Catching Cameron: A Love and Football Novel (12 page)

Zach dropped the phone into the blankets of his bed. Some of his teammates were married with kids. It was pretty tough to resist a two-year-old trying on Daddy’s football helmet, for instance. He felt a little left out when a pint-sized version of somebody he knew would zoom out onto the practice field during Family Day to dispense some of those slurpy little kisses or call out, “Da Da.” He hadn’t spent a lot of time musing over whether or not he wanted a few rugrats of his own. He was too busy making sure his four sisters were happy and pursuing their own dreams. He wondered, though, what it might be like to be the opposite of his own father: There for the duration. A loving and permanent presence in the life of a child. He could be more to his own children than a collision of DNA and bad judgment.

Cameron seemed like she’d be a good mom. She was calm, patient, and fairly unflappable, unless she couldn’t get a cab at 5:15 pm on a Friday night in Manhattan. He wondered if she’d encourage her daughters to be girly-girls, or play sports and never be afraid to compete in whatever they chose to do with their lives. Maybe she didn’t want any kids; she seemed pretty into her career. It was tough to deal with the day-to-day at home when she traveled at least four days a week, six months a year.

He needed to get up, take care of the morning business, and get down to the practice field, but he wanted his agent to handle this crap first. He knew the smartest thing was to hold up his end of the agreement he’d struck with Cameron last night, but somehow the cold light of day made him wonder if that wasn’t the best plan. Maybe he should cover his own ass first and worry about hers later.

He picked up his phone and texted Jason:

MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET ON A PLANE AND GET OUT HERE.

If it was a choice between breakfast duty for three-year-old triplets and butting heads with Sharks coaches, management, and the owner of PSN, he was fairly sure Jason would choose him.

T
WO HOURS LATER,
Zach was sweating from every pore during morning practice and doing whatever he had to do to stop looking at Cameron. She stood across the field from him. She wasn’t sweating. She was holding a digital recorder while she talked with Damian Drake, former Sharks cornerback and now one of the Sharks’ broadcast team. The sunlight bounced off her hair as she tossed it behind one shoulder. He couldn’t see what she was looking at behind the large sunglasses she wore. Drake said something to Cameron that made her laugh, and Zach wanted to go over and clothesline the guy. He’d played the first couple of years with Damian. He enjoyed chatting with him, but Drake needed to find another woman to chat up in a hurry.

Cameron should laugh at stuff
he
said, dammit. Zach was so absorbed in imagining what he’d like to say to Broadcast Boy he wasn’t paying attention to the QB’s signals.

Clay Morrison, rookie left tackle, burst across the line two seconds after the snap and knocked him on his ass. “Rough night last night, huh?” he said.

“Fuck off,” Zach said.

“Want to go again?”

Zach responded with a laugh. He was going to make Morrison wish he had never been born, at least for the next two or three minutes. Tackling during a practice was somewhat frowned upon these days, but so was blasting across the line and knocking your teammate on his ass. The QB had all Zach’s attention for the next minute, and when the ball was snapped, he threw himself on Morrison.

The assistant coaches broke up the fracas that resulted. The rookie LT forgot the first rule of professional football: No matter what, rookies were always wrong. Coach Stewart made the “huddle up” motion to the team, and everyone gathered around him in a half-circle.

Zach actually liked Coach Stewart. He couldn’t say that about many of the coaches he’d had since he was drafted by the Sharks. Coach was fair. He made sure he kept his constructive criticism of different players and their skill sets inside the locker or meeting rooms, and he was young and fit enough to be able to run drills with them. The vets respected him for actually asking what they thought about the Sharks’ upcoming opponents. Most of all, he didn’t treat his players like something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe, which meant they would play hard for him. Zach was also fairly sure that the former head coach’s days were numbered even before yesterday’s ill-advised comments. In other words, he’d given the Sharks’ ownership and front office administration a convenient excuse.

“Men, I’m planning on meeting with your position coaches this afternoon, but first of all, I’d like to spend some time talking with all of you. I’d like to know what you think is working on this team, what isn’t, and why.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Of course, our meeting is private. Our guests from the media will be taken to an alternate activity they will enjoy this afternoon. I would appreciate honesty from all of you, and I will offer it as well.” He looked into the eyes of the men surrounding him. “From now on, the finger-pointing and BS is over. We’ve lost as a team, but we will win as a team. I love winning. I’ll bet you do, too, and we’re going to do a hell of a lot more of it from now on.” He took a look at his iPad. “We’ll finish up here after a few more drills, and then we’ll go into meetings.” He reached out a hand. Eighty other guys reached out their hands, too, shouting “Sharks!”

It was, officially, the first team meeting that didn’t put anyone to sleep. It was also the first team meeting in which Zach could remember a head coach telling the group that as of today, nobody’s job was safe, including his own. The former head coach would have stirred anger and resistance with anything similar. So far, all Zach heard was occasional rustling when a large body shifted position in the chair, or the sound of a plastic water bottle being set back down on a tabletop after someone took a sip.

Everyone on the team would be competing for his position, starting right now. There was no time to coast or dog it during practice, even for the All-Pros. Zach glanced around at the shocked faces of his teammates. Maybe they thought the new head coach would go easy on them because he was a fill-in, or because he believed the Sharks would soon bring in someone more experienced. Even more surprising, the new head coach watched and listened as, one by one, his teammates spoke up about the fact they wanted change, too. They were embarrassed by last season’s ten losses. They were tired of being confronted by Sharks fans when they went to the grocery store or out to dinner over the fact they didn’t try harder or seem to care what those fans thought.

“My girlfriend said someone let her have it at the doctor’s office the other day,” Derrick said. “They were bitching to her about how they didn’t spend five thousand dollars for Sharks season tickets to watch a six-and-ten team. I don’t like coming home to a woman who’s grilling me, too.”

“I had a couple of fans follow me home from OTAs last month,” Drew McCoy said. The big blond linebacker passed one hand over his face in frustration. “They came up to the door and wanted to know why I thought I was worth ten million dollars last season when we’re playing like shit.”

“You answered the door? What the hell? Call the cops,” Tom Reed, the Sharks’ All-Pro QB, advised.

“I called them. I called NFL security, too. I’m thinking I might have to move. My parents were visiting. It scared the hell out of my mom.”

The room fell silent again for a few minutes. Zach had had a few encounters with drunken or belligerent fans over the years, but he’d installed the best security system money could buy when he bought the house he and his family lived in. It kept out anyone who wasn’t invited.

One by one, team leaders stood up from their chairs and spoke: They wanted more than a taste of the postseason, and they really wanted another Super Bowl ring. The suspicion and defensiveness on the faces of guys he’d played with for years morphed into excitement.

Zach was quiet until Clay Morrison turned to look at him. “So, Anderson, that includes you, too. If you’re not in, you’re out, and you’d better spend a lot more time busting ass on the field than looking at hers.” He continued to be pretty mouthy for a rookie.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. You were staring at her yesterday, too.” The entire room erupted into gales of laughter at his words. Zach glared at him.

The whistles and stamping feet of grown men taunting Zach echoed off the walls.

“Did she turn you down, brah?” A running back who’d just announced to the entire team he was in pursuit of Adrian Peterson’s league-best rushing title grinned at Zach. The gold tooth in the front of his mouth sparkled.

“She wants me. Did you know that?” the kicker joked.

“Cameron Online isn’t dating anyone as big and ugly as you, dawg.” Derrick said.

The new coach held up his hands to quiet the players. “Guys. Settle down.” He glanced over at Zach. “I understand Ms. Ondine is quite a distraction, Anderson, but you’re going to have to keep your head in the game while we’re here.” He gave Zach a nod. “Speaking of Ms. Ondine, she’s a member of the media, and an influential one. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s important she has a good impression of the Sharks organization. She will be treated with respect. If she asks to interview one or more of you, you will cooperate, and you will behave as you would with any other media professional toward her at all times. Is that clear?” Eighty guys nodded. “Okay. We’ll meet again later, but right now let’s grab some lunch. Anderson, please see me before you leave.”

“You’ve been with this team eleven years,” the coach said when everyone but Zach had filed out of the room. “I need to know that you are stepping it up this season. You didn’t bring your best last year.”

Zach was nodding before he even stopped speaking. “I am giving it a hundred percent every day. I plan on staying with the Sharks for the rest of my career.”

“Great. We’d like to have you here. Don’t slack off. If I see you ignoring what’s going on in front of you again because you’re staring at Ms. Ondine, I’ll bench you.” The coach got to his feet. Zach rose from his seat, too. “I understand the two of you have previous history, but we are here to work. I also heard about PSN’s turning
Third and Long
into a romantic comedy. Mr. Levine has been told as of this morning there will not be significant disruptions or distractions to the team, or he’ll be dealing with me.” The coach extended his hand to Zach. “You’re a leader, Anderson. I’m counting on you to be an example for the other knuckleheads.”

Zach shook his hand. “I’ll do my best.”

C
AMERON WAS WHISKED
away from the Sharks’ training camp on a tour bus with the fifty other media members in attendance that afternoon. There was more than a little grumbling when the press was told training camp was closed to them until further notice, but the fact it was sunny and eighty-five degrees in Seattle went a long way toward smoothing things over. Kacee sat across the aisle from her, playing a game on her phone. Logan was responding to e-mail on his iPad and attempting to talk with Kacee, who ignored him.

“So, where are we off to?” the guy from CBS Sports called out.

“The Sharks would like to treat our media partners to lunch and a sail around Puget Sound. We’ll be back in plenty of time for bed check, Ms. Ondine,” the tour guide joked. Cameron resisted the impulse to grind her teeth. The guys thought it was hilarious she was stuck in a dorm, while they enjoyed the hospitality (and much better amenities) of a local hotel.

She’d heard the team was having a meeting all afternoon and the press was not invited, but taking them off campus while the meeting happened was a little extreme. Her colleague, Kevin, tried to wheedle his way into the meeting room and had been escorted onto the bus by two of the Sharks’ coaching staff. In other words, whoever found out what was said in their absence was going to have one hell of a scoop. She was on a dorm floor with twenty Sharks veterans. If there was one thing she’d learned from being in this business for the past ten years, it was the fact there was always one guy who couldn’t wait to be an uncredited “source” for stories about any team in the league. She had to find him before Kevin or her other colleagues did, and she’d better come up with a strategy to do so before she arrived back at the dorm.

She pulled out her iPad. Maybe she could review production notes for the next episode of
NFL Confidential
for a little while as the bus traveled to wherever it was they were having lunch. She saw new e-mails, so she clicked over there.

The first e-mail was from Zach: I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU. PLEASE SEE ME ASAP.

She shook her head, and realized that Kacee was staring at her.

“What’s wrong, Cameron?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine.”

She clicked onto the next e-mail, which was from her father. YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE SENDING THE JET FOR YOU THIS WEEKEND. YOU NEED SOME TIME OFF. THE PILOT WILL BE AT BOEING FIELD IN SEATTLE AT 8 AM ON SATURDAY MORNING TO FLY YOU HOME. DON’T DISAPPOINT US, CAMERON.

She resisted the impulse to groan aloud. If she wasn’t on the plane and wheels-up by 8:15, her father would most likely either show up himself sometime next week or send one of his Pacific Northwest-based golf buddies over to make sure she was “okay.” She realized there were many people whose parents didn’t care what they did, and they would welcome having parents who interfered in their lives to this degree, but she was tired of it.

Her phone chirped with an incoming text. She pulled it out of her pocket. Of course it was Ben. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, KACEE, AND LOGAN? WE HAVE FILMING TO DO. He must have somehow escaped the all-media dragnet at the Sharks’ headquarters, and now he was pissed because he had nothing else to do besides go to the pub and let that waitress harass him some more.

She resisted the impulse to bang her head on the nearest hard surface until she lost consciousness. She heard Kacee and Logan’s phones going off, too. She glanced over at them. “Ben, right?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “How did he get away from the Sharks PR folks?”

Kacee’s fingers flew across the keys as she responded. A few seconds later, she got up and headed toward the bus’ bathroom.