Catching Cameron: A Love and Football Novel

by Julie Brannagh

  She made the zipping motion across her mouth and nodded. “Got it. By the way, that’s the last time you’re stealing most of my cookie.”

  Drew laughed and got to his feet as he scooped his tray and empty orange juice glass off the table. He loped away.

  ZACH HEADED STRAIGHT for the table Cameron sat alone at. Derrick was still on his heels, and still fuming. Maybe some food would calm him down. Zach had encountered people who were grouchy when awakened suddenly before, but this was a whole new level of pissed off. He’d played with Derrick since they were rookies, but he hadn’t seen this before.

  “Maybe you should just calm down, guy. You had to get up anyway.”

  “Not for another hour.”

  With no warning at all, Derrick slammed his tray down on the table, sending a small river of apple juice over the table top and spraying droplets on everyone sitting there. Cameron threw her hands up in self-protection, but she was seconds too late.

  “Excuse me?” Cameron said. She grabbed the napkin dispenser in the middle of the table and pulled a few out, dabbing at her face and her hair with them. Zach knew from the look on her face—a little panicked and definitely angry—she was going to have to change before she went outside for her first stand-up interview this morning.

  Derrick reached out one big paw toward her. “Give me that goddamn thing.”

  He could see her knuckles show white as she gripped the edges of her tray. She stood up from her seat, assembled her empty juice glass and apple juice-soaked napkins on her tray, and said, “It’s all yours.”

  She put the dispenser down and walked away without saying another word. Great. There went his best chance to have a little more conversation with her. She didn’t seem like herself this morning, in his opinion. Women could cover up the dark circles and bloodshot eyes of a sleepless night a lot better than men could, and she looked like she’d slept like a baby as a result. When he wasn’t a bit uncomfortable over the fact he’d spilled his guts to her last night, he wondered how he could talk to her again without seventy-nine teammates listening to every word.

  He was also pretty irritated over the fact she’d had a cozy little conversation with McCoy. That guy would make any woman run for the hills. All he wanted to talk about was some freaking 750-page biography of Lincoln he was reading right now. Or some documentary he’d just seen. The guy was boring.

  Zach slapped his palms down on the damp and sticky table. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “I got NO sleep.”

  “Maybe you should stop watching so much porn, then—”

  Derrick’s eyes practically bulged out of his head.

  “The fuck? I was dealing with my now ex-girlfriend for most of the night. She’s pissed off that I don’t spend more time with her. How the hell did she think I was going to fix anything when I’m not going to be home for at least another two weeks?” Derrick’s big hands formed into fists. “THEN she’s all over me about why I haven’t asked her to marry me yet. Marry her? Sweet baby Jesus. She bitches at me because she doesn’t see me, I’m not making her happy, but she thinks I’m going to marry her?” He took a bite of his food and made a face. “This has apple juice all over it. Goddammit.”

  It was one of those times when silence was better. Zach handed his relatively-unscathed plate across the table. Hopefully the angry and frustrated Derrick liked a freshly-made Denver omelet and some fresh fruit. He’d go get some more for himself.

  Derrick waved a big paw in the air. “Thanks, A, but you eat it. It’s my fault the table’s a mess.” He took another bite of his scrambled eggs. “Actually, this isn’t terrible. Apple juice is probably good on the bacon.” He consumed the contents of his plate in less than five minutes and looked up from the rest of the food on his tray. He let out a sigh.

  “I shouldn’t have dragged your ass out of bed,” Zach said. “I thought we could get an early start on the lifting today.”

  Derrick crammed half a banana into his mouth. “I acted like a little bitch.”

  Zach bumped his fist with Derrick’s. “Friends?”

  “If you start talking about your feelings, I’ll throw up,” Derrick said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  AFTER HER SECOND shower and wardrobe change of the morning, Cameron strolled along the sideline of the Sharks practice field in bright sunshine. She was still annoyed with Derrick’s behavior at the breakfast table, but she knew she’d laugh about it later. She’d be quiet while she passed his room tomorrow morning on her way to the stairs for sure.

  Practice was forty-five minutes away, and she wanted to take a few still photos and make some notes on her iPad beforehand. Sharks fans were already staking out seats on the grassy hillside overlooking the field to watch the first public practice of the season. Logan wasn’t out here yet, either. Maybe she could use her tablet to record a few comments from the fans.

  Speaking of people who hadn’t made an appearance, she’d also texted Kacee three times this morning, and Kacee hadn’t acknowledged any of them. Cameron hadn’t seen her in over twenty-four hours, either. Mostly, she wanted to know Kacee was safe. Cameron would rather handle the absence privately than drag their boss into it, too. She clicked on her text app once more and tapped in PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU ARE SAFE AND FINE, ASAP.

  If Cameron didn’t hear from her by the time practice was over, she’d see if Logan had any ideas on how to track down her assistant.

  When she wasn’t fretting over Kacee and her unexplained absence, she was still musing on last night’s conversation with Zach. Getting sprayed with apple juice was a great excuse to leave the breakfast table, but it wasn’t the real reason she beat feet out of there.

  After a mostly sleepless night, she wasn’t sure what to say to him. She used to think he was the one who owed her an apology. She couldn’t have been more wrong. She needed to apologize to him, but she couldn’t imagine what she might say that would have any impact at all after what he and his family went through as a result of their brush with her father.

  Last night she’d opened the blinds in her dorm room and gazed out into the darkness. The field was silent and partially lit. Lake Washington looked like an ink stain at three AM—dark and impenetrable. She saw a few boats moving out there; maybe there were other people who couldn’t sleep, either. She wondered what they might be thinking about as they bobbed around in an endless night. She’d climbed back into her bed as the first rays of dawn streaked over a purplish-pink sky.

  Cameron would have to deal with her personal problems later; work came first. She approached a couple of female fans leaning against the three-foot-high movable steel fence that gave the illusion of separating Sharks fans from their idols. It wouldn’t be hard to hurdle the thing and run out onto the field, but nobody did. The Sharks organization provided security during these practices, but most fans would be more afraid of inviting the wrath of a six-foot-six, three-hundred pound tackle. She smiled at the two women, who appeared to be in their late twenties, and extended her hand.

  “Hi. I’m Cameron Ondine from PSN. How’s your day going?”

  “Oh, wow! I watch NFL Confidential every week. I can’t believe you’re here,” the shorter, petite brunette told her.

  “Are you really living in the dorms with the guys?” her bleached-blonde friend asked. “Have you met Drew McCoy yet? Is he still single?”

  Cameron resisted the impulse to laugh at the question about Drew. The guys in the league were used to women making their interest clear, but she’d never get used to being asked about specific players and their love lives.

  She side-stepped the question about Drew.

  “Yes, I’m living in the dorm, and I’ll be there until training camp is over. I was wondering if you would let me video a short interview with you. I’d like to put it up on the PSN blog, or we might use it on Third and Long.”

  “We’d be on TV?” The blonde let out a squeal. “Oh, my God!”

  “I should have worn mo
re makeup today.” The brunette whipped a mirror out of her handbag and inspected her lipstick. “Do you have someone that does your hair every day? It’s always perfect.”

  “Thank you so much. The hair person slept in this morning, so I was on my own.” Both women laughed as Cameron indicated her high ponytail. “So, what are your names, and how long have you been Sharks fans?”

  “I’m Serena,” the blonde said, “and this is Marcella.” Her voice dropped. “We like football, but we like the single guys more. Maybe you could hook us up.”

  Marcella leaned closer to Cameron. Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Were you really married to Zach Anderson for three days? He’s gorgeous.”

  One of her colleagues from another sports network was close enough to hear the conversation. “Of course it’s true,” she sang out. “Cameron won’t discuss it with any of us, though. I wonder why.”

  The sick feeling in Cameron’s stomach was immediate. She wasn’t going to turn to acknowledge the comment. Even more, she wasn’t giving the reporter in question the satisfaction of reacting to it.

  She knew she was going to be asked questions about her life, but her job was to get the story. She also realized she’d been living in a bubble for the past three days. She’d seen some of the reporting on her and Zach’s short-lived marriage on sports websites and Twitter, but this was the first time she’d faced questions or comments from anyone outside of her insular little world. She forced herself to smile. Other fans had noticed the commotion, and were advancing on them. She’d better make this quick.

  “Serena and Marcella, I’m going to ask you a few questions and video your responses. Just be yourselves. Don’t worry, there are no wrong answers.” She held the iPad screen up in front of the women, making sure she had them centered in frame, and said, “It’s the first public practice of training camp for the Seattle Sharks this morning. Let’s welcome Serena and Marcella to our show.” Some of the fans that had clustered around the two women broke into applause, and there were a few more chants of “Go Sharks!”

  She held up one hand for silence and said, “How long have you been Sharks fans, ladies?”

  Serena moved closer to Cameron’s iPad camera and struck a pose. “I’ve been watching the team since I was little. My mom told me my dad put my bouncy chair in front of the TV every Sunday—”

  Marcella interrupted her. “My dad has been bringing me to the games since I was a month old.”

  “How do you feel about their chances this year? Do you think the coaching staff can fix some of the problems they had last season with the offensive line?”

  Serena half-turned toward Marcella. “I remember my dad talking about the fact the OL needs some serious help, but I haven’t been focusing much on it.” Cameron heard some groans behind the two women. Serena gave the camera a dazzling smile. “Of course we’re going to the Super Bowl again.”

  Cameron had better ask another general question.

  “Who’s your favorite Shark?”

  “Drew McCoy,” both women said in unison.

  “He’s gorgeous,” Serena said.

  “I love his hair,” Marcella said. “I want to run my fingers through it.”

  “I heard he’s single,” Serena told the camera.

  “I’ll make sure to ask him about that later. Thanks, Serena and Marcella. It looks like practice is about to get underway, so we’ll bring you some more Sharks fan interviews later. This is Cameron Ondine for PSN.”

  She shut off the video on her iPad, and reached out to shake hands with the two women again. “Thank you so much for the interview.”

  “That was it? Aren’t you going to ask us a few more questions?” Marcella demanded.

  “I may come back to you later. Thanks again, ladies.”

  She walked away as quickly as her legs could carry her. She’d spied three little boys in Sharks jerseys pressed up against the fence on the far end of the field. She wanted to talk with them before any other media member got to them first.

  ZACH RAN OUT onto the field with a few of his teammates. Practice didn’t officially start for another twenty minutes or so, but a little extra time to stretch beforehand wouldn’t hurt anyone. He could hear Sharks fans yelling his name and cheering, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the slight figure in red with the blonde ponytail on the sidelines, crouched down in front of three little boys. Zach noted with a smile that one of them was wearing a replica of his jersey, which meant the kid was getting an autograph, and maybe a hug, or perhaps he would even be boosted up onto Zach’s shoulders for a photo later. He loved seeing people in his jersey, which meant those fans always got a little extra attention from him. He saw Cameron producing paperwork out of her tote bag, which she handed to what must have been their proud fathers. It was most likely some kind of release; the kids were underage, and her network probably required it. Her cameraman was standing next to her, filming her interaction with the kids. He’d seen the guy sprinting through the practice facility five minutes before.

  The three little boys tugged on her pants leg and pointed at the field as they talked to her. He wished he could hear what they were telling her. There would be an autograph session for the younger fans after practice. He and his teammates knew they’d have to keep an eye on the smaller kids in line; adults would cut right in front of them or shove them aside in their zeal to get autographs that often went for sale on eBay within minutes of those same fans leaving the practice facility.

  He lowered himself to the turf a few feet away from Cameron, eavesdropping shamelessly. He began the gentle stretches he’d learned in the yoga class the Sharks participated in once a week. He heard the high-pitched voices of young boys.

  “Dad! Dad! There’s Reed! He’s my favorite.”

  “Maybe he’ll throw the ball over here, son.”

  “Cameron, do you know him?”

  “Sure,” he heard Cameron say. “He looks forward to meeting his fans. Maybe he’ll sign your football later. What do you think of that?”

  “I brought it with me. See?”

  “That’s great,” she told him. He could hear the smile in her voice.

  Zach saw the camera guy get on one knee. He couldn’t hear Cameron’s questions any more over the din of the rest of his teammates running out onto the field, and the cheers and clapping of the fans who now packed the hillside overlooking the field. No matter how long he lasted in the league, he’d never get used to the fact that several thousand people showed up to watch training camp practices.

  He heard feminine voices shouting, “Zach. Zach! Over here!” He glanced up to see his four sisters beaming at him.

  His sisters were ensconced on a blanket a few yards behind the portable fence, all wearing his jersey, and all waving at him. To see them together at any event was a big deal now. No matter how busy they were with school and their own lives, though, at least one of them was at every home game for him. He waved back, grinned at them, and Shelby blew him a kiss.

  “We love you,” Courtney shouted. “Go Sharks!”

  “I love you, too. Talk to you later,” he called out to them. His defensive line coach blew the whistle, and he ran over to his teammates.

  CAMERON FINISHED WHAT she knew was an adorable interview with the three first-grade Sharks fans and their dads, and glanced over at the four college-age women wearing what she knew were probably game-worn Anderson jerseys from UVA and Zach’s pro career. The jerseys were knee-length on the women. They must be his sisters, whom she’d never met.

  Zach had fiercely guarded their privacy over the years. She’d seen a few candid photos on sports websites and Twitter, but she’d never seen them interviewed before. They were old enough by now to consent to be filmed. She wondered which of her colleagues was reckless or crazy enough to try to ask them some questions.

  Logan stepped closer to her as he moved his camera back and forth, panning the crowd.

  “Have you seen Kacee?” Cameron asked. “I’ve been calling her for two days now. W
here is she?”

  Logan shuffled his feet and didn’t meet Cameron’s eyes. “I haven’t seen her, either.”

  “Did she go back to New York?”

  Logan finally met her gaze. “Nope.” His lips formed a bloodless line. “She’s doing a ‘special project’ for Ben.”

  “What kind of special project might that be? She’s supposed to be helping out with my stuff. Come on. I have the right to know what’s going on.”

  From the way Logan was acting, he knew more than he was telling her. He wasn’t sharing. She considered him a friend. When did they start keeping secrets from each other?

  He spread his hands wide. “That’s all the info I have right now. Whatever it is, she can’t hide from us forever.”

  Cameron felt the hair on the back of her neck rising. Something was wrong. Ben had his own assistant—actually, several assistants. She couldn’t imagine what Kacee could be doing for him, unless it was personal. Ben wasn’t immune to the charms of a younger woman, but he’d sat through the same sexual harassment seminars she had, and he’d never done or said anything inappropriate to her while she’d been with PSN.

  Cameron’s phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of her pocket. It wasn’t Kacee.

  “Come on,” Logan said to her. “Zach Anderson’s sisters are over there. Maybe we should introduce ourselves to them.”

  She reached out to pull him back.

  “Are you sure? He’ll freak out. The guys from CBS Sports tried to talk to his grandma on-camera last year and Zach wouldn’t talk to them for the rest of the season. We need to leave them alone,” she said. “Tom Reed’s wife will talk with us. Let’s ask her how she feels about getting asked for her autograph at football practice.”

  The quarterback’s tall, stunning blonde wife was standing several feet from the Anderson family. Sure enough, she was signing autographs and posing for photos with thrilled Sharks fans. A younger woman, probably their nanny, was wrangling three boys who looked to be kindergarten age.