Challenge (Harris Brothers Book 1)

Me: I’m coming for the surgery tomorrow. Don’t make a thing of it. Don’t pull out from doing the procedure. Let’s just pretend we don’t know each other and get through the day.

…

…

…

Indie: I’m glad.

She’s glad, I think to myself as I ride in the car with my brothers to the hospital. It’s six a.m. and the London sunlight hasn’t even touched the surface yet, further darkening my mood. But it’s okay, because Indie Porter is “glad.” I’m glad she’s glad. I’m glad that I tormented myself over the decision for hours and she gets to type back two fucking words in a text.

I’ll be glad when this is over and I can get back to my life, whatever it may be.

“Camden,” Tanner says from the back seat, shaking my shoulder to get my attention. “What do you call cheese that is not yours?”

“I don’t know, what?” I ask, turning my head to look at him.

“Nacho cheese!” His eyes crinkle as he bursts out laughing. I can actually see his mouth smile now that the season is over and he’s trimmed his beard at last. Booker chuckles quietly beside him, and I glance over at Gareth in the driver’s seat whose shoulders shake with silent laughter.

The corner of my mouth tilts up.

“That’s a pun, right? Did you like it?” Tanner asks, his voice bright and innocent.

I shrug. “It’s all right,” I say while trying to stop my smile from growing. “Are we not picking Vi up?” I ask Gareth as he misses the turn for her flat.

“No, she’s meeting us there.” His jaw seems more tense than usual, which makes me frown.

A few minutes later, we pull up to the hospital. I get out of the car and stare up at the building like it’s the single solitary cause of all my stress. Not Tower Park or the match where I injured myself…but this building.

Unwelcome memories of Indie flood my mind. I never had a problem sleeping alone in my entire life. In fact, it was rare I ever slept over at a woman’s flat. But one injury and a sideways glance from a pretty doctor and Camden Harris turned into an emotional pansy.

She was so nervous and unsure in those early days with me—terrified of getting caught—but there was a spark in her eyes that cannot be denied. Was it just the adventure she sought? Not actually me? Perhaps that’s where I got everything so twisted.

After we check in, a nurse ushers me up into a small, private pre-op room. It’s got one window, one chair, and one small bed—quite opposite of the lush suite I stayed in before.

She hands me a white hospital gown and bootie socks. “I’ll be back to start your IV once you’ve changed.”

“Do you want some space?” Gareth’s deep voice asks, piercing me with a million silent questions. “I can get these obnoxious sods out of here.”

I glance over at Tanner, who’s currently shoving Booker into the wall over and over like a bouncing pinball. A small smile lifts my face and I shake my head. “You guys can stay.”

“Cosy,” Gareth murmurs and smirks at me.

I change and get situated on the bed. Shortly thereafter, the nurse returns. The three of my mammoth brothers in here along with the nurse makes for some tight quarters, but I like the distraction. Also, I feel touched that none of my brothers have brought up football all morning.

Just when I begin to wonder where Vi is, I hear a voice clear in the doorway.

My dad, Vaughn Harris himself, is standing at the threshold with a tight smile on his face. “Hello, Camden,” he drawls, nervously unzipping his Bethnal Green jacket.

“Hiya, Dad,” I say, my face the picture of shock.

Vi steps out from behind him, a meek smile on her face. “Hey, Cam. You look good. You all ready for the day?”

I can’t stop staring at my dad as I say, “I guess so.”

“Good. That’s good.” She clears her throat rather obnoxiously. “Gareth, Booker, Tan…why don’t we go get some coffee for everyone. No coffee for you, Cam. Sorry. You can have some after.”

I nod woodenly as everyone makes their way out of the room. The nurse is working away on my arm, oblivious to everything.

After exhaling a heavy breath, my father nods his head once and steps into the room like it was the hardest decision of his life. He swallows hard as he eyes the nurse fiddling with my IV.

“There you go. All set now,” she says brightly. “I’ve pushed some meds in there to relax you. It will be another thirty minutes. Then we’ll come wheel you to the OR, so just try to relax.” Then she looks from me to my dad before making a hasty retreat.

“Are you…all set?” Dad asks, standing awkwardly beside my bed and squinting at the machines like they might tell him something. His hands shift along the open zipper of his jacket.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I sigh.

He nods and purses his lips together before saying, “I’m glad you decided to go through with the surgery.” The words get stuck in his throat on their way out but I get the idea.

My brows lift. “It doesn’t mean I know what I want to do after all of this is over.” He closes his eyes like that comment is painful for him, so I add, “I mean it, Dad. I hope you’re not here to convince me to do something, because it won’t work.”

His blue eyes find mine and he shakes his head adamantly. “I’m not here to do that, Cam. I swear. I’m trying to respect your wishes and understand all of this. But I have to be honest. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that you don’t like football anymore. I thought being a Gunner was what you always wanted. I don’t know how I got so off the mark.”

I recoil. “I do like football, but not like this. Not when I feel like half a man right now.”

He gets a pained look in his eyes and grabs the chair, bringing it to the side of my bed. Resting his elbows on the mattress, he presses his hands together and says, “Son, you are not half a man. You’re not even three quarters of a man. Even as you are now, Arsenal still wants you. They even sent me a letter of intent saying they want you to sign.”

“They what?” I ask, my jaw dropping in disbelief.

“I wasn’t going to say anything because that’s not why I’m here, but I can’t help it. I’m so bloody proud of you! I’ve kept you with Bethnal longer than I should have because it was our home and I love seeing you play with your brothers. But now you have the opportunity to fly, and I’m so chuffed that I want to shout it at the top of my lungs.”

I can’t believe the words he’s just said. A letter of intent? While I’m still injured? How is that even possible? “I don’t even know what to say, Dad.”

“Don’t say anything. I just want to be proud of you. But I need you to know that if you don’t play football again, I will still be proud of you.”

I swallow hard and reply, “It’s not that I never want to play again. I guess I just need to feel good enough to fly on my own first, Dad.” I stare down at my knee that looks perfectly normal, and I still can’t figure out how one appendage can muck everything up like this. “After my injury, when I thought I might never play again, I realised that I don’t know who I am without football. For so long, I let it be the only thing that mattered.”

He releases a shaky sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Son, I understand that more than you could possibly know.”

“How?” I ask. “Your life’s passion is football. Our whole lives, that’s what we’ve always known about you.”

“That was only after I lost your mother, Cam.” His voice cracks and the deep creases around his eyes stack on top of each other as he attempts to hide his emotions. “Christ, I don’t know if I can talk about this.”

My eyes sting as I see painful tears form in his. He never speaks of Mum. Ever. Last year, Vi gave us all a book of poems that she found of Mum’s, and I thought he was going to lose it. The poems were all penned by her and were so incredibly personal. They exuded who she was and what she loved out of life. I swear I could remember how she smelled just by touching the papers.

A grave look washes over his face and he shakes his head. “Camden, I loved your mother with everything inside of me. My heart, my brain, my guts, my everything. Football was just a game I played. I never loved it because there wasn’t room in my heart to love anything else. She filled me with so much passion. Then we had you kids, and when I saw her as a mother, my insides grew. Football still didn’t compete.

“Then she started to die on me,” his voice wobbles and he covers his mouth. My jaw clenches at the intense pain he still feels after all these years. After a few seconds, he continues, “I put her through painful surgeries to try to give us more time with her. But when every bloody doctor came out with those masks on their faces and that look in their eyes, I knew it was all for nothing.”

“Dad, I’m sorry…I didn’t—”

“I don’t talk about it because I’m ashamed. I couldn’t cope with the idea of losing her. With every passing day, she got worse, and my insides deteriorated more and more. My passion died. I was awful to her in the end. Gareth even had to step in a couple of times. When I think about how I treated her and all that he had to shoulder at such a young age, the guilt consumes me. Before I knew it, she died and I was drowning in so much regret that I thought if I could just focus on you kids, things could get back to how they used to be. I could find my passion again. But I was a crap father. If it wasn’t for Vi, who knows how bad things would have gotten.”

I reach out and cover his clasped hands on the mattress. “You did the best you could, Dad.”

He shakes his head, apparently not believing me. “When football came back into my life, things magically got better. Watching you boys practise with Bethnal Green made me happy because it made you happy. I let football become my new passion.

“Then you went down at that match. After your brothers carried you off the field and we came into this hospital, I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing like I did with your mum. I couldn’t wait for everything to come tumbling down around me again.”

“So you started talking to Arsenal,” I say, seeing the picture come into focus so much more clearly now.

“I’m not proud of the way I handled things. I wanted to look past the present and focus on the future, which was wrong. So I’m here now and I’m not going to talk to you about Arsenal, or Bethnal Green, or football anymore. If you don’t want to have this surgery today, let’s postpone it. We have loads of time.”

I look closely at my dad, who’s gazing at me with wide, open, accepting eyes—eyes that are telling me he’ll drive the getaway car. This is a man who knows love. Not the love of football like I always thought. He loved my mum. He loved her so deeply that he lost himself when he lost her. I can relate to that. Maybe I can find my passion again someday, whatever it might be.

I swallow around the knot in my throat and say, “I want to have the surgery, Dad. And if you’re okay with sticking by my side, I’d really like that, too.”

His blue eyes pierce through my soul. “I’m not going anywhere, Cam.”

A while later, the nurse returns and her mouth drops open at the sight of my completely packed room. Dad is in a chair that he pulled up next to my bed. Vi is sitting at the foot with Hayden now tucked up next to her. Gareth and Booker are sandwiched shoulder-to-shoulder on the window ledge, and Tanner slides himself up off the floor at her entry. Everyone has coffee in hand except me.

“It’s time.” She smiles awkwardly and stands back from the door.

“I’ll walk down with him,” Dad says right away.

“No, Dad, I’m good. You can go to the waiting room with everyone else. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I can walk down with you,” he says again.

“Or I could,” Vi adds, her clear blue eyes touching me with motherly softness.

I shake my head with a laugh. “No. I’m good you guys. I promise. Go get more coffee. I’ll see you all afterwards.”

After a handful of awkward hugs, Tanner comes in last and whispers, “You’ve never looked uglier.”

I punch him in the ribs before he pulls away, smiling as the wind gets knocked out of him. “You’re pretty much insulting yourself there, Twin Genius.”

He waggles his eyebrows at the nurse and makes his way out of the room.

“I apologise for him,” I state in a nonplussed tone.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she giggles. “You have a lovely family.”

That I do, I think to myself as she pushes me out the door.

“Ah, Mr. Harris.” Dr. Prichard’s voice bellows from around the corner, causing the nurse to stop us in the doorway. “I was just coming to see you.” He’s out of breath as he grabs hold of the side rail of my bed. “Are you excited to get back on your feet?”

“I’ve been on my feet quite well for the past month now thanks to you,” I murmur. “But yes, I’m ready for all of this to be over.”

“I’m sure you are. I have a paper here I am hoping we can get you to sign before we wheel you in. It’s a basic release form to use your name in a medical article. The British Medical Journal is here to do a human interest story on Indie and me, and they’d like permission to reference you by name in the article.”

My cheery mood plummets as he hands me the piece of paper. “Does Dr. Porter know about this?”

His eyes squint a bit. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I told her several days ago. She’s quite keen. Her med school research project on the graft we placed in your knee is the talk of the hospital.”

“Right,” I grind out through clenched teeth. Shaking my head, I sign my name with the pen he hands me and feel something sharp digging into my back.

“Thanks, Son. We’ll see you in there…or after.” He winks and scampers away with an infuriatingly patronising waggle to his walk. He hasn’t a care in the world, oblivious to the fact that he’s completely crushed mine.

Here I thought Indie came to my flat to talk me into having the surgery because there was an ounce of her that actually cared—a tiny shred that might want what’s best for my well-being.

Well, Camden. This isn’t the first time she’s made you look like a fucking wanker.

If I could be any more done, I would be on fire.

As we begin moving down the hallway, I lean forward in the bed and ask, “Nurse, can you check my back and tell me if there’s a knife sticking in it?”