Page 60 of Challenge
Indie sits criss-cross beside me. “How did you and your brothers all come to play for the same team?”
“That’s a bit of a loaded answer,” I reply, tilting my head thoughtfully. “Essentially, it was our dad. He was a star striker for Man U when they won The Cup in the 80s.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, so we lived half the year in Manchester during his season, and the other half at our house in Chigwell. But when Mum died, he quit the team without a second thought. He was making loads of money but just up and left. I was only three when all that happened so I only know about it from retellings.”
“He must have been devastated.” Indie watches me carefully, sympathy knitting her brows together.
I shrug. “I suppose so, but he doesn’t ever talk about her. Most of my memories of him from when I was younger aren’t good. He refused to hire a nanny, even though he could more than afford one. I think he didn’t want anyone to see his grief.”
“That’s heart breaking,” Indie says, looking down at my hand in the grass.
“I remember one night he threw all of our mum’s clothes into the fireplace. Vi was sobbing and trying to grab a sweater of hers, but Dad refused to let her get it. I was comforting Vi but didn’t understand why she cared about some silly sweater that was too big for her.”
Indie’s hand reaches out and covers her mouth, but I’m too busy haemorrhaging feelings like a broken blood vessel to stop.
“Then Bethnal Green F.C. came along, which is Championship League, so it’s one division down from Man U and Arsenal. I was ten and had never touched a football when one of Dad’s old teammates came barging in every day for a month straight. He was the Bethnal’s coach and he wanted my dad to be the manager. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Is that guy your current coach?” Indie’s soft voice reminds me I’m not alone, and I look up and see her listening intently.
“Yes. He’s a screaming arse most days, but he taught us everything we know. In many ways, he turned our life around. After Dad accepted the offer, everything changed. He got happier, and we went to work with him just because we were star-struck. Then Coach gave us jobs with the team doing basic stuff like picking up loose balls. Eventually we started helping with dribbling drills and, hell, before we knew it, Gareth was scrimmaging with them as a teenager.
“Arsenal wanted tooffer my brothers and me a place in their youth academy, but Dad wouldn’t let us be promised to any league. He was angry at league football. Maybe because of everything that happened after Mum died. I don’t know. It was a pretty epic battle when Gareth signed on with Man U.”
“But now your dad wants you to sign with Arsenal?” Indie asks.
I nod. “I think my dad is still trying to get back at Man U. A twenty-year grudge maybe. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s been trying to work a contract with Arsenal for me, Tanner, and Booker. He’s been tight-lipped about it all, so who knows?”
“How do you feel about that?”
I look into her wide, probing eyes. “You know…I don’t fucking know. When I was young, Premier was my dream. But Championship League is still incredible. The money is great and I get to play with my brothers every day. That’s huge. Hearing our name chanted is like the most immense amount of family pride I can fathom. And my brothers are right beside me. They are my family. My teammates. My best friends.” I shrug, feeling myself lose control. “My family drives me crazy and we fight constantly, but they are mine and I can’t imagine a better life without them.”
“Then don’t sign with Arsenal.” Indie says it so simply, like it’s an easy choice.
I shrug, annoyed by even myself at this point. “I don’t think that’s the solution. It’s just that I can’t figure out what I want out of football. I don’t know what it’s given me.”
“How do you mean? I thought you said it saved your life?”
“We had no life before. Football gave us a life. But what else?” I reach down and touch the grass, instantly transported back to the feelings that overcame me when I went down over a week ago. “It wasn’t just my ACL that tore in me. It was my home. I am football. Nothing more. If I can’t play, what the fuck am I?”
“You’re a lot of things, Camden,” Indie exclaims, leaning forward and squeezing my arm urgently. I look up and her eyes don’t hold pity for me like I expected. They look exasperated, like nothing I’ve said makes any sense to her.
“Off the top of my head, Cam, you’re witty. Like the kind of wit you’re embarrassed to laugh at but even a grandmother would laugh…because, bloody hell, it’s funny.”
I smile and she continues, “You like to act like a cocky bugger, but you’re really smart and insightful. Those notes in the margins of your book are a whole other side of you.”
“I liked your note.” I pull her toward me so she has to climb on my lap. With her straddling me now, I grip the edges of her open shirt and I drop my head to her chest.
This is the first time I’ve said most of this out loud and I’m exhausted from it.
Fuck feelings. Feelings suck.
“We’ve been pretty good at juggling so far,” I add, referring to her pun in my book. Her words about me are too nice. I need to change the focus off of me.
She doesn’t take my bait. “You need to know that you are so much more than football. It’s not even the product of a reasoned list of items. It’s just something you innately are, Camden. You are beyond what words can articulate.”
My eyes are seeing her. My ears are hearing her. But my soul still can’t open itself up to the possibility of being more than football. As if sensing my anxiety, she adds with a laugh, “And you’re a great lay.”
