I HAD to get away from her. It was like an automatic response. As if her mere presence triggers me into action. Like I either want to run away from her or get closer. I don’t know why Blair affects me so much, but fuck.
It’s bad.
I find another picnic table to sit at that’s far away from the quad, close to a grove of pine trees that rustle pleasantly with the cool breeze. The sun is shining and the temperatures are still up there, but I can feel it.
It’s September, which means fall is almost here. My favorite time of year.
In my life, autumn equals football. Some of my fondest memories are wrapped up in this time of year and football, as well as some not so fond memories. Like the times my dad showed up to watch my games drunk off his ass. One time he was even asked to leave one of my games, he was making such a drunken scene.
That sucked.
There have been a few injuries here and there over the years. One time, I got knocked unconscious. I was a sophomore in high school, skinny as fuck, working out constantly and not eating properly. Meaning, I consumed junk food and soda instead of protein and water. Of course, my ass got knocked out. My mom had been so freaked out, she gave me a huge speech when I got home about how she lost my father and my older brother. Dad left her and so did my brother the minute he could get away.
She wasn’t about to lose me too. Not if she could help it.
My mother is not a bad person. She’s just a reminder of the past that I’d rather soon forget. Stuck in the old house, stuck on trying to get money out of my dad, though it’s a futile effort on her part. He feels as if he doesn’t owe her shit. He paid child support when he had to and the moment that was over, he didn’t give her another dime.
So she struggles, and she does what she can. If I ever get into the NFL, the first thing I’m doing is buying her a new house and a new car. I will set her up for life, so she doesn’t have to worry about any of that shit anymore.
Thinking of her makes me want to call her because we haven’t talked in a few weeks. And because I’d rather do anything but work on class assignments, I pull up her number on my phone and give her a call.
“Camden,” she breathes into the phone as her greeting. “You’re alive.”
I chuckle, a little uneasy. She always likes to give me shit when I don’t talk to her for a while. “Hey, Mom.”
“How are you? How’s football? How’s the team? Are you enjoying your classes?” I hear a dog yip in the background, followed by a bird chirping and I can tell she’s outside.
“I’m good, the team is great, we have a home game this Saturday, and my classes are all right,” I say, answering all of her questions.
“How’s Knox?” Mom loves Knox. She thinks he’s a good influence on me, which is funny because if anything, I’m probably a better influence on him. At least I try to be.
“He’s doing all right.” I stare at the roughened top of the picnic table, unsure of what to say next. This is my problem with my mom. We don’t know how to communicate anymore. Once I went away to college and found new interests and new friends, it felt like she was stuck in my past life.
A life I don’t really want to acknowledge any longer.
It’s not like I hate where I came from, or that I had an extra rough childhood. I wasn’t physically abused. But it was…hard, witnessing the demise of my father. The way he destroyed his marriage thanks to his addictions, and how he treated my mother. The things he said to me. He never once tried to lift me up. He always preferred tearing me down.
And it sucked. He sucks.
He’s the one who pays for my college and supports me financially while I focus on football, and it’s the least he can do after what he put me through. I’ll gladly take his money, even though I want nothing to do with him.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she says, forcing me out of my momentary funk.
“It’s good to hear yours too.” I clear my throat. “How are you?”
She tells me about her dog and her job working as a server at a local restaurant in the town I grew up in, offering a funny story about an encounter with some customers.
“I’ve started dating someone,” she adds casually, just when I’m about to wrap up the call.
“You have?” I’m stunned.
“Yes. He’s a very nice man, who’s a regular of ours at the restaurant. His name is Greg,” she says.
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“About a month. Maybe longer.”
“And you’re just telling me about him now?”
“I wasn’t sure it would amount to anything and besides, we don’t talk that often, you and me.”
Ouch.
“Well, if he makes you happy, I’m glad, Mom. You deserve happiness.”
“So do you, Cam,” she says softly.
I frown. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you work so hard and do so much, yet you never really tell me much about your—feelings.” She laughs, the sound nervous. “I don’t know how you’re really doing most of the time, and I can only hope that you’re happy. You’re still young, with a lot of life ahead of you. I hate to think of you miserable. Like your father.”
Her words stick with me long after we end the call. Am I miserable like my father? I’m not a drunk, I know that. I like to go out and party like anyone else, but I don’t feel the need to get constantly shit-faced.
I keep women at arm’s length, so I don’t get too close to them. A relationship is the last thing I want or need. I have to get out of college first. Get myself established doing…something. If it’s the NFL, then let’s fucking go.
But what if it’s not? The potential is definitely there for my dreams to not come true. I might not go pro and I have no idea what to do with myself if I don’t.
Glancing up, I catch sight of a blonde woman heading my way. From the shape of her body and even the shape of her face, I know immediately that it’s Blair.
Fuck.
She doesn’t even slow down in her approach. Just marches her way toward the table and settles onto the bench across from me. I don’t say a word in greeting, just watch her watch me and she shakes her head, a little laugh escaping her.
“You’re so weird.”
I’m frowning so hard my forehead hurts. “What the hell are you talking about now?”
Her laughter stops. “Why did you leave earlier?”
“Leave where?”
“Stop being obtuse.” She leans across the table, the neckline of her T-shirt slipping, offering me a glimpse of her chest. Oh, fuck me, I can see that she’s wearing a black lace bra. “When I came over to your table earlier in the quad and you bolted out of there like you saw a crazed groupie.”
“Maybe I did.” I shrug, hating how nervous she makes me feel.
Like I’m going to screw something up or say the wrong thing. She has me walking on eggshells, pretty much every time I’m around her, and I don’t get it.
“Cam.” Her smile is small, her shirt slipping off her shoulder, so I can now see the black bra strap. “You’re definitely afraid of me.”
“Not at all.”
“Then what’s the big deal?” She sits up straight, all views of her bra disappearing. “Can’t we be friends?”
It’s my turn to bark out a laugh. “Friends? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Her frown is deep. “You don’t like me?”
“Like you? Like you?” I’m repeating myself, but I don’t give a damn. “That is definitely not the problem.”
“What is it then?”
I grab my backpack and climb off the bench, ready to hightail my ass out of there, but Blair is just as fast, right on my heels, never letting up on me.
“You run every time I get near you, and I don’t get it. Am I a hideous troll? Can you barely stand looking at me?”
I snort, shaking my head. She has to know that isn’t the problem.
“You hate me? Do I smell?”
She smells fucking amazing. Good enough that I even looked up the damn perfume she wears online, just to see what the bottle looked like.
What’s wrong with me? Why would I do that?
“What is it, Cam? If all you can say is that you don’t want to make Knox mad, that’s not a good enough reason.”
I come to a sudden stop and turn on her, forcing her to stop as well, her eyes wide with shock. I practically thrust my face in hers, letting her see just how angry and frustrated I am with her. With myself. “It’s a good enough reason for me, Blair. Your brother is my best friend. I live with him, we play together, we spend a lot of time together, and he’s told me before he trusts no one he knows to treat his little sister right. Which means he doesn’t even trust me. I can’t mess around with his little sister when he told me I can’t. And because I know I would fuck it up—I totally will. Trust me. I will fuck everything up between us and you’ll end up hating me, and that’s the last thing I want, is you hating me. Your opinion of me matters, Blair, and I don’t want to ruin it. I’m shit when it comes to this stuff. Relationship stuff. My parents were all fucked up, and I witnessed their mess my entire life. They weren’t a good example of what a loving, respectful relationship is, and they’re all I know. Which really means I don’t know shit.”
I’m breathing hard, surprised that I’d said so much, and she’s staring up at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, which I sort of feel like I have.
Taking a step back, I thrust my fingers in my hair, pushing it away from my face before I clasp the back of my head with both hands. My heart is racing and I swallow hard, pissed at myself for saying too much.
“You’re not a bad person,” she murmurs, and when I look at her, I see an understanding glow in her eyes, like she gets it. As if she gets me.
Please.
Little Miss Golden Girl who’s never had to deal with anything bad or awful or ugly her whole life. She’s lived a perfect existence and she has no idea what it’s like, dealing with a drunk dad and a sad mom and an older brother who wanted nothing more but to get out of that house and never look back.
That’s me. I’m the same as Samuel. He bailed. I bailed too. We barely talk. He lives clear across the country and has very minimal contact with any of us. At least I still call Mom. He doesn’t even bother reaching out to her.
“I’m not a great person either,” I tell her. I need to be real with her. She has to know. “I’m not worth trying to fix.”
“You don’t need to be fixed, Cam.” She sounds so logical. Like what I’m saying is absolutely ridiculous. “You just need to be…shown.”
I’m confused. “Shown what?”
Her smile is blinding. “Love.”
Damn it.
I’m completely fucked.
