Page 85 of Close Knit

“What’s she after? Another Mal Kelly situation?” Dad wonders.

“No, she’s nothing like that. She’s…” I struggle for the right words. “It’s different.”

“There hasn’t been a girl in a long time,” Dad notes. Even over the phone, he reads me well. “Can’t say I’m not happy for you.” His words are warm and comforting.

“Can you fix this? I don’t want the media focusing on my personal life instead of the matches.”

“I don’t know, Cameron.” He sighs. “If this were like the situation at Overton, I’d understand, but this is minor. A headline about a fling won’t affect you.”

“She’s not a fling, and it’s—it’s affecting her.” My frustration seeps into my tone. The comments were ruthless toward her.

“I hear you. And I’m sorry this is hurting your girl, but you’re in the public eye. From what I understand, she is too, isn’t she? This is what your life will be like if you keep playing at this level. I can’t protect you from everything.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I insist. “I just want these tabloids to stop spreading lies.”

“You think the media will ease up if you win the Premier League? What about when you go to the World Cup? Players’ lives become headlines when they’re not on the pitch. It sells copies. Maybe this isn’t what you want to hear, but if there’s no real story here, maybe you can just let it go instead of running from it?”

The memory of the last scandal still haunts me. Headlines ran for over a month after he scrubbed the internet. Sure, the Overton locker room livestream still lurks in certain corners of the internet, but no big papers would touch it for fear of losing shareholders.

I can’t let this gossip train cost me Daphne or the Premiership.

“Let it go?” No. I didn’t want advice, I wanted a solution.

“The things your mother and I dealt with in the media back in our day. When she found out she was pregnant with Alec during her playoff season and had to miss the championship game, people said awful things about us. But you know what, Cameron? None of that mattered. We stopped reading them.”

“But you were married to Mom. It’s not the same,” I say, frustration in my voice.

“The only opinions that matter are those of the people you care about and trust, Cam. Sounds like you have someone to weather this with.”

“Dad, I can’t have what happened at the end of last season happen again.”

“All right.” He sighs. “I’ll get Carlyle on it. Lay low for now. How about coming home for the holidays? The rest of the family will be here. If you’re worried about your girl, bring her along. UK tabloid gossip doesn’t have quite the same impact over here.”

Christmas is only a month away, but with the big match against Overton on December nineteenth looming, I can’t even think that far ahead. Charlie is probably loving every minute of me getting dragged into the media.

I hesitate. “I’ll think about it.”Would Daphne be ready to meet my family?

Dad continues, “Carlyle will arrange for the jet for Sunday the twentieth. You can fly the morning after your Overton game.” His voice softens. “Come home, son.”

“Okay,” I reply, my voice barely audible.

Relief washes over me, and we end the call. I check my messages. Still nothing from Daphne. Worry churns in my chest.

We had something special, our own world. Last night was a turning point. I showed her what she meant to me, and I know she felt it too. But now the media vultures are circling. I can’t stand losing her to this chaos.

Chapter 21

Cameron

“If you don’t respond,I’ll have no choice but to assume you’re in danger and break down the door,” I declare, my voice losing its humorous tone. I knock again, my ears straining to decode the troubled shuffling from behind the door. “Daphne?”

The door swings open, but instead of the usual burst of vibrant color and sunshine, her place is shrouded in unsettling darkness. The radiant smile I look forward to is absent, replaced by a quivering pout.

Red, swollen eyes meet mine, their usual sparkle dimmed.

Her hair is in a messy bun—a far cry from her usual styles—and she’s wearing an oversized tee with a salacious old lady knitting in a rocking chair above the words “I’m a Hooker” and a pair of sweats.

“Hey.” My voice cracks. I bend down to her eye level.

---