by Amy Daws
“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.
“SO IS THAT IT THEN?” I ask, rushing into the on-call room and finding Belle flipping through a magazine as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Is that the end of our friendship? Is that how these things usually go?”
&nb
sp; “What the hell happened to you?” she asks, eyeing me from the cot she’s draped over.
She must be commenting on the fact that I walked back from Camden’s flat in the rain. Or maybe she’s talking about the fact that I’m losing my bloody mind and can feel myself imploding. Stanley takes one look at my crazy eyes and scurries out the door with his tail tucked between his legs.
“Let’s talk about what hasn’t happened to me in the last week, shall we?” I begin pacing in front of her, the squishy sound of my wet trainers sending chills up my spine. “I haven’t managed to get Stanley to stop looking at me as if I’m a dessert buffet and he’s on a diet. I haven’t managed to get Prichard to stop making creepy comments to me. I haven’t managed to lose my virginity and just move the hell on. I haven’t managed to avoid hooking up with a patient. And now I haven’t managed to keep a best friend! As far as relationships go, I’d say I’m doing a proper job of cocking everything up.”
Her face twists into an unattractive sneer and she throws her feet down on the floor to sit up. “What the bloody hell are you going on about?”
“Well, I got in a fight with you and you don’t even care.”
“What makes you think I don’t care?” she asks, her voice high and shocked.
“You didn’t fight with me. Just like that, you walked out on me yesterday and I haven’t seen you since. I thought caring about people usually means they…care! I thought that, even when you mess up, they fight with you. I don’t know how to process these emotions that are crushing my insides right now.”
“Indie—”
“You know how kids always remember their first pet the most?” I ask her, feeling as if I still can’t quite catch my breath.
“I guess so?”
“They do. It’s science. Their first pet reduces anxiety. Teaches them how to be social. Shows them unconditional love. Then the pet dies because animals have shorter lifespans than humans. But it’s okay because the pet served its purpose. It taught the kid how to connect by choice instead of familial obligation. I never had that. I’ve never had a pet. You were my pet!”
“I was your pet?” Her face is completely disbelieving.
“This is a euphemism. Keep up.”
“I’m trying!” she exclaims. “But your brand of crazy is of a special variety tonight.”
“Look,” I exhale and sit down next to her on the bed. Reaching out, I grab her hands and pierce her eyes with mine. “I’ve been used to solitude and living my life with my own thoughts. It’s been easy for me because I never grew up in the same place or around the same people, so I never really formed relationships. It was me and school. Detaching kept things simple.
“You’re the first thing I haven’t wanted to detach from, and I’m dying on the inside because I hate what I said to you. You’re not a slut. I would never think that about you. I was just mad about something else and I used you as a punching bag I guess. I don’t know why. I’ll revisit that at a later date with a therapist.”
“Your therapist list is getting longer and longer,” she murmurs.
“I know,” I half sob.
“So is that an apology?” she asks.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I shrug.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah sure, fine. That declaration was pretty dramatic, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse to get rid of me. Using me as a punching bag is called love, darling.”
I freeze for a tiny moment before throwing my arms around her neck and hugging her to me. A real, genuine hug. I know I’m getting her wet but I don’t care. I thought I was okay being alone. I thought space is what I craved, but it’s not. Things have changed for me. My brain hadn’t had time to catch up to that fact. In my arms is my unconditional best friend. My family. I care about her.
“We’ve never fought before,” I croak.
She pats my wet back gingerly. “No, we haven’t. I would have remembered if this is how you behave after a fight. I wish I would have recorded it.”
I smile and then release her to hunch over and hold my head in my hands. “God, what a mess I’ve made these last few weeks.”
“What’s going on? Because I know that rant wasn’t all about you apologising for a snarky comment.”
I swallow hard. “Camden Harris said he was falling for me.”
“He what?” she screams. “When? At Old George?”
“Before,” I reply.
“Before?” she screams again.
I shush her. Then I spill every last sordid, awful detail. Even down to the goodbye sex I gave him on the chair in my flat, the crying on the dance floor at the pub, and the conversation I just had with him in his gym.
“Christ, Indie, you skipped to the finish line,” Belle says, shaking her head back and forth in wonder.
“Stop,” I groan. “Help me figure out what to do. I mean, if I did dive into more with him, a relationship or whatever, I don’t know if I could survive losing him. I melted down over the thought of losing you and we’ve never had sex!”
“This is true. We’ll save the Vagina List for our thirties.” She waggles her brows, and I huff out a pathetic laugh at her joke.
“What if I don’t know what love even feels like? I think I love you, but what the hell do I know? You’re just a girl I make Penis Lists with and tell all my secrets to. Whatever you and I have isn’t normal, is it?”
“What’s normal? Who cares about normal?” she shrugs. “You do what feels right.”
“But how can I date a Penis Number One? He’s a player. Won’t I get my heart broken?”
“Indie,” she says with wide, shocked eyes. “You’re like the dumbest smart person I know.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I baulk.
“Camden isn’t Penis Number One.” She reaches out and grabs my shoulders so I’m facing her more clearly. “He’s Penis Number Three.”
My hands cover my cheeks and they feel as if they might melt off my face. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes! Indie, he is the perfect mix of One and Two. He said ‘Thou Art Mine’ right after he made love to you. That’s the stuff love stories are made of.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I’m capable of more yet. I always thought I’d live a little before I found a Penis Number Three.”
“Well, he’s certainly shown himself to you already, darling. You just have to decide if he’s worth it.”
Me: I’m coming for the surgery tomorrow. Don’t make a thing of it. Don’t pull out from doing the procedure. Let’s just pretend we don’t know each other and get through the day.
…
…
…
Indie: I’m glad.
She’s glad, I think to myself as I ride in the car with my brothers to the hospital. It’s six a.m. and the London sunlight hasn’t even touched the surface yet, further darkening my mood. But it’s okay, because Indie Porter is “glad.” I’m glad she’s glad. I’m glad that I tormented myself over the decision for hours and she gets to type back two fucking words in a text.
I’ll be glad when this is over and I can get back to my life, whatever it may be.
“Camden,” Tanner says from the back seat, shaking my shoulder to get my attention. “What do you call cheese that is not yours?”
“I don’t know, what?” I ask, turning my head to look at him.
“Nacho cheese!” His eyes crinkle as he bursts out laughing. I can actually see his mouth smile now that the season is over and he’s trimmed his beard at last. Booker chuckles quietly beside him, and I glance over at Gareth in the driver’s seat whose shoulders shake with silent laughter.
The corner of my mouth tilts up.
“That’s a pun, right? Did you like it?” Tanner asks, his voice bright and innocent.
I shrug. “It’s all right,” I say while trying to stop my smile from growing. “Are we not picking Vi up?” I ask Gareth as he misses the tu
rn for her flat.
“No, she’s meeting us there.” His jaw seems more tense than usual, which makes me frown.
A few minutes later, we pull up to the hospital. I get out of the car and stare up at the building like it’s the single solitary cause of all my stress. Not Tower Park or the match where I injured myself…but this building.
Unwelcome memories of Indie flood my mind. I never had a problem sleeping alone in my entire life. In fact, it was rare I ever slept over at a woman’s flat. But one injury and a sideways glance from a pretty doctor and Camden Harris turned into an emotional pansy.
She was so nervous and unsure in those early days with me—terrified of getting caught—but there was a spark in her eyes that cannot be denied. Was it just the adventure she sought? Not actually me? Perhaps that’s where I got everything so twisted.
After we check in, a nurse ushers me up into a small, private pre-op room. It’s got one window, one chair, and one small bed—quite opposite of the lush suite I stayed in before.
She hands me a white hospital gown and bootie socks. “I’ll be back to start your IV once you’ve changed.”
“Do you want some space?” Gareth’s deep voice asks, piercing me with a million silent questions. “I can get these obnoxious sods out of here.”
I glance over at Tanner, who’s currently shoving Booker into the wall over and over like a bouncing pinball. A small smile lifts my face and I shake my head. “You guys can stay.”
“Cosy,” Gareth murmurs and smirks at me.
I change and get situated on the bed. Shortly thereafter, the nurse returns. The three of my mammoth brothers in here along with the nurse makes for some tight quarters, but I like the distraction. Also, I feel touched that none of my brothers have brought up football all morning.
Just when I begin to wonder where Vi is, I hear a voice clear in the doorway.
My dad, Vaughn Harris himself, is standing at the threshold with a tight smile on his face. “Hello, Camden,” he drawls, nervously unzipping his Bethnal Green jacket.
“Hiya, Dad,” I say, my face the picture of shock.