Page 41 of The Backup Plan

Cameron Porter has created a private chat.

Cameron

Paging @JordanAckerman

He didn’t have much longer. September twenty-ninth, wreathed in grim, black ink, was only days away. Cam had a note in his phone with lines upon lines of what to say if his friend responded in the chat, and knew he’d abandon it and just spill his angry guts if Jordan actually replied.

If his timeline added up, he had little right to be angry—not with Jordan, anyway. With so many conversations left unfinished, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure where to direct his selfish rage.

Look what you left for me.

A starting gig, a stacked team to win with, and opportunities for lucrative endorsements. What benchwarmer didn’t want that? Three games into the season, the rumors in the locker room either disappeared or turned to jokes. Jordan’s in witness protection in Central Europe. Jordan’s playing in the Canadian Football League under an assumed name. Jordan’s living it up with a billionaire’s widow on a yacht. Cam had listened to his friend ramble about his various love interests, and shoved away the idea that one might have been Shelby from P.R.

After all this, you’re the one who quits? After all your preaching at me, you’re the one who doesn’t show up to camp?

The words on the screen screamed Jordan’s treason. Cam should be worried for his friend, not pissed about the massive payout he was getting for his extra time and stress. If it was what he suspected, the thoughts that boiled his blood were unfair.

Why did there have to be any “if” about it? Jordan had no reason to keep him in the dark. The coaches and the media and even the rest of the team, sure. But if his suspicions were correct, Cam was the one person he should have felt most comfortable telling.

You asked me to have your back. You asked me not to transfer for a starting gig somewhere else, and look what you left for me.

Lots of starters skipped bowl games to let backups play, or to avoid injury before the draft. Jordan did just that in their bowl game the previous December. As a red-shirt freshman, Cam led the team to victory and threw for two hundred and sixty yards and two touchdowns. In the days that followed, he received under-the-table messages from other schools encouraging him to enter the transfer portal, with dollar signs to show they would make his move worth the trouble.

“The team needs you to come back next year,” Jordan said the day the transfer window closed. He whacked the brim of Cam’s hat, then flipped it sideways. “There’s unfinished business.”

FOURTEEN

Oh, Brother

AVERY

Cam was sprawled on the couch like usual when Avery approached the lounge, hat pulled down over his face. She’d seen the score and the highlights, and knew why his forearms corded with tension as he fidgeted with imaginary clay.

“Hey.”

He flicked a wave and didn’t lift his hat. “Hi, Avery. I don’t want to draw today. Sorry if you brought the stuff.”

“It’s all right.” She set the papers on the table and walked around him to her couch. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not really. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary.” She stretched on her couch so her head was on the same side as his, separated by cushions. “Do you mind if I talk?”

“Do you want me to talk back, or just listen?”

Avery smiled. “Either. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m good like that.”

“My brother is dating my advisor.”

He sat straight up. “Oh, I’ll talk back about that. What? Who?”

“Melinda Scheer. Mindy. Her office is just down the hall. She’s the drawing instructor who’s got wavy brown hair, and she’s usually got it half up. She’s a little shorter than I am, and?—”

“And she taught me in Drawing 1 and 2 last year.” Cam flopped back on the couch. “How did that happen? She’s about thirty or something, isn’t she? And he’s what?”

“He’s twenty-one and she’s twenty-eight.”

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