by Virna DePaul
Not yet anyway.
But it was clear from the photo that he and Camille weren’t just friends, and that’s what apparently made it press-worthy.
“Dawson, get it together. That’s all there is to it. Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, I’m listening,” he replied in low tones. That’s when he heard his phone sound that there was a call coming in, and looking at his phone’s screen, he saw it was Camille. He let the call go to voicemail.
Heath understood what Coach was saying: Camille had distracted him. It wasn’t her fault, but his. He’d let not only Coach down, but also the entire team itself. Part of him wanted to believe he could play and have Camille—why was that such a stretch? But he’d already proven that that wasn’t possible. Glancing at Alec, who was leaning on his crutches, he gritted his teeth and let Coach finish his tirade. He deserved it.
Finally, Coach seemed to run out of steam. With one last, “I’m warning you, Dawson,” he stalked away.
Heath swore underneath his breath, a headache pounding in his temples. When had everything gone to shit? Now his entire career was on the line. You have football and that’s it, he heard his dad’s voice in his head. Give that up? You’re nothing and nobody.
He didn’t want to throw everything away, even for a girl like Camille. Because if he wasn’t playing football, what was he?
Alec slapped him on the shoulder. “Don't let Coach get to you. You know how he is. He yells and swears until he gets it all out, and then you’ll be knocking back shots with him the next day. He has a short memory.”
His phone vibrated and he picked it up. Camille had texted him again. Swiping his phone, he stepped away from his friends when he realized she’d sent him photos. Sexy photos, at that. His eyebrows rose to his hairline, seeing that she’d sent him photos of her wearing a black and white corset and her pirate hat. There’s more where these came from, she’d written.
God, she was sexy, and it wasn’t just the corset. She looked like she’d had fun taking these photos, and with her hair down and her eyes full of laughter? He wished he’d been there. He would’ve stripped that corset right off and made love to her until she couldn’t stop moaning his name. He would’ve left the hat on, though: nothing better than sleeping with a sexy pirate wench, he thought with a smile.
He almost groaned aloud, imagining losing himself in her soft curves. But then he heard Coach’s voice in his ear, telling him to get his head out of his ass. He heard him warning him, telling him if he fucked up again he’d be totally screwed. And he heard his dad’s voice, too, reminding him he was nothing without football or the NFL.
Hesitating, he texted back, We need to talk.
The day after receiving his mysterious text, Camille raised her hand to knock on Heath’s door, but hesitated. He was expecting her, but she suddenly wanted to turn around and flee.
We need to talk, was all his text had said.
Everyone knew those four words never meant anything good.
Any reasonably smart person would know what’s coming.
They’d only just agreed to keep things casual, but already he was going to break things off. It had been inevitable; she just hadn’t expected it to come so soon. And to be honest, she’d thought she’d be the one to break things off—when she was offered a job with the NFL.
The offer hadn’t come. It might never come.
And now she was going to lose Heath, too.
A wave of sadness crashed over her, but she pushed it back. She was going to be a big girl about this. No drama. No tears. She’d wish him well like a strong, independent woman.
And when she started dating again, she’d look for a normal guy. A stable, reliable man who would be a good father-figure to Emma. That meant no more professional athletes.
Certainly no sexy football players who teased her and called her Watergirl and made her feel beautiful with a single look.
After taking a deep breath, she knocked. Within moments, Heath opened the door, as if he’d been waiting right there for her to arrive. They stared at each other.
“Thanks for coming.” He held the door open, and she noticed that he made sure his body didn’t brush hers as she entered.
“You want a drink?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
He led her to his living room, which said all she needed to know. He didn’t take her to his bedroom or even to the kitchen to make her a sandwich like before, but instead to a part of the house he’d take a business associate. She took a seat on the couch.
“What is this about, Heath? Is it what I texted you?”
Humiliation swirled in her belly. She’d taken those photos and sent them to him because he’d made her feel beautiful and bold. Because she’d wanted him to think about her even when they were apart. Now she felt like she was in the principal’s office, waiting to be reprimanded. Had someone seen them?
Heath’s eyebrows shot up, then he frowned. He sat down next to her, but he didn’t touch her. “Not at all,” he replied. His face was creased, his mouth in a tight line. She’d never seen him like this. Where was the jokey, cavalier Heath?
“Okay, then…?”
He took a deep breath. “Even before you sent those photos, I’ve had a hard time not thinking about you. You…distract me. It’s affecting my game. And I just can’t have that. I think…we need to stop seeing each other.”
It was just as she’d expected, and she forced out a smile. “If I had known those photos would’ve scared you off…”
“Stop. Those photos were beautiful. They blew me away. If I had any other choice—”
She’d sworn there’d be no drama, but at the conflicted look on his face and the words falling from his mouth, she suddenly laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Don’t patronize me. You have every choice in the world, but you’re choosing to end things because—I don’t know. You’re tired of me? Scared? Fine. But don’t act like someone’s backed you into a corner.”
He didn’t get angry at her words. Instead, he seemed to deflate even more. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, “but I know you’d make the same choice for your career. You’ve already set the ticking clock. Once you’re offered a job with the NFL, things are over between us anyway. Right?”
He looked at her searchingly, and she sighed. What could she say? She had set the ticking clock. But now she regretted it. Now the thought of never seeing Heath again, never holding him, never laughing with him and hearing him call her Watergirl, made her want to cry and never stop. But he was right. She wouldn’t like having to break up with him, but if it was best for her career, she’d do it.
Wouldn’t she?
The doubt was there, but it was also irrelevant, so she simply said, “You’re right.”
They fell silent, and Camille could feel her chest tightening and the hot press of tears against her eyelids. So this was it, then: the end of their relationship. She’d told herself she couldn’t fall for him. She’d told herself to keep things casual. And yet now she was feeling all of the emotions she had wanted to avoid in the first place.
“I don’t make this decision lightly,” Heath said quietly. “I don’t. But I can’t let anything—not even you—jeopardize my career.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, and she noticed how tired he looked. “Football is the most important thing to me. It’s who I am. And you and Emma, you deserve more than that.” He swept both hands through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
Hesitantly, she touched his arm. “Don’t be. Sometimes being an adult means accepting that some things just aren’t going to work out.” She knew that all too well, what with her getting pregnant so young and then getting divorced before she’d turned thirty. She knew what heartbreak meant. But that didn’t make this one any easier, and for reasons she didn’t want to contemplate too much, this one was like a dagger to the chest.
Heath Dawson had captured her heart and wouldn’t let go of it, no matter how hard she tried to resist him.
She stood. “Thank yo
u for being honest with me, Heath. And for being so kind to Emma.”
“Emma…I’ll still come to her birthday party.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to. I can tell her you were too busy.”
“No, I’ll be there. And I’ll even bring some buddies of mine. I promise.”
She pressed her lips together, wanting to scream that she didn’t want to see him again, that this was hard enough without having to experience the replay, but she knew how disappointed Emma would be if he didn’t come. “Fine, if you have time, great. But if something comes up...” She shrugged. “Emma and I will be just fine without you, Heath.”
She hadn’t meant her words to be hurtful, but they seemed to wound him just the same. Before she realized what he was doing, he buried his hand in her hair and kissed her. She gasped as his mouth met hers. She knew she should pull away and leave right then and there, but she couldn’t. She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into his shirt, and kissed him as hard as he kissed her.
His mouth molded against hers, relentless, as if he wanted to imprint himself on her. She nipped at his bottom lip. He broke their kiss for just a second, his eyes dark. Then he kissed her even harder, angling her backward until she lay on the couch beneath him.
How could he end things when they were like this with each other? Camille didn’t understand it. They were explosive, like fire to gasoline. Their hands roved over each other’s bodies, underneath shirts, touching and memorizing the feel of one another. She couldn’t breathe, they were kissing so hard, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except this moment with Heath, and making it last as long as possible.
But a clock chimed the hour, and that appeared to be the signal for him to stop kissing her. He lifted his head then embraced her in a quick, fierce hug.
“Goodbye, Watergirl. Be happy,” he breathed against her neck.
She blinked, trying to hold back the tears that were welling. Then she nodded, pulled back, kissed his cheek, and ran to the front door, throwing it open and refusing to look back, no matter how much she wanted to.
Heath sat in the living room, head in his hands, barely stopping himself from kicking over the coffee table or throwing something.
He and Camille were over. Nothing could change that painful, glaring fact. And it was his fault that things had ended.
He heard the front door open and close and, stupidly, he thought maybe Camille had returned. But when he looked up, he saw that it was his grandfather and his nurse, Bette, back from visiting one of his grandfather’s friends. Heath immediately stood, but his grandfather turned to Bette. “I’m going to talk with Heath for a bit.”
“In that case, I’ll go fix some lunch,” Bette said with a smile as she left.
“How was your visit?” Heath asked, taking a seat next to his grandfather on the couch.
“Not as interesting as the one you just had, I suspect. I ran into a woman outside,” his grandfather said. “She was crying.”
Heath grimaced, rubbing his forehead. He’d seen the tears Camille had been fighting back. Had almost been unable to stop himself from pulling her into his arms again and telling her to forget what he’d said. Telling her that he never wanted to stop seeing her. Only that wasn’t possible for them. If he hadn’t broken things off with her just now, she’d have ended things eventually anyway. She was talented. She’d get that job with the NFL. It was her dream, and Heath couldn’t stand in her way. No, it had been better to do it now, before he damaged his own career any more than he had. Before he got even more attached. “Did she get to her car okay?”
“Seemed so. What happened?”
He really didn’t want to talk about her, but looking into his grandfather’s assessing blue-eyed gaze, he couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming out either.
“We broke up. Things weren’t going to work out between us.”
“Ah.” The older man nodded, like he understood completely. Then: “There any particular reason? Because you don’t look any happier about ending things than she did.”
“I care about her. A lot. But she has a daughter. She deserves total commitment from a man. And I have to focus on my career. She…she’s been a distraction already, and it’s only been a few weeks.”
“Nothing wrong with a woman that distracts you.”
Heath just shrugged. “Camille understands where I’m coming from,” he said, although he sounded rather like he was trying to convince himself. “She’d do the same, if she were in my shoes.”
His grandfather didn’t say anything for a moment. “When I stopped to ask her what was wrong, she said something similar. That she didn’t blame you for your decision. That she understood. It only made me see what a beautiful woman she was—inside and out. A woman worth fighting for.”
God, rub salt into the wound!
Heath rubbed his chest, like his heart hurt. But he’d made his choice to give everything he had to his career a long time ago. What could he do now except follow it to the bitter end? Plus, he couldn’t end up like Omar, getting shafted to a second-string team because he’d gotten too wrapped up in a woman. If he wasn’t a football player, what was he? No one. Nothing.
His grandfather sighed and put a hand on his shoulder, and it was as if he’d read Heath’s mind because he said, “I know how much your dad pushed you to play. And you’re a great player, there’s no doubt about that. But if you think that’s all you are? You’re wrong. Don’t sell yourself short.”
When Heath said nothing, his grandfather shook him until Heath looked at him again. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And if this decision of yours is somehow linked to taking care of me? Well, just know that you don’t have to do that. Me, and your dad, we’ll be all right. You don’t need to give up your life for us. That woman I saw isn’t just one you let go and then maybe you think about her from time to time. She’s the type that stays with you your whole life. The type worth doing anything for.” His voice lowered as he said seriously, “Your grandmother was that type of woman, you know. She’s been gone four years now. Four years that I’ve spent without her. Wishing I’d had more time. Any amount of time. I’d have done anything and given anything for that privilege. My only consolation is I didn’t waste any of the time we did have together and I haven’t regretted that for a moment. Just make sure when your time comes, you can say the same.”
Chapter 19
“Hey man, I think we should turn around. With this accident, we probably aren’t even going to make it in time.”
Heath heard Kyle’s logical statement, but instead of complying, he clenched the steering wheel tighter. He couldn’t turn around now—he’d told Camille he’d be at the party today. Not just for her, but for Emma.
“We’ll get there,” he replied. “Traffic’s moving again just up ahead.”
He saw Alec glance at him from the passenger seat. Alec was getting around on his crutches and by all accounts, it would heal fine, but Heath still felt guilty for screwing up so royally. After Coach had reamed him a new one, he’d apologized to Alec for his fuck-up. His friend, though, wasn’t one to harbor grudges. In fact, Alec had readily agreed to attend Emma’s party with him. So had Kyle. And even though they were being good sports, Heath could tell from their worried expressions what they were thinking: Heath Dawson was in way too deep with this woman and was probably going to get himself screwed over.
Ha. Little did they know he’d already screwed things up all by himself. He’d hurt Camille when that was the last thing he’d wanted. After talking to his grandfather, he’d second-guessed his decision to break up with her. And even though he still wasn’t sure what to do about it, he’d made a promise to attend Emma’s party and bring some friends; he was going to keep that promise. It was the least he could do.
Now, the three of them—Heath, Alec and Kyle—were driving to Emma’s Pirates for Tea Party, eye patches, hooks and bandanas in hand. Heath had also gotten Emma a gift—a very cool light-up swo
rd that would be great for a swashbuckling, tea-partying type of girl.
But an accident on the highway driving to Camille’s house meant they’d be late to the party. It was starting at 1:00, and it was already 12:45. Heath willed traffic to go faster, for the accident to get cleaned up so he could zip this car on down the road. They still had 80 miles to go.
“I really think we should turn around. Coach is pissed enough as it is, and we can’t be late for Alec’s physical therapy appointment this afternoon,” Kyle said.
He wasn’t usually the one caring about things like appointments and what Coach thought, but even Kyle was smart enough not to cross him when he was in a mood. After that colossal loss at the last game, everyone on the team had been tiptoeing around Coach.
“We won’t miss Alec’s appointment,” Heath said stubbornly. “We’ll get to the party, stay for a bit, and hit the road again. I told Camille I’d be there, so I’m gonna be there.”
“Uh huh,” Kyle muttered. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Finally, traffic cleared enough that Heath could maneuver to another lane. He pumped the gas, glancing at the time more often than he cared to admit. He didn’t have to be absolutely on time for the kid’s party, but they had a narrow window to make an appearance before they had to head back for Alec’s physical therapy session.
Soon they drove into Camille’s neighborhood. Parking the car after donning their eye-patches, hooks and bandanas, they went to the door. Heath could hear the kids yelling and laughing already, and he wasn’t sure if anyone would hear the doorbell. But after just a few moments, Camille was there, dressed in her pirate costume that she’d bought with Heath just a few days ago.
“You came,” she said softly, her expression reflecting surprise.
Heath found himself slightly annoyed: had she really thought he’d flake? Gritting his teeth, he said, “Like I promised.” He gestured at Alec and Kyle. “You know LeBrun and Young, right?”
“Of course. Nice to see you. Please, come in.”
