It sounded like Camille had come from a very liberal background.
She, no doubt, was a victim of societal norms even though she had become saved.
He wanted to help her see everything in light of scripture.
Not as the world saw it but as scripture saw it.
Eventually, she nodded.
“I understand. God has ordained men to be the heads, to lead. It’s not a competition. It’s hierarchy. So Scarlette saw it that way?”
“She did.”
“What did she do after she left cheerleading?”
“She turned to apparel design. She designed uniforms and sportswear having firsthand experience with what is functional for athletes.”
They married soon after she had launched her career. After Madison was born, Scarlette continued her business but hired people so that she could devote herself to her family as well. And she never missed a game. She was always there—his own personal cheerleader.
Life was perfect. And then it shattered.
Driving home late from a game, Scarlette and Madison were struck by a truck. It was suspected that Scarlette may have fallen asleep at the wheel. Madison survived with barely a scratch. Scarlette—three months pregnant—did not.
Grief hollowed him out. He blamed himself. He blamed the game. He blamed God.
He walked away from it all. The game and God.
He shared all of this quietly with Camille—the first time he’d spoken of it to anyone outside his family.
Her eyes were suspiciously moist when he was finished.
When she slipped her hand into his, he didn’t resist.
Her fingers were warm, light at first, as if offering rather than claiming. Aaron closed his hand around hers, firm and certain, grounding himself in the contact. Their palms fit together with an intimacy that startled them both. He squeezed, then lifted his gaze to meet hers.
Something electric passed between them—grief braided with longing, compassion deepening into awareness.
Words weren’t necessary. She understood.
“Is that why you started acting?” she finally asked softly.
Her thumb brushed his knuckle as she spoke, an unconscious motion that sent a slow, unexpected heat up his arm.
He gave a self-conscious laugh. “When Hollywood first came calling, I refused. The first script was about a widowed football player holding his team—and his life—together. The irony was too cruel. But then another one came along. A retired assassin dragged back into violence after his wife is killed.” He exhaled.
“That was the movie John Gray?”