Page 47 of Offside Secrets
“Sutton?”
I turn to find Campbell approaching, still in his practice gear but with a Renegades hoodie thrown over his shoulder.His hair’s damp from the shower, and per usual he’s got that post-practice glow that should make my stomach do ridiculous things. Right now, though, I can barely focus on his face.
“Hey,” I manage, trying to sound normal.
His expression shifts immediately, concern replacing his usual easy smile. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks. Every woman loves to hear that.” I sigh. “Twice in one day, too.”
“I’m serious.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his soap and see the worry in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
I want to lie, to say I’m fine and send him on his way. But the combination of my pounding head, Victor’s threats, and the weight of everything I can’t tell him makes the words stick in my throat.
“Rough day,” I say instead.
Campbell studies my face for a moment, then glances at my car keys. “When’s the last time you ate something?”
“I...” I try to remember. Coffee this morning, definitely. Lunch was supposed to be at noon, but then Victor showed up. “I’m not sure.”
He holds out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“Campbell, I can drive?—”
“You’re pale, you’re shaking, and you can barely stand up straight.” His voice is gentle but firm. “I’m driving you home.”
Part of me wants to argue, to maintain some semblance of professional distance. But a larger part of me is too tired and too overwhelmed to fight him.
I drop the keys into his palm.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Campbell opens the passenger door of my BMW and waits until I’m settled before jogging around to the driver’s side. He adjusts the seat and mirrors with the practiced ease of someone who’s driven plenty of different cars, then glances at me with that concerned expression still firmly in place.
“We’re making a stop first,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot.
“I just want to go home?—”
“Pharmacy. And grocery store. You need actual food, not whatever cold coffee drinks and leftover pizza slices you’ve been surviving on.”
I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I know,” he says firmly. “I want to.”
The simple honesty in his voice makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with my headache.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting in the parking lot of the River City Pharmacy, which also shares space with a small grocery market. Campbell’s turned off the engine, but neither of us moves to get out.
“Do you want to tell me what happened today?” he asks quietly.
I open my eyes and look at him. He’s turned in his seat to face me, one arm resting on the steering wheel, his full attention focused on me. The concern in his expression is so genuine it makes my throat ache.
“Victor Lawson paid me a visit,” I say finally.
Campbell’s jaw tightens. “The guy from the gala?”
“The same. Wanted to tell me himself that he’s now a minority owner in Alexandria.” I don’t mention the affiliation negotiations or the scouts. I can’t, not when Victor’s threat about professional boundaries is still echoing in my head.
“Why did he do that?”
