Page 127 of Against the Clock

“For what?” Cameron tilts her head at me, then passes me a couch cushion. We put them in place, then plop down on it. “For telling him that you don’t want him to get hurt? How does that make you an asshole?”

“Because he loves football. He’s a grown man, I can’t tell him how to live his life. Who am I to even try?” I take a deep breath. Everything feels empty inside, hollowed out and brittle.

“Who are you? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit, bitch?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“You’re Kelsey fucking Cole, and he said he loves you and wants you to have his babies and move in. If you wanting him to take care of his body and not break in half like an ancient tree makes him pissy, then he’s not worth two shits!” Cameron’s shouting now, a red flush spreading across her nose.

One of her neighbors bangs on the wall, and she glares in the direction of the sound.

“You know, maybe moving out of this place won’t be the worst thing ever. Okay, but back to you. No. You have a right to tell the man how you feel. He has the right to do what he will with this information. This is the thing, though, Kelsey. Relationships are a lot of fucking work. They’re a lot of compromise. You have to decide what you’re not going to give up, where your red lines are, and what you’re willing to budge on. It sounds like him playing injured is a no go. And I don’t blame you one bit.”

“When did you become a relationship expert?”

She huffs, sending her dark brown bangs flying. “It’s a lot easier to give it from the outside, Kels. I’ve fucked up enough good things to know that much, though. If you love Daniel, like really love him, then I think you two can work this out.”

“Maybe,” I say. I nudge a spot on her carpet with my toe.

“No, not maybe. If you both love each other, like you’ve been gushing at me about for the last few weeks, then you’ll fucking figure it out. And if you can’t, or won’t, then it wasn’t love in the first place. It was convenient and fun and there’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe it was just a thing because you were both young and didn’t know any better and none of it was real anyway.”

I blink, my mouth twisting in confusion. “You lost me at that last part.”

I get the feeling she’s not talking about me and Daniel anymore.

“Right,” she says, blinking rapidly and then grinning at me. “Your hot old manfriend is playing a game injured today. You want to not watch it. What do you want to do instead—”

My phone vibrates and I lunge for it, hoping it’s Daniel. Hoping he’s calling to say he’s not going to play.

It’s not Daniel.

“Why the fuck is our boss calling you on a Sunday morning?” Cameron scowls at the phone.

“I have no idea.”

I accept the call and Cameron stands up, walking the few steps to her kitchen and pouring two steaming cups of coffee.

“Hello?” I ask, perplexed and tired. And sad. So sad.

“Kelsey, I need you to get ready and come to the station. Frank Devon has laryngitis. Can’t fucking talk.”

“Frank Devon?”

Cameron mouths the name at me too, a question in her eyes, as she hands me a cup of coffee.

I motion for her to be quiet with a finger against my lips and put the call on speaker.

“Yes, fucking Frank fucking Devon. He has laryngitis. He can’t do the sideline report today for the Beavers game.”

I press a hand against my forehead, a knot forming in my stomach.

“What about Tila? Doesn’t she usually fill in for him?”

“Tila’s on fucking maternity leave,” John says, as though her baby is a personal attack on him.

“I’ll do it,” Cameron pipes up. “I can do it.”

“Is that Cameron?”

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