Page 126 of Gamebreaker

Cam

I know. I'm sorry.

Harper

Me too.

I put the phone face down on my comforter and pressed my hands over my eyes.

That was it, then. Our whole ending, wrapped up in a handful of text messages. No anger. No blame. Just two people admitting they'd found a perfect fit at exactly the wrong time.

I wanted to text her again. I wanted to say I'd changed my mind, that I'd take whatever she could give me, that I'd be her secret if it meant I got to fall asleep on her chest again.

I didn't.

Because I knew exactly where that road went. I'd already walked it once, for twenty-six years. I'd almost married a man to avoid figuring out who I was. I'd lost my family to finally say it out loud.

I couldn't go back into the dark. Not even for her.

Especially not for her, because she'd be the one reason it felt worth it.

I rinsed, styled, and let my curls air-dry while I lay on top of the comforter, staring at the ceiling. They came back, of course. Defined and springing back into their pattern like last night had never happened, which felt almost insulting.

I didn't sleep.

Around noon, I gave up and opened Instagram, because I'm a masochist with excellent WiFi. I didn't post. For the first time in my chronically online life, there was no angle that made this content.

I searched her name instead.

Cam Russo. 2.4 million followers. Two championship rings. A verified checkmark that meant she was important enough to be real.

Her most recent post was from two days ago, a training photo with a caption that was pure PR: Playoff prep. Leave it all on the court. I scrolled through the rest. Game highlights. Charity events. Team photos. Carefully curated, professionally managed, completely stripped of personality.

Just Cameron Russo, point guard. Captain of the Fashion City Fangs. Brand ambassador. Role model.

Not Cam. Never Cam.

Not the woman who'd asked for a safeword because she cared more about my safety than her own pleasure. Not the woman who'd admitted she could fall in love with me while looking like it terrified her.

I opened the comments. Thousands of them.

You're my hero omg

Best point guard in the league!

You're the perfect role model for my daughters

RUSSO IS THE GOAT

The perfect role model for my daughters.

I read that one three times.

I knew women who wrote comments like that. I'd grown up in a church full of them. Women who'd smile at you and pat your hand and tell you that you were a blessing, right up until the moment you told them who you were. Then the same women would decide you weren't someone they wanted their daughters to look up to anymore.

My mother was one of them.

And suddenly, I understood Cam's fear like I hadn't before. Not abstractly, the way I'd understood it last night, sitting on the edge of her bed, being gracious. Right there in my heart. Thousands of people who loved a version of her that wasn't real, and every single one of them could take that love back.