Page 35 of Most Valuable Player
“I’ll keep the debauchery to a minimum,” I tell him, returning his smile as I climb out of the car. I could’ve gone to the beach party—I usually look for any excuse to get out of my house—but today, I’m clocked out and exhausted. I’ve gotten five texts, each increasingly more frantic.
I miss you. Please, can I just see your face?
Just once. I’ll stop bothering you, but I know that’s not what you want.
How much more space do you need?
I promise I’ll do better this time around, please respond.
I’ll do better. I’ll be better. For you. Just give me a chance.
My head has been plagued with thoughts of him all day, to the point where I could barely choke down the turkey sandwich I fixed myself for lunch last night. Which I only did because I knew Cameron would text me about what I’d eaten.
The remembrance makes me smirk as I wander up the porch steps. Seeing him in his element while we were working out was endearing. It’s clear he knew what he was talking about and was maybe even eager to impart some wisdom about exercise on me. He was never pushy or irritated when I couldn’t fulfill his requests for lunges or squats or the minutes I could run.
Finding out that he was in the same boat a few years ago is comforting. I assumed Cameron Morelli was born with a strong figure and handsome face, and that’s why he’s egotistical. Even though we’ve only had two study sessions, I feel like there’s a lot more beneath the surface when it comes to this big goofy jock.
The reason he moved here…Was it really just because of what he mentioned about his mom? How badly was he harassed that he felt he needed to change aspects about himself? And how far from the truth is this current version of Cameron?
Against my better judgment, I’m intrigued. Even more so when I looked over from my position on the sidelines and found him watching the clouds rather than the game. For a moment, he seemed uninvested. Almostcontentto not be on the field. Did he even realize it? And does it have something to do with why he’s been failing his courses?
I push through the door, sighing. I shouldn’t let this quarterback occupy my thoughts so frequently. Yet I can’t help but remember thetrace of disappointment in his face when I told him I wasn’t going to the party. Could it be possible that after a measly week, maybe Cameron Morelli…?
“—genuinely a pleasure to see you again, Mr.and Mrs.Gray. It’s good to know you’ve been well over the last few months.”
The familiar voice ricochets off my eardrums, freezing me in my tracks.
No.
The blood pounding through my veins crystallizes.
No.
“Oh, Mason!” Mom says, her face cracking with a wide smile. Her abundance of dark curls is in disarray, pouring around her heart-shaped face, and her usually pasty cheeks are flushed. “Finally you’re home. Look who was sweet enough to drop by!”
Did he park down the street? Or was I too distracted to notice his car was out front? I’d been good about eyeing my surroundings—why have I been letting my guard slip?
“Mason,” Dad says in greeting. His own hair is swept backward, a common sign indicating that he’s been nervously swiping his hand through it. “I just texted you. Ah. We were talking about how busy you’ve been. With the football team, the gallery…”
The well-built person looming between them turns on his heel and grins at me. His pale blue eyes meet mine for the first time in months. They’re exactly as I remember them—arctic, sparkling, like a snowy tundra in the north.
“Mason!” he says brightly.
An explosive chill scratches down my spine. His hickory-brown hair is a flattering, curled mess, and he’s sporting coarse stubble around his jaw that makes him look older than twenty-two. He’s wearing a white button-down, a pastel-blue tie, and slacks, as if he stopped by onhis way to a dinner party. He’s always dressed like a gentleman, adhering to his wealthy family’s strict standards and demand that he maintain a proper image.
It’s always been this way. He’s never not been strong, capable, and confident. He was on student council for all four years. He was one of the most popular and well-received students in the improv club. I know because I used to walk to the high school after classes ended so I could watch him. He was the most valuable player on the varsity tennis team beginning freshman year, when he wiped the floor with the seniors during tryouts.
I lurked in his shadow for years, always watching him surpass every expectation his parents bestowed on him with ease and a beaming smile. I’ve never known a life without him. Our moms are—were—close friends, and they’d hoped to have their first children in the same year. But his mother settled down first and got pregnant, leaving her best friend to scramble for a husband so she could have her own child within a reasonable amount of time.
Four and a half years later, she had me.
There are pictures of us together. Sitting under a Christmas tree, him holding me swaddled in his arms. Him carrying me on his shoulders around a playground after school. Bundled up while building a snowman in the backyard. Sitting in his lap during crammed car rides, his arms wrapped around me. My parents left me in his care frequently, hoping his success and self-determination would rub off on me. And one day, when he showed me how to properly swing a tennis racket, and I purposefully kept messing up so he would have to touch me again to correct me, I realized it was more than admiration.
Though our moms grew apart (despite my own mother’s desperate attempts to stay connected), it never hindered our relationship. Ashis family’s wealth increased, and they pulled away, my grip on him tightened. And his on me.
Since my dad took over the business, they’ve been trying to squeeze into new crowds, he told me once when he was fifteen or so, his arm slung around me on the couch. I could barely hear him over my own agitated heartbeat.I don’t care if they think your family is poor or messy. That won’t stop me from seeing you.
He made me feel special. The way he smiled at me. The way his hugs lingered. My parents invited him over frequently and asked him to take me along whenever he ran errands or went to study. When he was sixteen and I was twelve (eleven?), he’d take my wrist and guide me around the superstore down the street if he needed food. I enjoyed those trips, though they stopped happening when his family hired a personal servant.
