Page 78 of Offside Secrets
“He’s being dramatic,” Tom jokes as he waves a hand dismissively. “Rheumatoid arthritis. Makes me feel ancient some days, but the doctors have me on a good regimen now. Besides”—he glances at his son on the ice—“I think having something to celebrate has been better medicine than anything they’ve prescribed.”
“Something to celebrate?”
“His leadership within the Renegades, the possibility of moving up with this new team, The Dominion, and now you.” Tom’s voice is quiet, meant just for me. “I’ve spent time worried about my son. When his mother passed away, he took on more responsibility than he even let on to me. From making sure the oil was changed in my car to us having groceries each week, he made sure it was handled. If I was supposed to go to a dentist appointment, he was in my business, putting it on the calendar and making sure I went. That boy of mine has spent so much time focusing on me. I was worried he would side-step this part of his life entirely.”
The words hit me harder than I would expect. “I’m glad I’m able to be around this part of Campbell, to watch this time in his life.”
“No doubt he’s happy for you, too, but,” Tom says, nudging my arm with his, “me? I’mecstaticyou two foundone another. I know it sounds really cheesy, and maybe a little old-fashioned, but that kid of mine? He’s got a lot of love to give, and I’ve always wanted to see him channel that energy to the right person when he was ready.”
Tom’s words wash over me, the hair on my arm standing on end as I think about that sweet giant of mine who is currently on the ice making one heck of a pass to Sawyer. They move down to the opposing goal, and the arena erupts as Sawyer slams the puck over to Campbell, who in turn smacks it dead center into the net.
Tom is on his feet cheering despite his stiff joints.
“That’s my boy!” he shouts, then sits back down with a satisfied grin. “You know, I’ve always known he could make it as far as he has. When he first started, he had a coach who told him that because he was ‘underweight’ he’d never make it.”
“When he first started?” I repeat. “When he was younger or in college?”
“It was a junior league and he was barely in high school.” Tom chuckles. “Of course he was underweight, he was a scrawny kid who needed to fill out. Like a poodle when you wash ‘em.”
I grin at this visual, the kind only a father can give. “That’s pretty rude to say when he was that age.”
“It really was, and I made sure that coach knew about it when I went and took Campbell off his team, and then enrolled him in private lessons. When it came time for tryouts the next year, he made the cut easily. The same coach came up to me afterward and said, ‘Guess you two proved me wrong.’ I just told him, ‘I don’t need to prove a thing to you, but Campbell has been doing that his whole life, and will continue to do it if you just stay with him.’”
I grin. “It’s about loyalty, really.”
“It is.” Something in Tom’s expression shifts as he looks at me. “That’s something I like about you, Sutton. I like yourstyle when it comes to loyalty. That press conference of yours made it pretty clear you’re willing to go to bat for him. That means everything to a father.”
The game ends with a 4–1 victory, and the crowd is still cheering as we make our way down toward the locker rooms. The concourse is buzzing with excited fans, and I notice several people pointing at us with their phones out.
Not too long ago, that would have made me panic. Now I just smile and wave.
“Is it weird that these people know about your personal business now?” Tom asks, noticing my reaction.
“I’m getting used to not caring,” I admit. “Turns out being honest about your life is a lot less stressful than hiding it.”
“Campbell mentioned the press has been much kinder since you faced them head-on.”
“Mostly. There are still critics, but they’re outnumbered by people who seem to appreciate the transparency.” I pause as we reach the corridor outside the locker rooms. “Plus, it helps that Campbell’s been playing like he’s possessed. Hard to argue with results.”
“Love will do that to a man,” Tom says with a knowing smile. “Make him want to be the best version of himself.”
We settle into the family waiting area while Campbell changes out of his gear. Other families mill around—wives, girlfriends, kids in team jerseys. I’ve been in this area before for team events, but never as someone’s girlfriend. Never as someone who belongs here personally instead of professionally. It’s equal parts nerve-wracking and thrilling.
“Sutton!” Anna appears beside me, grinning like she’s just won the lottery. “Look at you, down here with the WAGS.”
“Honestly, there needs to be another name for the wives and girlfriends thanWAGS,” I say as I give her a hug. “How long does this post-game routine usually take?”
“Another ten minutes or so. They’ll do media, as you know, shower, change into their suits.” Anna glances aroundthe family area. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Being here because you want to be, not because you have to be.”
She’s right. For years, I’ve been in team spaces because it was my job, my responsibility, my role as owner. Now I’m here because I’m falling in love with someone, and the difference is startling.
The locker room doors open, and players start filtering out in their game-day suits. Campbell appears near the end of the group, and the sight of him stops my breath for a second. Dark charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, hair still damp from his shower. He looks like he walked off the cover of a magazine.
He spots us immediately and heads over, his smile widening when he sees his father.
“You and that pass in the third period,” Tom remarks, standing to embrace his son. “Perfect threading the needle.”
“Sawyer made it easy,” Campbell says, but he’s glowing with pride. “I’m glad you were here to see it.”
