12. Camden #3
He dragged the pen across the last letter, dropped it onto the clipboard, and looked toward the hallway.
Tess was still there.
For one irrational second, he expected her to change her mind. Maybe she would look at his signature, look at him standing where she had ordered him to stand, and decide the punishment had lasted long enough.
She turned toward the corridor instead.
Sully went with her.
Camden stayed beside the desk.
The receptionist took the clipboard from him and glanced down at the signature. Her expression didn’t change. If the name meant anything to her, she gave him no indication.
“Take a seat over by the magazine rack until she finishes her appointment.”
Camden looked once more toward the hallway. Tess and Sully were already moving farther from the desk, headed toward doors he had no right to follow them through.
Months ago, he would have called that restriction unacceptable.
Now it was just the consequence.
He had spent sixteen weeks absent from appointments he hadn’t even known existed. Sitting outside one of them was more access than his choices had earned.
Camden turned toward the magazine rack.
Camden crossed the waiting room and chose the chair farthest from the reception desk.
He slipped the pharmacy bag from his wrist, set it beside his boots, and eased into the molded seat.
The plastic pressed against his sore back, offering none of the cushioned comfort he was used to in private terminals, stadium lounges, and team facilities.
The clock above the hallway marked each passing second with a dry tick.
Camden kept his eyes on the scuffed floor.
A man occupied the next chair, one hand resting over a folded clinic brochure on his lap. His knee bounced until he glanced sideways at Camden and stopped.
“Seat’s rough on the back, isn’t it?”
“I’ve had worse.”
The stranger gave a short laugh, then looked at him again.
Camden focused on the far wall. A maternity poster showed a smiling couple standing beside a crib, both of them looking rested enough to belong in an advertisement. He returned his attention to the floor before the image could turn into another accusation.
The man leaned closer.
“You are a dead ringer for that quarterback, man. Camden Ford.” He studied Camden’s face. “You must get that constantly.”
Camden could have ended the conversation with one word.
Yes.
The name had opened doors his whole adult life. It had secured private rooms, cleared hallways, moved strangers out of seats, and taught him to assume any barrier could be solved by identifying himself to the right person.
That name had done nothing for him here.
“I get the joke a lot,” Camden said. “But you’re looking at a mechanic. I turn wrenches down on the commercial slips.”
The man noticed Camden’s damaged hands. “Commercial marina?”
“Down the road.”
“Explains the palms.”
Camden looked at the cuts crossing his skin. Nobody had photographed those. No trainer had wrapped them. No content team had asked him to hold them toward a camera under studio lights.
They were just work.
The stranger settled back into his chair, letting the work talk go. “First baby for you guys?”
Camden glanced toward the hallway.
The door remained closed.
“First one, yeah.”
The man smiled. “Same here. We’re a little ahead of you, I think. My wife had me in there for the last appointment.”
Camden said nothing.
He kept his eyes on the floor.
“Let me tell you, that fetal monitor is going to floor you,” the man went on. “Hearing that rapid pulse for the first time changes the whole thing. You know there’s a baby coming, obviously, but then they turn that sound on and suddenly there’s no pretending it’s still some distant idea.”
Camden placed both hands on his knees.
For four months, there had been no monitor in his life.
No appointment reminders. No paper gowns. No calendar dates circled around checkups. No chance to stand beside Tess while some technician pointed at a screen and explained what belonged to their child.
He had been posing for apparel photographs.
The man kept talking, filling the silence with milestones Camden had completely missed.
“My wife cried the first time. I didn’t think I would, but I came pretty close.” He smiled toward the hallway. “Makes all the waiting worth it.”
Camden released his knees and rested his hands beside him.
The door remained closed.
Tess was somewhere beyond it, living another milestone without him because she had learned she could.
That was the part he could not argue with.
She had spent sixteen weeks building a life that worked without waiting for Camden Ford to finish a meeting, clear a sponsor dinner, or decide that his marriage deserved space on the schedule.
The stranger glanced at him. “You’ll get your turn.”
Camden looked toward the door.
Maybe.
But not because he was owed one.
Camden nodded slowly. “I’d empty out everything I own just to get past those doors and hear it.”
The man went quiet beside him.
Camden didn’t try to fill the space, keeping his eyes on the closed examination door.