THE NEXT MORNING, I’M not surprised when I come out of my room to find my dad, Booker, Tanner, and Gareth sitting in my kitchen. Booker is propped on a stool at the counter. Tanner is perched on the counter, and Gareth and Dad are occupying two seats at the table. Everybody has coffee in hand.
“It’s not even the day after a match,” I say, striding over to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup. I empty the last bit and immediately begin making a new pot. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Tanner’s brows lift knowingly. “Is Indie still here?”
I hit the coffee to brew and turn, leaning back against the counter. “She is. Out cold still.”
“We wanted to talk to you,” Tanner says, shifting nervously on the counter. “I’ll start. We still want you to have the surgery, Cam. Not to play football, but to have the choice to play if you ever want to. I think you’re going to get to a point in your mind when things all click into place, and you’re going to realise this is all just a mental healing that’s happening. Then you’re going to wish you had the graft out so there’s no delay in chasing your dreams. I know what you went through sucked, Cam. I could feel it myself…in ways only a twin brother can. But I think you’re wrong to take football off the table entirely.”
He exhales heavily and looks around at everyone else like he forgot people were here.
“That how you feel, too, Gareth? Booker?”
Gareth replies first. “You’re too good of an athlete to be walking around with something foreign in your body, Camden.”
“I’d just hate to see something bad happen if you leave it in,” Booker adds.
“What do you think, Dad?” I ask, looking over at him and taking a sip from my mug.
“I’m not here to push you into having the surgery. This is something your brothers wanted to do. I thought we should give you space, but since they are all too thick-headed to listen to their old man, I’m just here to referee.”
“You don’t want me to sign that letter of intent?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.
He shifts in his seat, clearly fighting the inner manager inside of him. “Only if you want to.”
“Is that letter of intent even still valid? After that photo got leaked yesterday?”
He purses his lips. “It is…but with some conditions,” he clips out, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
My brows lift. “So you’ve spoken to them.”
“They rang me,” he replies, and his eyes cast down like he’s ashamed for taking the call.
“What are the conditions?”
He sighs. “Camden, we don’t have to discuss this now.”
“What are the conditions?”
He clears his throat. “They want you and Dr. Porter to do an interview with a high-level tabloid. Nothing sleazy. Vanity Fair or Hello! magazine to explain your relationship. Take the seediness out of it and put some good PR out there for the team and the hospital. That’s when you’d announce your new position as a Gunner.”
“Is that it?” I ask and all of my brothers’ heads snap to me in shock.
Dad shrugs. “Pretty much. There are some monetary negotiations I have to discuss with you, but…Camden, I’m sorry…What are you saying right now?”
I take a drink and set my mug down. “I’m saying that I’m already having the surgery as soon as they call me back with the new scheduled time. I’m even letting that prat, Dr. Prichard, do it just so they don’t look at Indie any more negatively than they already are.” I exhale a deep breath as what I’m about to say becomes a huge declaration in my mind and my heart. “And even though I’ll probably bleed green and white my whole life…red is a great colour on me.”
“Fuck yes!” Tanner exclaims, leaping off the counter and hugging me ferociously. “You’re going to be a Gunner? Bloody hell, Booker, Bethnal better move up next season because I’m ready for a chance to kick Cam’s arse on the pitch. Dad, I don’t want to be a striker anymore. I want to be a defender. Gareth, you lucky sod. You better crush him when they play Man U.”
Gareth does that whole shoulder-shaking laugh thing and Booker’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Dad watches me from the table as my brothers all hug me with congratulations. When they’re done being the dramatic footballers they are, he stands up and walks over to me.
Putting his hand on my shoulder, he eyes me hard and says, “Did you find your passion again, Son?”
I smile back and a softness creeps into my chest. “I think I found a couple.”
