Page 64 of Offside Secrets
Two goals, an assist, and the kind of leadership that made the entire team play like they were possessed. Every shift was poetry in motion, every pass threaded with precision that made the commentators run out of superlatives. The camera caught him celebrating his second goal—arms raised, that brilliant smile splitting his face—and my heart did something complicated in my chest.
This is what he was born to do. This is what he deserves.
The doorbell rings close to midnight, and I know without looking that it’s him. Campbell’s truck in my driveway confirms it, and when I open the door, he’s standing there still in his game-day suit, tie loosened, hair mussed from the post-game interviews.
“Hi,” he says simply.
“Hi yourself, superstar.” I step aside to let him in, trying to keep my voice light despite the way my pulse jumps just from seeing him. “What a game.”
“Thanks.” His smile is soft, genuine, nothing like the media-trained grins from the interviews. “I was hoping you were watching.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” I close the door, suddenly hyperaware that we’re alone in my house for the first time since everything got complicated. “I know you probably need to get to your dad, but do you want something to drink? Water? I might have some champagne somewhere?—”
“Sutton.” He catches my hand, stopping my nervous rambling. His fingers are warm, steady—too steady for the chaos suddenly spinning through my chest. “I don’t need anything to drink right now,” he says quietly. “I stopped by on my way home because…”
He hesitates, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. The air between us shifts, heavier now, charged.
“Because I needed to see you.”
For a second, neither of us moves. We stand perfectly still, caught in each other’s orbit, the world shrinking down to the inches of space between us. His eyes search mine—wanting, waiting. And, for the love of all things precious, I feel it, too. That pull. That ache that says step closer, just once.
“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice low. “For sending the nurse aide. For checking on my dad. You don’t know how much it means.”
I lift a hand before I can stop myself, fingertips grazing hischeek. “Of course I do,” I whisper. “I wanted to do that for you.”
He exhales, the sound shaky, and then—before I can fall all the way into him—he pulls back, just enough to break whatever spell we’ve fallen under.
His gaze drops to the floor, then back to me. “We need to talk.”
My stomach drops. “About?”
Campbell’s eyes lock on mine, so intense I half expect the room to start spinning. “This. Us. The way you’ve been dodging me for days. And I’m pretty sure I know why.”
I pull my hand free, wrapping my arms around myself like armor. “Campbell?—”
“It’s about you, too, isn’t it?” His voice is quiet, understanding. “This whole mess with the blogs, the board breathing down your neck. You’re trying to protect me from the fallout.”
The words stick in my throat for a moment. Because he’s right, partially. But it’s more layered than that, more selfish than that.
“Not anymore,” I say finally.
His brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
I gesture toward the television, where highlights from tonight’s game are still playing on SportsCenter. “Look at you, Campbell. Two goals, dominating on the ice, scouts taking notes like they’re writing love letters. This is your moment. This is everything you’ve worked for.”
“Okay...”
“And I’m not going to be the distraction that costs you this opportunity.” The words come out in a rush, like I’m ripping off a bandage. “You were incredible tonight. You’re going to get called up to Alexandria, and you’re going to be amazing there, too. I can’t wait to root for you.”
Campbell’s expression shifts, becoming harder to read. “You’re talking like this is goodbye.”
I try to smile, but it feels brittle around the edges. “I mean, not goodbye goodbye. We’ll still see each other. League functions, probably some overlap with the affiliation?—”
“Sutton, stop.” His voice is firm enough to cut through my babbling. “You’re making decisions for both of us without asking what I want.”
“What you want doesn’t change the reality of the situation.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
