33. Come Back
THIRTY-THREE
Cam layon his back in his bed, tossing his hat higher and higher until he found the perfect height for it to bump the ceiling and fall straight down into his hands. His phone was unmuted, the volume raised, so he wouldn’t miss the call—if it came. Knoxville is getting hot, Ethan said, and Cam knew it was no exaggeration.
The tension simmered, but in a shifting landscape of friends hurting and hiding from one another, this was one dinged friendship he could fix.
He’d texted Ethan an hour before and asked if he could call, and received a terse reply that he’d call him after practice—whenever that was. Cam waited, stomach rumbling, bouncing his hat off the ceiling, running his list of things to say.
The ringer set on maximum volume nearly startled him off his bed. He had the phone on silent for so long he’d forgotten what the ringtone sounded like.
Cam dove in without a greeting. “I’m sorry. I should have called you sooner.”
“I heard you’re staying.” Ethan’s voice was flat.
“I am.”
“And I heard you got the girl.”
“I did. The two are not related.”
“That seems a little unlikely, but okay. Good for your team, I guess.”
“I mean it,” Cam insisted. “I made the decision before I made any kind of move with her. Something happened the morning after I talked to you, and Cory will tell you my mind was made up when he called to nag me at eight a.m. This is not about her. Maybe it only happened with her because I got fired up to push things forward instead of waiting for a shove.”
Ethan sighed. “Did you go move your bee into a private hive and bring it home to live happily ever after?”
Cam ignored him and scrolled through his photos, then sent one. “I told you about my UT hat. The one I wear everywhere, and my P.R. team hates it. Can you zoom in and read what it says above the signature?”
“Come back.”
“Peyton Manning took that off my head and signed it when my parents came to pick me up, and he said ‘Every setback is a setup for a comeback. Come back next year. We’ll save you a spot.’ I never got to. My mom and dad wouldn’t let me. For years, I’ve worn this hat backward, and I never look at the signature anymore. It’s like a security blanket. Sunday morning when I woke up, it was jammed under my pillow, and when I smoothed it out, the words just jumped out at me like I’d never seen them before.”
“So you’ll stay because Peyton Manning told you to.”
“Until Jordan left, I never questioned that as a personal motto. It meant I should keep trying. Don’t give up just because I’m scared or my parents are scared. I lived by that. I’m the comeback guy here, and this thing I thought was a core part of who I am went out the window when I needed to step up the most.”
“Probably because your stupid P.R. crew made you wear a different hat.”
Cam snorted a laugh. “You might be right. This one has wires that connect to my brain.”
“It also sounds like the missing piece of all that stuff you were going on about the other night. Fuck the bee. It was about a comeback, not actually coming back home.”
“And it was literally on my head the whole time. This is about getting back to myself and what I know I can do. It was on me to step up and take control of my momentum, and I finally did. I’m so sorry I unloaded on you and acted like an ass.”
“Friends should be able to unload. I acted like an ass right back, and I let all that confusion hit me personally.”
“You didn’t say anything untrue.”
“I wasn’t supportive when you needed it.” Ethan heaved a sigh. “I don’t know how those guys did this support group thing back before there was a chat app and text messages. I think there was an email listserv for a while, then some private social media groups. It’s easier to talk when we type, and it’s easier to be vulnerable and really let some emotional stuff rip. And for me, it’s easier to respond in anger. If I’d been sitting next to you when you were half-drunk and telling me a bee told you to transfer out, I don’t think I’d have been such a jerk about it.”
“This job and what it stands for are important to you, and I said I was going to dump all that. Of course you got a little hot.”
“Cam, you’re my friend. Whatever that means in a world where I’ve never actually met you, I think of you as a friend. Football is this big, iconic thing that connects us, but I used it as a weapon to make you feel worse. I tried to make that shit all about me and how disappointed I was.”
There was a long silence, and Cam knew Ethan was working out something to say. He waited.
“Cory and I hung out for a few days on spring break last year,” he said finally. “He was a first-time starter, five stars, and I had a godawful season and was almost ready to quit. Do you know how fucking weird it is to be this age, an adult with all this stuff on your shoulders, and you’re going to ask a guy you’ve never met, who’s seen your rawest and worst, to come stay in your mom and dad’s basement and play video games for a few days?”
Cam furrowed his brows. “Hell of a first date.”
“It was worth the weird ask. We tore it up. Played a little Madden, but otherwise didn’t touch a football. I felt like I was thirteen and just a normal kid making friends again. Thatch is shit at ultimate frisbee, by the way, if you ever want to beat him at something.”
“So what you’re saying is that you want to hang out when I’m in town, since I’m staying the night.”
“I mean, if Avery’s coming, I’ll bring Kaia. If not, just us.”
“Avery’s coming, and we have a hotel. I’m not sleeping in your basement.”
“Good thing I didn’t ask you to.”
“The bumble bee was gone the morning after we talked, you know. I walked back to get the truck, and the little house I made was there, but the leaf roof came off and the bee was gone.”
“You really made a house for a bee.” Ethan paused. “And you really just sent me a picture of a house you made for a bee.”
“He was cold, man. I’m not a monster.”
“I’m sure he appreciated it.”
Pippa flung the blending sponge at the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“What the hell is wrong with your attitude?” Cam shot back. “This is the same face you’ve been powdering since August, and I shaved right before I left, especially for you. I shaved for you, Pippa. My girlfriend is about to question our professional relationship. Can we get this done before Shelby gets here and rips both of our heads off?”
“I meant the sponge.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Pippa’s lip quivered as she picked up the foundation palette. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be good at makeup,” she squeaked. “I do everybody’s makeup.”
“Yours looks great,” Cam said, unnerved by her sudden shift in tone. “It’s a shame I don’t need eyeshadow. That purple color you’ve got looks really nice.”
“I had a color all made up for you, though, and it worked great before. But now it looks all wrong.”
“Different light?”
“I’ve used it right here a million times. Oh, no. Did it look bad all those other times?”
“Pips, chill. It always looked great. We would both be dead now if it didn’t.” He stroked his jawline. “Just make a new blend. Or honestly, I’m happy to go without it. It’s just a podcast video.”
“You’ve got a little razor burn on your neck, and one spot here going red.” She poked a tender bump where a pimple seemed to be taking root. He grimaced.
“You always do a great job. We can try again if you want to, but honestly, I don’t care what I look like for this. You can tell Shelby I grabbed the makeup remover and the cotton balls and ran away.” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes. Do I look okay otherwise?”
Pippa nodded, her lips pursed into a pout. “You’re fine. Shay’s coming to do your hair, right?”
“She is. Should I sign anything while we’re waiting, as long as I’m here?”
Shelby barged in and crossed the room in two strides. She glared at Pippa. “Why isn’t he done yet?”
“We’re skipping makeup,” Cam said. “It’s a podcast video.”
“Exactly. It’s a video.”
“My pores are having a bad day.”
“Porter.”
“That makeup is tested on animals. I object.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You’ve called me a lot of names, Susan, but borrowing from Our Lord and Savior is a bit much.”
“I am sticking to our agreement, Cameron,” she said, delivering his name with a harsh chill. “The one you asked for. You’re mine for the next hour, and you will present this university in its best light, which means you will look the part of the wholesome, All-American student athlete we’re supposed to pretend you are.”
“Hey, I’m really fucking wholesome.”
Pippa stood. “It’s my fault, Shelby. The blend I was using before just didn’t look right today. I don’t know why, but?—”
“It didn’t look right because you mixed it in August when we got him and he’d been in the sun every day for two months. It’s almost November.” Shelby grabbed a palette and a brush as Pippa looked on in horror. “Don’t move, Porter.”
Cam tried to unclench his jaw as she jabbed him with brushes and her quick breaths grew more agitated. “What’s the problem, Susan?” he asked when he saw her sifting through trays.
“Your color is weird.”
“It sure is. Probably too weird for makeup in a podcast video.”
“Your undertones are weird, smartass. Where are you from?”
“Tennessee. You know that.”
“I mean, where is your family from?”
“That’s a little personal.”
She flustered. “That can affect your undertones.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Oh, right. Dad’s from Knoxville originally. Mom’s from South Carolina. I think my undertones are Dixieland and defeat. Might not want to go there if we’re manifesting wins.”
Shelby set down the makeup and brush and folded her hands in her lap. “We didn’t get off to the best start, Cameron.” She couldn’t keep the venom out of his name. “But I have a job to do here, and so do you. I know you don’t like it. You make that abundantly clear every time you enter this room. But it’s your job now, too, and if I say you need to look nice for a podcast video, we make you look nice. Your last link was viewed more than a quarter of a million times.”
“Well, most of those were my mama. Mom’s family is from South Carolina a ways back,” he drawled. “Dad’s family was up north for a few generations. He liked the video too. So did my uncles. They’re in Kentucky and Virginia, if that matters.”
She seethed, and Cam wondered how much more it would take to piss her off to the point of giving in like she did for the magazine photo shoot. No one tried to whip his glasses off his face anymore, and he appreciated the newly efficient schedule, but he was still the only one in a position to stand up to her bullying. Pippa cowered only a few feet away, much like he’d seen Garrett and Shay shrink back when Shelby bulldozed their ideas. When they stood up to her about pinning jerseys, the photo spread was a hit. He thought they made a point, but nothing changed.
“I meant country.”
“Oh. I’m American. You said you wanted All-American, right?”
Shelby slammed the palette down. “Goddammit, Porter, what are you?”
Cameron was about to drawl a total asshole, Susan, but stopped short.
“Excuse me?” a familiar female voice asked.
Pippa jolted upright and blanched. No one spoke.
“Did you just ask him ‘what’ he is?” The voice rang louder, and Cam turned around.
Shay met her boss’s eyes and didn’t flinch. “Do you need to know my family tree to blend my makeup, Shelby?” She tapped her forearm. “I’m in your African palette. Do you have shades for Nigerian and South African? I need seventy-five percent of one and twenty-five percent of the other, please. Cameron, what are you? I’m sure we have a few palettes labeled ‘European’ in here. Maybe we can mix something up if you’ll tell me what geographical regions I need.”
“My dad’s side is English and French. Mom’s is mostly French. Brittany, if that helps.”
“Aha, a sallow Breton. I should have known to look for the yellow undertones based on the color of the skin that’s right there on your face, instead of digging through your racial makeup for an excuse.”
Shay’s words sliced the air like a knife, and with Shelby seated in front of her, she finally had the higher ground to look down her nose. “Come on, Cam.” She beckoned to him without turning her gaze from Shelby’s flushed face. “Pips, can you help me with the mixer? We’re supposed to call the show in five. Let’s go present the university in its best light.”