Chapter 30 Cam
Chapter thirty
Cam
The first snap tells me everything.
My stance is wrong. Too high. Weight in the wrong place. Like my body is waiting for a hit that isn’t coming instead of doing its job.
The stadium noise should sharpen me. It always does. Roaring crowds. Lights. The big, clean adrenaline spike that turns thinking into instinct.
Today it’s just noise.
The field feels tilted. Foreign. Like I’m wearing someone else’s cleats.
I move a half-beat late.
That half-beat costs me.
I miss a block I could make in my sleep. The defender slips past, and our guy takes the hit because I’m slow. The sound of pads colliding is loud enough to make my teeth hurt.
Next play.
I run my route crisp out of habit, hands ready.
The pass comes in.
And I drop it.
It hits my gloves and bounces off like I’ve never caught a football in my life.
A groan rolls through the stands. The kind that doesn’t boo, exactly—just disapproves.
I jog back, face blank, stomach twisting.
Coach is already yelling at someone. Maybe me. Maybe the universe.
I try to reset. I tell myself I’m fine.
The thought underneath everything doesn’t let me.
I walked out.
I walked out of her life like she was a room I could exit and lock behind me.
The next drive, I overrun a route so badly the timing collapses. I see the quarterback’s eyes flick toward me, confused, then angry. Coach throws his headset down on the sideline like it personally betrayed him.
I don’t blame him.
Every mistake lands like a physical blow. But none of them hurt as much as the one stupid sentence on repeat beneath every play.
She wanted me gone.
The whistle blows and we line up again.
My legs feel heavy. My hands feel wrong. My breathing is shallow in a way that has nothing to do with cardio.
I look up into the stands without meaning to.
A sea of faces. Noise. Motion.
No Lila.
Of course she isn’t here.
Why would she be?
I move late again.
But the truth is, my head's not in the game. Part of me is still in that penthouse hallway, standing outside her door, choosing not to knock.
By the time I reach the sideline, my lungs are burning.
I pace near the benches, helmet tucked under my arm.
The trainers pretend not to watch me.
My teammates give me space. The kind you give a man who’s vibrating too close to the edge.
Jax catches my eye from across the sideline. Raises his brows once. Then again, sharper this time. A silent You good?
I don’t answer.
Ty stares a little too long, uncertainty written all over his face. Like he’s deciding whether to say something or wait until I implode.
The roar of the crowd swells and dips around us. I try to let it carry me. Let it drown out the images I don’t want.
Lila’s face in the penthouse.
The way her shoulders stiffened when I said, 'maybe that’s for the best'.
I told myself I was protecting her.
But all I really did was walk away first.
The whistle blows.
“Offense!” someone yells.
I swallow and pull my helmet on, jog back toward the huddle.
My legs feel like concrete.
I line up and stare straight ahead, forcing my breath into something steady. The quarterback calls the cadence. My body responds on autopilot, muscle memory carrying me where my head refuses to go.
But every step feels delayed.
Every movement feels like I’m chasing something already gone.
We finish the drive ugly.
When halftime finally hits, relief floods me so hard my knees almost buckle. I head toward the tunnel, eyes down, ready to disappear into the locker room and sit in the quiet until I can remember how to be a person again.
A hand clamps around my arm.
Heavy. Unavoidable.
I stop.
Jax.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at me like he's seeing through all my crap.
“What’s going on?” he asks finally.
I pull my arm free. “I’m just off today.”
He snorts. “Don’t give me that.”
I keep walking. He steps in front of me, blocking the tunnel with his entire body like a brick wall.
“You’re playing like a man with a broken rib and a broken heart,” Jax says. “I can’t help you with the rib.”
My jaw tightens.
“But the heart?” He tilts his head. “That I might know something about.”
I turn away.
“Stop lying to yourself,” he says simply.
I turn my shoulder, trying to slip past him.
Jax doesn’t move.
“You don’t get to hide right now,” he says. “Not when you’re dragging the whole team down with you.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He studies my face like he’s reading a stat sheet only he can see. “You’re not. And we both know why.”
I don’t answer.
Jax finally steps aside, and the current of bodies carries me the rest of the way through the tunnel and into the locker room.
The locker room noise swells around us. Guys talking. Cleats clacking on concrete. Someone laughing too loudly.
Jax comes in after me, lowering his voice. “You love her.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
Hard.
Jax's expression softens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
My throat burns. “You don’t know that.”
“I know it's hard to believe,” he says. “But I was in love once. And walking away from her was the worst decision I ever made.”
I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is,” he says. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
I stare past him at the concrete wall. At a scuff mark shaped like a state I’ve never lived in. Anywhere but here.
“She looked at you,” Jax continues, “like you were her safe place.”
My chest tightens.
“And you looked back,” he says, quieter now, “like she was the sunshine in your world.”
Jax claps a hand on my shoulder. “Fix it,” he says. “Before you lose something you can’t replace.”
He walks away.
I stand there longer than I should.
***
When the second half starts, I line up again. Same field. Same lights. Same noise.
But everything is different.
The game doesn’t feel loud anymore.
It feels clear.
I play sharper.
Not because I’ve let go.
Because I finally admit what I’ve been holding back.
I'm in love with her.
I didn’t mean for it to happen.
But it did.
Not the way the contract outlined. Not the way PR could spin.
Stupidly. Deeply.
And I ran.
After the game, the locker room empties in waves. Noise fades. Lights dim.
I sit alone on the bench, helmet at my feet, sweat cooling on my skin. My body aches. My chest aches worse.
“I didn't trust her,” I whisper. “And when I saw her with someone else, I jumped to conclusions.”
The words don’t make it better.
I close my eyes.
Because for the first time since I walked out of that penthouse, I understand exactly what I may have walked away from.
And I don't know if there is a way back.