“CAMDEN, WHAT IS ALL THIS nonsense about you not wanting to have the surgery?” my dad growls into the line. “I can’t even believe I have to have this conversation with you.”
Sighing heavily, I turn the volume down on my earbuds and hit STOP on the treadmill. I could kick myself for answering, but if I didn’t, he would have stopped by. “Dad, this isn’t your decision.”
“You’re my son. I’m your father. How can you possibly think that I won’t have a say regarding this?”
“You’re my father? That’s a laugh.” I grab a hand towel and wipe my forehead.
“What on earth—”
“You’re my manager. That’s why you’re talking to me. Not because of fatherly concern.”
He harrumphs. “I seem to remember raising you. That doesn’t entitle me to being labeled your father?”
“I think you can thank Vi for some of that.”
“Damnit, Camden, I’ll drag you to that hospital myself if I have to.”
“Great, I look forward to it,” I bark.
“Did that meeting with Arsenal really mean nothing to you? Good God, it’s what we’ve all dreamed of for ages.”
“No, it’s what you’ve dreamed of for us. I don’t know what the hell I want anymore.”
“Camden, you’re just scared. An injury can mess with your mind. Stay focused, Son.”
“I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do!” I roar into the mobile, tipping over the edge completely. “I’m not letting you all back me into a corner. I have my own bloody mind and no one is pushing me around anymore. It’s over. I’m not having the surgery on Monday. End of.”
His heavy sigh is trembling with barely contained anger. I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment. In a flat voice, he says, “You’re making a mistake.”
“At least it’s mine.” I push END on the screen and yank my earbuds out before I chuck my mobile to the corner of the room.
I bend over to snatch up the whiteboard marker off the floor and scrawl out yet another pun on the mirrored wall of our gym. It fits well with the other puns I’ve been writing as they continue to slither into my brain unwelcomed:
Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.
Every calendar’s days are numbered.
Marathon runners with bad footwear suffer the agony of defeat.
I can’t seem to stop punning, no matter how hard I try. Or how embarrassing it might be. Tanner and I usually write inspirational quotes on the mirror to help us stay focused during our home workouts. Writing depressing puns doesn’t seem to have the same effect. I read my latest one another time:
To write with a broken pencil is pointless.
I can thank my dad for the inspiration behind that one. What I’m seeing in the mirror these days doesn’t impress me. I glare at myself, poking the six-pack on my stomach. I used to take pride in looking this way. I used to marvel at the results years of hard work and training afforded my body and my lifestyle.
But right now, I just don’t give a shit.
I grab a large exercise ball and sit on it, bouncing to get my bearings. It’s been three days since I decided not to have the surgery. I’m surprised my dad waited this long. He probably hoped someone else would talk me out of my decision. Vi is convinced this is all happening because of a broken heart, which is ridiculous because the only thing Indie Porter gave me was a much needed wake-up call.
For someone so inexperienced with men, she knows how to blow a guy off rather triumphantly. After dancing with her the other night, everything felt different. If I could get it in my head that I wanted Indie more than I wanted football, my priorities were obviously fucked. So I’m done letting everybody take what they want from me. I’m done being a bloody show pony for football, for the hospital, and for Indie. I’m so fucking done.
Plus, if I don’t have the surgery, I don’t have to deal with any of it.
Especially Indie.
Shaking my head, I lean back to do some crunches and attempt to drown out my thoughts. Just as I get started, I hear a voice down the hallway that makes me freeze mid-crunch.
“Look, I can text him and tell him I’m here and then this conversation will be over, or you can make this easier by letting me in to talk to him. You buzzed me up here, so I don’t know why you’re wasting my time.”
“How do I know you’re not going to inject some Jedi mind tricks in him like the other night?” Tanner’s voice sounds defiant like a child.
“I didn’t mess with his mind!”
I stand up to look out the door. I see Tanner at the end of the hallway, but I can’t see her.
“Prove it,” he jeers.
“Tanner,” I bark.
He jumps, momentarily surprised by my voice. Then he holds his hand out to stop me. “Cam, don’t sweat it. I’ve got this.”
“I appreciate the bro barrier, but I can handle it.”
He narrows his eyes and pauses for a beat. Finally taking a step back, he indicates with his hand for her to come through. I try to prepare myself for the sight of her, but it’s useless.
Actually laying eyes on her is like a bolt of lightning. In an instant, I remember how she feels. How she tastes. How she adjusts her glasses when she’s nervous. I remember the snappy look she gets in her eyes when I’m being a smartarse. I remember the heated colouring of her cheeks when she gets turned on. I remember all of that with a thunderous punch against my chest like I’m being resuscitated.
She’s dressed in her blue work scrubs. Her hair is a wild mess on top of her head. Her name badge is still connected to her breast pocket and standard black frames rest on her nose.
She looks gorgeous.
Her eyes drink me in, too, probably because I’m shirtless and only wearing a pair of athletic shorts and trainers. I feel mildly grateful when it seems hard for her to look at me.
“Can we go to your room and talk?” she asks, adjusting her glasses.
I can’t stomach the idea of being in my room with her again…so close to the bed where I first touched her. I tear my eyes away and reply, “No, but you can come in here.”
I turn and walk back into our small gym, grabbing the exercise ball and flopping down onto it. I immediately regret the decision to bring her in here when I see her reading the puns on the mirror. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something. Just as quickly, her jaw shuts when she stops at:
Show me someone in denial and I’ll show you a person in Egypt up to their ankles.
Jaw taut, she twirls on her heel to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nice to know you’ve been talking about me to your family.”
My face remains flat. “I haven’t said any more to Tanner than what he knew before.”
Her brows lift. “So he’s that friendly to all the girls you bring home?”
I huff, “I’ve never brought any other girl here.” I bite my tongue as soon as the words spill out. She doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t deserve to know that everything I did with her was unique.
She fades away for a second, clearly lost in her thoughts.
“Did you come here for a reason, or just to get in a row with my brother?”
“I had a nice chat with your sister yesterday.” My head juts forward like I couldn’t possibly have heard her right. “She came by the hospital and told me you’re not going to have the second surgery.”
My family’s constant need to meddle has reached new heights. “Sorry to mess up your plans,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
She scoffs, “My plans aren’t important here.”
“Oh please,” I hiss. “This surgery was going to be huge for your career. I’m not a dumb jock, Indie.”
“I’ve never said you were. I’ve never even thought you were. Not once.” She tightens the hold on her arms and glances down at my abs. “Do you have a bloody shirt you can put on?”
I roll my eyes, unsure if she’s trying to make a joke or if I’m distracting her thoughts too much. Either option doesn’t involve me putting a shirt on.
“Did you just come here to try and convince me to have the surgery? If so, you can save your breath. Everyone in my family has already tried. If they can’t do it, neither can you.”
She props her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t you having it?”
“I need some time off,” I answer like it’s the easiest question in the world.
“So take time off after the surgery.”
I shake my head. “That won’t work.”
“Yes, it will. Cam, the surgery wasn’t meant for this. If you take any sort of impact with that graft in, you risk worse damage to it. Get the graft removed and then decide not to play.”
“If I get it removed, I’ll be convinced to play. I know my family, and I’m tired of doing what everyone else wants me to do all the time. It’s time I do what I want. It’s my knee.”
“Your family loves you. They’re just trying to do what’s best for you. You’re so lucky to have that. If it’s me you’re angry at, I’ll take myself off of your surgery. I’ll be as far away from that OR as humanly possible, okay?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff. “You are not the reason for this. I couldn’t give a toss who saws into me.”
“There’s no sawing,” she groans defensively.
“The drilling.”
“No drilling either.”
“The burning of bone.”
“Stop.”
“The—”
“Camden, don’t joke right now!” Her voice borders on shrill and she cups her face in sheer exhaustion. “This all got so messed up. I thought if I gave you space it might make things better. But now your family hates me, you’re not having the surgery, and all distance did was make things worse!”
My eyes narrow on her. “I think you forgot that you’re the one who craves space, Indie. Not me. I’m a Harris. Space is a made-up word to us.” My voice is flat and emotionless even though she stares back at me with brown, watery eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Camden. For everything. I’m not built for any of this.” She sniffs and turns her back on me to swipe at her face. Her hunched posture guts my insides. My instinct is to go to her like I did the other night. To touch her. To hold her and comfort her until those tears disappear or turn into laughter. But I refrain, because I know it’s not me she wants.
Despite all of that, I offer, “It’s not you, Indie. I’ve just lost the passion for it.”
She scoffs and shakes her head. “You bleed passion. It’s your best feature.”
Her words slice through me. The personal comment sinks into my soul, reminding me of all that we’ve shared with each other. But she’s still over there. I’m still over here. I have to stay strong because what I crave from her is more than this moment right now. Through clenched teeth, I utter, “Please don’t speak like you know me.” I’m not sure my heart can take it.
She nods and her eyes move back to the puns on the mirror. Without speaking, she bends over to pick up the marker from the floor. Finding an open spot, she scrawls something and then turns to look at me one more time. Her face is filled with emotions. Sorrow. Anger. Frustration. But mostly, she looks lost.
She hands the marker to me. “I hope you make the right decision for you, Camden. And no one else.”
I watch her leave. Once she is gone, my mind screams at me to not read her words, but my heart overrules.
I move closer to the mirror: What you seize is what you get.
“What the hell does that mean?” Tanner’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn and see him standing behind me, biting down on a banana.
I squint at it again. “The beauty of puns is that they can mean any number of things.”
He shakes his head and watches me. “Serves you right for hooking up with a smart bird. Did she get through to you?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Tanner. Just leave it.”
He pulls his hands back like he’s not trying to pick a fight, his banana still clutched in one. “Slam your fist in the door as many times as you’d like, Brother, but it’s not going to hurt anyone but you.”
My jaw falls open. Then he walks out on me, too.
It’s not a pun, but I hear him loud and clear.
