Chapter 16 #2
The late afternoon air hits me like a wall when I finally escape my office, but it does nothing to clear the fog in my head. My migraine has settled in for the duration, a steady throb behind my eyes that makes the parking lot lights seem too bright even though the sun’s already setting.
I’m fumbling with my car keys when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Sutton?”
I turn to find Campbell approaching, still in his practice gear but with a Renegades hoodie thrown over his shoulder. His hair’s damp from the shower, and per usual he’s got that post-practice glow that should make my stomach do ridiculous things. Right now, though, I can barely focus on his face.
“Hey,” I manage, trying to sound normal.
His expression shifts immediately, concern replacing his usual easy smile. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks. Every woman loves to hear that.” I sigh. “Twice in one day, too.”
“I’m serious.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his soap and see the worry in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
I want to lie, to say I’m fine and send him on his way. But the combination of my pounding head, Victor’s threats, and the weight of everything I can’t tell him makes the words stick in my throat.
“Rough day,” I say instead.
Campbell studies my face for a moment, then glances at my car keys. “When’s the last time you ate something?”
“I...” I try to remember. Coffee this morning, definitely. Lunch was supposed to be at noon, but then Victor showed up. “I’m not sure.”
He holds out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“Campbell, I can drive—”
“You’re pale, you’re shaking, and you can barely stand up straight.” His voice is gentle but firm. “I’m driving you home.”
Part of me wants to argue, to maintain some semblance of professional distance. But a larger part of me is too tired and too overwhelmed to fight him.
I drop the keys into his palm.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Campbell opens the passenger door of my BMW and waits until I’m settled before jogging around to the driver’s side. He adjusts the seat and mirrors with the practiced ease of someone who’s driven plenty of different cars, then glances at me with that concerned expression still firmly in place.
“We’re making a stop first,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot.
“I just want to go home—”
“Pharmacy. And grocery store. You need actual food, not whatever cold coffee drinks and leftover pizza slices you’ve been surviving on.”
I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I know,” he says firmly. “I want to.”
The simple honesty in his voice makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with my headache.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting in the parking lot of the River City Pharmacy, which also shares space with a small grocery market. Campbell’s turned off the engine, but neither of us moves to get out.
“Do you want to tell me what happened today?” he asks quietly.
I open my eyes and look at him. He’s turned in his seat to face me, one arm resting on the steering wheel, his full attention focused on me. The concern in his expression is so genuine it makes my throat ache.
“Victor Lawson paid me a visit,” I say finally.
Campbell’s jaw tightens. “The guy from the gala?”
“The same. Wanted to tell me himself that he’s now a minority owner in Alexandria.” I don’t mention the affiliation negotiations or the scouts. I can’t, not when Victor’s threat about professional boundaries is still echoing in my head.
“Why did he do that?”
“To remind me that he exists, mostly. To make it clear he’ll be as involved as he can be in any future dealings between our organizations.”
Campbell’s expression darkens and I watch his hands clench the steering wheel a little tighter. “He threatened you?”
“Not directly. Victor’s too smart for that. He just likes to make sure people know he has influence.”
“Sutton.” Campbell reaches over and touches my hand, his fingers warm against my cold skin. “You know people like him love to hear themselves talk. My dad used to say ‘give the talkers a noose, they’ll hang themselves eventually.’”
I look down at our joined hands, at the way his thumb is brushing softly across my knuckles. “Guess I could’ve asked my assistant to throw him out?”
“Or never let him darken your office doorway again. Do I need to come up there and play security guard?”
I’m about to respond when Campbell shifts closer, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. “You’re running yourself into the ground,” he murmurs. “When’s the last time someone took care of you?”
What a simple question that is also so loaded.
When was the last time someone took care of me…
when I was little and my parents were still alive?
No, but I did have to get my appendix taken out in my early twenties, so when I was in the hospital people took care of me.
I’m not the kind of gal who asks for help; I used to see it as weakness or letting go of control, but I’m quickly learning that I should be.
“I take care of me,” I say. “I always find a way to make it work.”
“Everyone needs someone else to take care of them sometimes.”
His thumb traces along my cheekbone, and I find myself leaning into his touch despite every rational thought screaming that we’re out in public where anyone could see us.
“Campbell,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“This is a little dangerous, don’t you think?” I look out the window at the very open parking lot. “Not a good idea to sit here in broad daylight with you stroking my cheek, is it?”
“Probably not.” But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans closer, until I can feel his breath against my lips. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t care about you.”
The confession breaks something loose in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching for him. My hands fist in his hoodie, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around me. It’s not quite a kiss—more like a desperate embrace, two people clinging to each other in the middle of a storm.
I bury my face against his neck, breathing in the scent of his soap and something that’s just him. For a moment, the headache recedes, the stress of the day fades, and there’s nothing but Campbell’s arms around me and the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.
“I care about you, too,” I whisper against his skin.
His arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a soft kiss to the top of my head.
That’s when I see it.
Over Campbell’s shoulder, through the driver’s side window, a figure with a camera. The lens is pointed directly at us, and I watch in horror as the flash goes off.
I jerk back from Campbell so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
“What—” Campbell starts, then follows my gaze. His expression shifts from confusion to recognition to something that looks like dread. “Oh, no.”
“You know him?”
“Local sports blogger. He follows the team around sometimes, looking for stories.” Campbell runs a hand through his hair. “His name’s Marcus Webb. He’s persistent.”
I watch as the man with the camera lowers it and starts walking toward a beat-up sedan parked three spaces away. My migraine roars back to life with a vengeance.
“This is bad,” I breathe.
“Sutton—”
“This is really, really bad.” I can already see the headline: Team Owner Caught in Compromising Position with Player. My phone is going to be ringing off the hook. The board is going to lose their minds. Victor is going to know he was right about professional boundaries.
“Hey.” Campbell’s voice is gentle but urgent. “Look at me.”
I force myself to meet his eyes, even though panic is clawing at my throat.
“Marcus isn’t a bad guy. He snapped a pic, it’s his livelihood,” he explains, his voice firm. “The way this works, I’ll call him and ask him to not post it, and then I’ll tease something else he can use instead.”
“I’m impressed.” I can’t help but look at him with admiration. “You’ve already got a strategy in place.”
“The first thing I was taught when I came to the Renegades, was how to play nice with all the media. Even the local bloggers and influencers, especially them, because they have the power to suddenly go viral on TikTok with a post.”
“So you’ll talk to Marcus?” I ask, my pulse slowing somewhat, but still revving.
“Yes. I’ll make sure to talk to him tonight,” he says, his tone much sweeter, softer now. “I’ll handle it. For us.”
Us. The word should be comforting, but all I can think about is Victor’s smug smile and the way he could use this to undermine everything I’ve worked for.
Campbell’s career. My reputation. The affiliation deal. Everything could come crashing down and all because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself in a parking lot.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.
Campbell immediately shifts back into caretaker mode, reaching for the door handle. “Stop it. I’ll be back in a minute. Medicine first, crisis management second.”
But as he gets out of the car, I can’t shake the feeling that the crisis just became too big for any amount of damage control.