Or in this case, as Cameron stood in front of the goal during the one-year anniversary of the Warriors Soccer Youth Club, the start of a lopsided smile.
We were on the grass, kicking off the celebration with a one-on-one, as per popular demand. Cameron’s gloves were still very much hung up—literally, as we had them on the wall in our office—but in the last year, he had found his place on the sidelines, coaching our youngest female division and directing the coaches we’d recruited for the older ones. He was still attending therapy sessions on the regular to help him deal with the repercussions of the break-in, but Cameron was no longer so reticent about standing tall in the middle of crowds or attracting attention. I’d also done my fair share of therapy, and I’d quickly realized that it was something I should have done much, much earlier. Not just to have someone showing me how I’d been bottling up every worry in my head in an attempt at controlling my life, or that the relationship with my father had been an unhealthy one, but to learn the tools to process the chaos in my head and not let it turn into panic.
Either way, I was happy. We were happy. I didn’t regret cutting ties with the Miami Flames—not even when David seemed to be earning a reputation for making bad choices and the club might be paying the consequences. There was a piece of my heart that would always belong to the Flames but I wasn’t looking back. The MLS was behind me, and Cameron and I were developing talent. It was the most gratifying thing either of us had ever done. We were based somewhere between Green Oak and Charlotte, and we had kids coming from all over the area, rural and urban. It hadn’t been easy to build something from scratch, but we were both as hardheaded as we were driven. With that and the contacts Cameron and I had in the industry, the club had taken off relatively quickly. Now the goal was growing enough to cater to professional leagues.
There was a long road ahead, and starting over was terrifying, but my life had never been fuller, richer, or simply better, than right now. It was because of this venture and the community that claimed me as theirs, but it was also because of the man I had by my side. Providing a kind of safety I hadn’t known before him, and making every step of the way a little less scary and a lot less lonely.
Because with Cameron, I didn’t know loneliness. With him, my sharp edges didn’t matter, I was loved and appreciated and cherished not in spite of them but because of them. And I couldn’t have been happier. Luckier. Loved him any more. I reminded him every day. Every night. Every chance I got.
Cameron lifted his hands in front of him, pinned me a challenging look, and made a come-at-me gesture.
Cocky, competitive man. I loved that he was mine.
I smiled my biggest smile, my Cameron smile, and continued my trajectory, juggling the ball in my feet as I ran. In sneakers, by the way. Cameron widened his stance, his eyes zeroing in on me as I entered the penalty area.
Someone from the stands screamed, “GO, LITTLE SIS! KICK HIS ASS!”
Josie. My chest warmed. She’d become such an important part of my life. My confidant. The person I didn’t know I needed until she all but appeared out of thin air. Dad had tried to make amends with both of us throughout the last few months. And while we were still reluctantly processing everything, especially Josie, we’d found some peace in the knowledge that he was at least trying.
Cameron stepped forward, his body locking into a position I knew was all technique and prowess. It said, showtime. I narrowed my eyes at him, focusing on my aim as I whirled for the left—his weakest angle. He smirked at that. So I threw my leg back, my own smirk shaping up. And kicked, shooting for the top corner of the net.
He jumped, lunging his body into the air with his arms up, just like I’d seen him instruct the kids so many times in the last months. The display was unnecessary, considering the speed the ball carried, but it was beautiful. Powerful. Hot. Extremely so. Because it was him, sure. But because he was not letting me win. Cameron never let me win. And I loved that about him.
His palms blocked the ball. And when he landed on the ground with the sphere clutched against his chest, he did so smiling. Grinning. He looked up, sending me an impressed glance from the grass and winked.
Oh boy.
The crowd, which consisted of the club’s kids and their families, cheered from the stands.
Tony, who juggled college and a job as assistant coach with us, clapped from the sidelines before jogging in our direction to retrieve the ball and get it signed by everyone on the staff.
“Good save, Coach Chamomile!” María, who had come down from Green Oak with Robbie, hooted. I turned, immediately spotting her. She’d grown since last month, when she’d come over for a girls-only sleepover with me, Josie, Willow, and Pierogi. She waved at me. “I was just being nice!” she shouted before turning around and pointing at the back of her shirt. It read TEAM ADA and it had a selfie of me and Brandy stamped on it. “I’ll always root for the girls’ team.”