Page 59 of Second Quarter Comeback
“No,” I say dryly. “Just my very loser, famous ex-boyfriend and how I’m clearly spiraling out of control for not being married yet.”
Karla snorts. “Classic Mom and Dad. What did you say?”
“I told them I’m going low contact for now,” I say, breaking off another piece of the pastry and popping it into my mouth. “I can’t keep doing this. Every conversation feels like they’re just waiting for me to fail so they can swoop in and say ‘I told you so.’ And they still refuse to acknowledge what they did when I was eighteen. Every time I tried to bring it up during our phone call, they interrupted or brushed it off like it’s nothing.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then Karla sighs. “I get it, Camille. I really do. But you know they’ll come around eventually.”
I stare out the window, the city blurring past. “Will they? Or are they just going to keep waiting for me to fall in line?”
“Remember when I didn’t finish law school and then got pregnant after knowing Peter for six weeks?” she says, her tone half-joking. “That was a disaster, but they came around. Sort of.”
“Sort of,” I echo, my lips twisting into a faint smile. “Mom still snubs you for not finishing your degree. And she acts like Peter’s some kind of underachiever because he doesn’t have a fancy job title.”
“That’s true,” Karla admits. “But at least they’re nicer about it now. Most of the time.”
I press my forehead against the cool window, trying to absorb some of her optimism. “If my parents looked down on my husband like that, I’d stop talking to them altogether.”
“Maybe the free babysitting is why I still talk to them,” Karla says with a dry laugh. “Or maybe I just got used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” I say, my voice dropping. “You, Peter, and the kids deserve better than that.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “But, Camille, you can’t control how they are. You can only control how you deal with them. If low contact feels right for now, do it. But don’t shut them out completely. It’ll pass. It always does.”
Her words linger, twisting in my chest. Do I want it to pass? I can’t live with their constant judgment. They should change too—at least enough to respect my boundaries.
“I don’t think I can do this today,” I say finally, my voice quieter now.
“Then don’t,” Karla says simply. “Take a breath, focus on you, and call me before you do anything drastic. I’m better at managing our parents than you are.”
I let out a reluctant laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. “Deal.”
“Good. And hey, don’t let them get to you toomuch. They’re just . . . them. You’re doing great, Camille. Don’t forget that. And if you want to talk about Killion, I’m here.”
The chaos on her end picks up again—Eli shouting something about a cape, followed by a crash that makes Karla groan.
“Go,” I tell her, smiling despite myself. “You’ve got your hands full.”
“Always,” she says with a laugh. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and sip my coffee, the familiar flavor grounding me for a moment. Karla’s right—this will pass. But for now, distance feels like the only way to protect myself.
And maybe, just maybe, that distance will give me the clarity I need to figure out what’s really going on between me and Killion. Can there really be something real?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Killion
Hustle 201: Killion’s Comeback
The whistle blows, cutting through the humid air like a referee signaling a game-changing penalty. Practice is grinding me down, each drill feeling like fourth-and-long with no clear play. I jog to the sideline, my gear clinging to me like an unwantedsecond skin, sweat dripping in rivers as I try to shake off the frustration of another rough session.
This upcoming game isn’t just another game. It’sthegame. A family showdown wrapped in a national spectacle. Lucian’s been hyping it up for weeks, dropping shit talk in the family group chat like we’re on some reality show. I’m lucky he hates social media, or I’d probably be tagged in fifty posts about how I’m going down. Whatever that means.
Classic Lucian—always trying to one-up me, even though we don’t even play the same position. This game isn’t just about the team. It’s about proving, once and for all, who’s better. And if I don’t pull it together, I know exactly what’ll happen. He’ll be grinning like an idiot all over the news, talking about brotherly love while privately gloating for months.
Coach’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Crawford!” His tone is commanding. It’s the scary tone that makes anyone around stand straighter.
