She fit the key into the lock and didn’t answer right away.
“Cameron. You can’t fight Ben and PSN alone. I’ll be fighting them, too. Let’s work together.”
SHE TURNED TO face him. He leaned one hand on the doorjamb over her head. She watched the muscles in his forearm and his biceps bunch and flex. She wondered how many women would give almost anything to stand so close to him right now.
“It didn’t go so well the last time,” she said.
“There’s strength in numbers, isn’t there?”
She couldn’t answer him. She walked inside her room and shut the door. Less than thirty seconds later, she heard the stampeding feet of grown men who were told when to go to bed by another group of grown men. She sank down on the side of her bed and pulled out her phone to take a look at the missed calls. She closed her eyes and let out a groan as she saw her father’s cell phone number in the group.
This day just kept getting better and better.
ZACH PULLED THE blankets up around himself and waited for his defensive line coach to poke his head through the door and verify that yes, he was in bed for the night. He’d spent the past five minutes pounding a beer he got from the vending machine a few feet from his dorm room door and talking with his agent on the phone. His agent promised a vigorous discussion with Ben Levine of PSN about the legalities involved in broadcasting the details of someone’s private life they didn’t want broadcast. He also spent a few minutes trying to persuade Zach that being featured on Third and Long wasn’t the worst thing that could possibly happen to him or his career.
“Maybe you could tell me exactly how you managed to marry Ms. Ondine in the first place. You know, when you have a few spare minutes.”
“Jason, it’s not open for discussion right now.”
“CBS Sports already managed to get a copy of the marriage certificate and your annulment decree.” Zach stifled another groan. He’d spent the evening doing it already. “You were married for three days?”
“Yes, we were, and now, we’re not.”
“You’re the envy of every red-blooded male in America, guy. Do you know what her family’s worth?”
“Nope, and I don’t care.”
He should have gone to the grocery store before he moved into the dorm. There was an empty bar-sized refrigerator in his room, but it was empty. He twirled the can of a brand of light beer he wouldn’t drink any other time between his fingers as he propped himself up against the headboard of the bed. They had to be kidding. He was essentially trapped here for at least another two weeks before players were allowed to leave the premises. A good microbrew—or a shot of JD—would have gone a long way toward easing his current distress.
Cameron was at the other end of the hallway. He wondered if she slept in that pink cupcake number she’d answered the door in earlier. When they’d slept together, she’d worn toenail polish, a thin gold wedding band, and that perfume she liked that drove him crazy. Then again, he would have torn whatever she wore to bed right off her. He remembered how she’d wound the sheet around herself each morning when she’d padded into the bathroom.
“We’re married now,” he’d called after her. “You don’t need to cover up, you know.”
He’d heard the soft sound of her laughter. He still remembered how it felt to watch her walk. She’d managed to be graceful even while tripping over a king-sized bed sheet. The early-morning sunshine streaming through the hotel room windows made her skin glow.
He heard a key being inserted into the lock on his dorm room door, and the door swung open. “Anderson,” his coach said. “Lights out.”
“Got it. Good night.”
The coach pulled the door shut and moved down the hall to check on the other guys. Zach took the last swallow out of the can and dropped it into the wastepaper basket under the nightstand next to him. He could drink until he blacked out, and he’d never get the memories out of his head. He’d also never be able to forget how she looked earlier standing in the moonlight, or how it felt to hold her hand again.
She’d called her dad ten years ago to get out of what he was fairly sure she viewed as a colossal mistake, but he was stupid enough to still care for her. She wanted to know why he “left” her. In other words, she wanted to twist the knife. A little voice in the back of his head told him that the hurt on her face might not be a game, but maybe she was a really good actress.
She sure had no problem telling Ben how mad she was about the fact her private life was now up for discussion and he wanted the network to mine it for ratings, too. Things didn’t quite measure up here. He wondered if she was lying awake, too, trying to figure out what happened. Maybe she thought this whole thing would enhance her career, making her even more valuable to PSN.
He hadn’t actively avoided her over the years, but he didn’t go out of his way to encounter her, either. Other than the typical PR stuff from the network, he really hadn’t heard much about what she’d been doing with herself for the past ten years. He had heard that she went out of her way to stay single, though, and would not date a professional athlete of any sport. He played with guys he knew had tried to get to know her outside the job or had asked her out. The results were the same: She’d turned them down, politely yet firmly. She didn’t involve herself in situations that could be misread, such as spending the evening before a game drinking and dancing with players. She seemed intent on being recognized as a professional.
He wondered if she ever felt the same way he did: lonely. Empty. Longing for more, even though he had more of pretty much everything than any guy his age had a right to have.
He went from hearing a stadium full of people clapping and cheering everything he did to a quiet, dark house. His sisters weren’t going to sit up and rehash things with him; they had school in the morning. Things were a little better for him since he had gotten Butter the puppy, and since he’d installed his grandma in his house, but he wished he had someone who loved him waiting at home after a big game. He’d like to spend his nights holding a woman wrapped in sleep, instead of lying awake, reliving every snap of the game he’d just played. He’d think about how to improve his game on those long nights. The next morning, he’d get up and get her some coffee or something.
He wanted something more from his life and his future. All he had to do was get her.
Chapter Ten
* * *
CAMERON’S ALARM WENT off the next morning before the team’s wake-up call. Her phone was already ringing, too. She wondered how she could possibly convey to the entire East Coast that they might want to check what time it was in Seattle before business calls. She picked her phone up off the nightstand and hauled herself to a sitting position, stabbing the speaker function button on the keypad a second or two after she answered.
“Good morning, Dad. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you doing, Cameron?”
“Things are great.” She heard running feet in the hallway. There must have been a few more guys that set an alarm, too. “I’m getting ready to start my day,” she said.
“About that. Would you mind telling me why I found out you are on the other side of the country for a month from my caddy?”
“Dad, I got less than twenty-four hours’ notice myself—”
“Your mother is very upset. She can’t believe that you wouldn’t let us know you weren’t here, and she was hoping you’d be joining us for a couple of weeks at the Hamptons house. She also invited a young man you’ll be interested in spending more time with.”
“Dad, it’s nice of her to think of me, but I can’t make it. I have to work.”
“I know you get vacation days. Maybe you should take some time off. Your mother wants you here.”
“I’m working on a big project right now.”
“You’re living in a dorm with eighty football players.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s not a ‘project.’ I really don’t like hearing all about your exploits at our club, or when I’m out on t
he golf course. What’s it going to take to get you to quit that job and do something a bit more appropriate?”
“I’m sorry that you don’t approve of my job, but I’m not quitting, Dad.” She wasn’t sorry at all, but telling him she wasn’t would bring on an argument she didn’t have time for right now.
“I’ve golfed with Ben Levine, you know.”
He let that one hang in the air for a minute or so. In other words, he’d take matters into his own hands, and do his best to make sure Ben would either fire her outright or force her out of her job. Cameron said nothing in response. She’d had this argument with him before. It didn’t help to argue in return, and logic didn’t sway him. Maybe she needed to use the nuclear option: Hang up on him and send her parents a letter telling them that if they continued meddling in her personal life and her career, she would stop seeing them. Ending the call right now meant she’d have some time to think of what to do next to impress on her family that she was an adult who could make her own decisions and she did not appreciate their interference.
It was amazing that her parents were now so hyper-concerned with where she was and what she was doing. She and her sister Paige spent their childhood and teen years answering to a succession of nannies or their teachers at boarding school. People in their parents’ tax bracket didn’t raise their own children, and they saw their children infrequently. As a result, her parents were the last people she turned to when she needed help or encouragement of any kind.
She was also a bit amazed that her father didn’t mention last night’s “Zach Anderson and Cameron Ondine were married” media bonanza. Maybe every source of media at her parents’ command was temporarily broken.
Maybe she should be thankful for small favors.
“Dad, I have to go. I’ll talk with you later. Give my love to Mom.”
“Cameron Bennett Ondine—”
She hit the button to end the call before he could sputter out anything else, and shoved herself out of bed. She’d better get dressed.
ZACH’S PHONE RANG at 5:44 AM. He grabbed it off the nightstand. After checking the caller ID, it seemed that Zach’s agent Jason must have been up early with his kids this morning.
“’Zup?”
“You called me, guy,” Jason said. Zach could hear the kids in the background saying something about Cheerios and cupcakes. “No, Blair, you’re not having a cupcake for breakfast. Get over here and sit at the table. So, Zach, I heard Ben Levine wants to turn Third and Long into The Bachelor, starring you.”
Zach resisted the impulse to use a four-letter word Jason probably didn’t want his kids to use at day care later. “That’s funny. I was wondering if you could possibly give him a call and let him know I don’t appreciate my private life being aired on national TV.”
“You’ve talked about your past before.”
“I haven’t said a word about Cameron Ondine. She’s not interested in being Ben’s guinea pig, either. I’m looking for contract language or some other reason why I can tell Ben I won’t be participating.”
“Maybe I should talk to Ms. Ondine’s agent. I’m curious to know what she’s telling her client. I can’t think of anything in your contract that might get you out of the filming, especially since you’ve already agreed to participate in the show. Ms. Ondine is an employee and a public figure. In other words, she most likely has no way out of this, either.”
Zach could hear Jason’s German shepherd barking like someone was breaking into the house. The kids were screaming about how they wanted a cupcake, Mama wouldn’t let them have a cupcake, and they wanted a CUPCAKE! He heard a “thump,” and then Jason’s wife called out, “I left you in here with the kids for five minutes, and they just dumped the gallon of milk onto the floor. What the hell?”
Jason said, “I’ll call you back.”
Zach dropped the phone into the blankets of his bed. Some of his teammates were married with kids. It was pretty tough to resist a two-year-old trying on Daddy’s football helmet, for instance. He felt a little left out when a pint-sized version of somebody he knew would zoom out onto the practice field during Family Day to dispense some of those slurpy little kisses or call out, “Da Da.” He hadn’t spent a lot of time musing over whether or not he wanted a few rugrats of his own. He was too busy making sure his four sisters were happy and pursuing their own dreams. He wondered, though, what it might be like to be the opposite of his own father: There for the duration. A loving and permanent presence in the life of a child. He could be more to his own children than a collision of DNA and bad judgment.
Cameron seemed like she’d be a good mom. She was calm, patient, and fairly unflappable, unless she couldn’t get a cab at 5:15 pm on a Friday night in Manhattan. He wondered if she’d encourage her daughters to be girly-girls, or play sports and never be afraid to compete in whatever they chose to do with their lives. Maybe she didn’t want any kids; she seemed pretty into her career. It was tough to deal with the day-to-day at home when she traveled at least four days a week, six months a year.
He needed to get up, take care of the morning business, and get down to the practice field, but he wanted his agent to handle this crap first. He knew the smartest thing was to hold up his end of the agreement he’d struck with Cameron last night, but somehow the cold light of day made him wonder if that wasn’t the best plan. Maybe he should cover his own ass first and worry about hers later.
He picked up his phone and texted Jason:
MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET ON A PLANE AND GET OUT HERE.
If it was a choice between breakfast duty for three-year-old triplets and butting heads with Sharks coaches, management, and the owner of PSN, he was fairly sure Jason would choose him.
TWO HOURS LATER, Zach was sweating from every pore during morning practice and doing whatever he had to do to stop looking at Cameron. She stood across the field from him. She wasn’t sweating. She was holding a digital recorder while she talked with Damian Drake, former Sharks cornerback and now one of the Sharks’ broadcast team. The sunlight bounced off her hair as she tossed it behind one shoulder. He couldn’t see what she was looking at behind the large sunglasses she wore. Drake said something to Cameron that made her laugh, and Zach wanted to go over and clothesline the guy. He’d played the first couple of years with Damian. He enjoyed chatting with him, but Drake needed to find another woman to chat up in a hurry.
Cameron should laugh at stuff he said, dammit. Zach was so absorbed in imagining what he’d like to say to Broadcast Boy he wasn’t paying attention to the QB’s signals.
Clay Morrison, rookie left tackle, burst across the line two seconds after the snap and knocked him on his ass. “Rough night last night, huh?” he said.
“Fuck off,” Zach said.
“Want to go again?”
Zach responded with a laugh. He was going to make Morrison wish he had never been born, at least for the next two or three minutes. Tackling during a practice was somewhat frowned upon these days, but so was blasting across the line and knocking your teammate on his ass. The QB had all Zach’s attention for the next minute, and when the ball was snapped, he threw himself on Morrison.
The assistant coaches broke up the fracas that resulted. The rookie LT forgot the first rule of professional football: No matter what, rookies were always wrong. Coach Stewart made the “huddle up” motion to the team, and everyone gathered around him in a half-circle.
Zach actually liked Coach Stewart. He couldn’t say that about many of the coaches he’d had since he was drafted by the Sharks. Coach was fair. He made sure he kept his constructive criticism of different players and their skill sets inside the locker or meeting rooms, and he was young and fit enough to be able to run drills with them. The vets respected him for actually asking what they thought about the Sharks’ upcoming opponents. Most of all, he didn’t treat his players like something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe, which meant they would play hard for him. Zach was also fairly sure that the former head coach’s days were n
umbered even before yesterday’s ill-advised comments. In other words, he’d given the Sharks’ ownership and front office administration a convenient excuse.
“Men, I’m planning on meeting with your position coaches this afternoon, but first of all, I’d like to spend some time talking with all of you. I’d like to know what you think is working on this team, what isn’t, and why.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Of course, our meeting is private. Our guests from the media will be taken to an alternate activity they will enjoy this afternoon. I would appreciate honesty from all of you, and I will offer it as well.” He looked into the eyes of the men surrounding him. “From now on, the finger-pointing and BS is over. We’ve lost as a team, but we will win as a team. I love winning. I’ll bet you do, too, and we’re going to do a hell of a lot more of it from now on.” He took a look at his iPad. “We’ll finish up here after a few more drills, and then we’ll go into meetings.” He reached out a hand. Eighty other guys reached out their hands, too, shouting “Sharks!”
It was, officially, the first team meeting that didn’t put anyone to sleep. It was also the first team meeting in which Zach could remember a head coach telling the group that as of today, nobody’s job was safe, including his own. The former head coach would have stirred anger and resistance with anything similar. So far, all Zach heard was occasional rustling when a large body shifted position in the chair, or the sound of a plastic water bottle being set back down on a tabletop after someone took a sip.
Everyone on the team would be competing for his position, starting right now. There was no time to coast or dog it during practice, even for the All-Pros. Zach glanced around at the shocked faces of his teammates. Maybe they thought the new head coach would go easy on them because he was a fill-in, or because he believed the Sharks would soon bring in someone more experienced. Even more surprising, the new head coach watched and listened as, one by one, his teammates spoke up about the fact they wanted change, too. They were embarrassed by last season’s ten losses. They were tired of being confronted by Sharks fans when they went to the grocery store or out to dinner over the fact they didn’t try harder or seem to care what those fans thought.
Catching Cameron: A Love and Football Novel Page 9