Chapter 17
Iblinked slowly, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings – the artful black and white hockey photographs on the wall, the stack of well-worn novels on the nightstand, the surprisingly soft throw blanket tangled around my legs.
Cam's arm draped possessively over my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his steady breathing tickling my neck – and everything from last night came rushing back in tender, delicious waves of memories.
The game. The car. His mouth on mine. His whispered confessions in the darkness.
I smiled into the pillow, a giddy happiness bubbling through me like expensive champagne.
We'd finally given in to what had been building between us for weeks – years, really.
My body still hummed with the lingering aftermath of his touch, his kisses, the way he'd whispered my name when he'd moved inside me.
And the best fucking orgasms, plural, of my life.
Like, call a press conference amazing…
A brief flash of memory – Cam's face above mine, his eyes locked on mine as we moved together, the reverence in his expression making my heart clench – sent a renewed shiver of pleasure through me.
I shifted slightly to look at him. In sleep, his handsome features appeared younger, more vulnerable, relaxed in a way they rarely were in public.
His golden-brown hair was adorably mussed against the white pillowcase, his stubble glinting in the morning light, those unfairly long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.
One arm was tucked under his head, the other still wrapped around me, as if he was afraid I might disappear.
And he was mine. At least, I thought he was.
We hadn't exactly defined what came next, but after last night – the raw honesty, the intense connection, the way he'd held me afterward – it felt like we'd finally crossed some invisible threshold.
We'd moved beyond pretending, beyond old hurts, beyond the carefully constructed boundaries of our fake engagement.
For the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I felt hopeful. Open. Maybe we really could make this work for real. The thought made my heart flutter against my ribs.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, disrupting the peaceful moment. I gently extricated myself from Cam's arm, careful not to wake him, and reached for it.
It was a text from Marcus, the team's GM:
MARCUS: Emergency meeting. 9:30 AM. My office. Critical to have all senior management present.
I frowned at the screen, the glow of contentment dimming slightly. It was already 7:45, and I needed to get home to shower and change before heading to the office. Whatever the emergency was, I was not showing up to work in last night's clothes.
For a moment, I contemplated waking Cam. But he'd played his heart out last night: the hat trick, the fight defending Zayne, the intense hours we'd spent tangled together afterward. Pro hockey players needed their recovery time. Besides, he looked so peaceful sleeping.
Instead, I slipped quietly from the bed, gathering my scattered clothes from where they'd been hastily discarded across his bedroom floor.
In his bathroom, all gleaming marble and glass, I splashed water on my face and attempted to tame my wild hair, which pretty much screamed "thoroughly ravished.
" I couldn't help but grin at my reflection.
The woman staring back at me looked different somehow; eyes brighter, cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen from Cam's kisses.
And satisfied. Holy shit, that woman looked satisfied.
I looked happy. I looked like a woman who had finally stopped running from what she wanted.
Back in the bedroom, Cam had shifted to his stomach but was still sleeping soundly, the sheet draped low across his hips, revealing the muscled expanse of his back. The sight of him, vulnerable, peaceful, mine, made my chest tighten with something that felt… like…love.
I scribbled a quick note on the back of a receipt I found in my purse:
Morning, Hitman. Emergency meeting at the office called me away. Last night was... spectacular. Text me when you wake up. –CQ
I hesitated, then added a small heart before placing it on my pillow where he'd see it when he woke.
Leaning down, I pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, breathing in the warm scent of him one more time before heading downstairs. His house was tastefully masculine, and surprisingly tidy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the stunning waterfront view.
I stood in the kitchen as I waited for my Lyft, as my eye spotted something unusual on the kitchen island: a bag of cake flour, sugar, two types of vanilla, piping bags, lavender, and a stack of whimsical cupcake liners.
My ride approached, and I headed outside.
As the Lyft pulled away from Cam's Davis Island home, I couldn't stop myself from grinning like a lunatic.
Whatever came next, something fundamental had shifted between us.
For once, I wasn't overthinking or second-guessing.
I was simply letting myself feel the happiness bubbling through me.
And for the first time in ten years, I allowed myself to want Cam Murphy without reservation or fear.
At home, I rushed through my morning routine, showering away the delicious evidence of last night's activities and changing into a sleek magenta blazer and matching pencil skirt – my power suit for whatever emergency awaited.
As I applied my makeup, covering the light mark Cam had left on my collarbone, I found myself humming, occasionally breaking into a full smile at the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he'd looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world.
"You are in such big trouble, Decker," I murmured to my reflection, unable to wipe the smile from my face.
My phone chimed with a text from Coco:
COCO: DETAILS. NOW.
I laughed, typing back:
ME: I plead the fifth.
Her response was immediate:
COCO: Coward. Your car was still in the parking lot when I got to practice at 5:30 this morning, but your office was dark. I NEED DETAILS, WOMAN! Plus, your face in that Instagram clip says it all anyway. CALL ME LATER.
Instagram clip? I frowned, but had no time to investigate. Whatever social media drama was brewing would have to wait. I was already cutting it close for the meeting.
As I slipped on my heels, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror.
I looked composed, professional, but there was something different in my eyes, a softness I usually kept carefully hidden.
I wondered if everyone would be able to tell what had happened just by looking at me.
Coco certainly had. There was no hiding from that girl.
The thought didn't panic me like it would have a few weeks ago. Maybe it was time to stop hiding. Maybe what Cam and I had, whatever it was becoming, deserved to be real, publicly and privately.
I absently twisted the sapphire ring on my finger, watching how it caught the light. It was funny, it no longer felt like a prop. For once, the future seemed full of hopeful possibilities instead of carefully managed risks.
The Slashers' administrative offices were unusually quiet when I arrived, though I noticed several curious glances from staff members as I made my way through the corridors.
A few offered knowing smiles or raised eyebrows, making me wonder if my attempt to look professional and unaffected was failing miserably.
Katie, my assistant, was already at her desk, eyebrows rising with obvious interest as I approached. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in my appearance – perhaps noting the extra care I'd taken with my makeup or the lingering flush on my cheeks.
"Good morning," I said, trying to sound normal, professional. "Any idea what this emergency meeting is about?"
"No idea," she replied, handing me a stack of message slips. "But social media is blowing up. Have you seen it?"
"Seen what?" I asked, distracted by the messages. Three from ESPN, two from Sports Illustrated, and at least a dozen from various other media outlets, all wanting comments or interviews with Cam.
Katie looked surprised. "The clip from after last night's game? It's everywhere." She pulled out her phone, tapping rapidly before handing it to me. "Here."
It was a TMZ Sports post, its headline screaming:
CAM "THE HITMAN" MURPHY DECLARES HIS LOVE: "IT'S ALWAYS BEEN HER"
Below was a video clip that appeared to have been taken from behind Cam and Zayne as they stood on the nearly empty ice after the post-game interviews. The camera angle suggested it was shot by someone on the maintenance crew, capturing what the subjects clearly thought was a private conversation.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pressed play.
Zayne's face was serious, intense in that particular way I recognized as full protective-brother mode. Though we couldn't hear their exact words over the ambient arena noise, the body language told the story clearly. Zayne pointed at Cam's chest, saying something with clear emotional intensity.
And then Cam – shoulders squared, stance solid – was speaking, his passion evident even from the back angle. The clip had been enhanced with caption overlays:
"I didn't pursue her 10 years ago when we were seniors and she was a junior at BU because of my respect for you and because I love you, man, we’re brothers…and I would never risk our friendship…but it's ruined me for anyone else. It's always been her. She's the only one."
The video captured Zayne's surprised expression, then back to Cam, his voice now audible:
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you at the time. I didn't know how."
The clip ended with Zayne's reluctant nod and what appeared to be a grudging hug between the two men.