Page 36 of Second Quarter Comeback
“Fucking fantastic,” I mutter. “My entire family’s betting on my love life. Just what I need.”
Leif laughs, unbothered. “To be fair, you made it their business when you started sulking about her years ago. So? What’s the plan? Or are you just winging it?”
“I’m not winging it,” I lie, the words tasting like cardboard.
“Sure you’re not,” he says, his grin practically audible.
“What if I show her the ring?” I ask.
“The fuck?” Leif’s voice is a little disconcerted. “Wow. Didn’t pawn it. Didn’t toss it into a lake. Impressive. You really know how to hold a grudge against yourself.”
“It’s not about the ring,” I snap, pacing the length of my living room. “It’s about showing her I wasn’t just screwing around back then. That I meant every word.”
“And what about now?” Leif presses, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Are you doing this because you love her, or because you love the idea of fixing what you broke? Big difference, Kill. And if you’re not all in, don’t even start or you’ll break your heart all over again.”
“I love her,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “Notjust the memories or the what-ifs. Her. The way she used to call me out on my bullshit. The way she made me want to be someone she could believe in. Am I in love? Obviously not. We both changed, but I want to fall in love again. It’s her. She’s the person I’m meant to be with for the rest of my life. I know it. Even when she’s telling me to go fuck myself, she’s the only one who’s ever made me feel alive.”
Leif is quiet for a beat. Then, he exhales. “Fuck. That was almost romantic. Look, man, if you’re going to fight for her, fight for her. But don’t show up half-prepared and expect her to do all the heavy lifting.”
“I’m not half-assing this,” I say firmly. “Fourteen years is long enough to know I’m not walking away again.”
“Good,” he says. “Then show her the ring. But expect to grovel.”
The call ends, and I stare at the balcony where Ben sprawls like a king surveying his kingdom. Maybe he’s also the key to get to her. Camille might not trust me yet, but that’s about to change.
This time, I’m all in. And I’m not leaving without her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Killion
When Your Family Bets on Your Love Life
My next call is to my father. Papa. The man, the myth, the unsolicited advice dispenser. He’s a legend in his own right—always there, always ready with wisdom that usually lands. Usually. Except when it came to Camille. That one? Total fumble,Papa. Okay, it wasn’t all him. It was partially him. He came with this whole lecture right after . . . well, after Camille’s father gave me one of his own.
He answers on the first ring, like he’s been sitting by the phone, waiting for my inevitable spiral. His voice is calm. It makes you think he’s already solved your problem, won a trophy for his efficiency, and started a podcast about it. “I’m surprised it took you this long to call.”
“We talked yesterday,” I remind him, flopping back on the couch. My legs stretch out, but my chest? It’s in full vice-grip mode. “You congratulated me on the game, remember? Before I boarded the plane.”
“Sure,” he says, a smirk practically dripping through the phone, “but you didn’t mention Camille. And judging by what Leif said in the chat group, you’re probably ready to hit me next.”
I squint at my phone, scrolling through messages. “What chat group?”
“Oh, there’s a new one you’re not a part of,” he says, like it’s totally normal to exclude your own kid from a family chat. “They didn’t want you influenced by the bets.”
I sit up so fast the couch lets out a protesting creak. “Wait—what?! You’re betting on my love life now? Even you, my father?”
“Of course not,” he says, mock offended. “I’m just moderating. You know how competitive your siblings get. Someone’s gotta keep the peace.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s the pot this time? My dignity?” My voice cuts through the air, but inside, I’m unraveling. They’re betting on my goddamn love life.
“There’s a lot riding on this bet,” he says casually, like they’re discussing the outcome of a family game night and not the wreckage of my relationship history.
I drag a hand over my face, the kind of exasperated move that usually calms me down. Not this time. “You should just cancel it. The whole damn thing.”
“Not what the playbook says,” he replies, and I can almost see the shrug in his tone. “I can’t just stop bets once they’re already set up. Your dad and I wish we’d caught it before.”
Fucking playbook.
