Chapter 18 #3
"Bullshit," he said quietly, sitting beside me. "I saw your face during the shoot. And I know Cam. Something happened."
"It's nothing," I said, standing to face him. "Just the reality of business."
Zayne studied me, his expression softening slightly. "Lana, if he hurt you – "
"He didn't," I interrupted, then corrected myself. "At least, not intentionally. It's complicated."
"Try me."
I glanced around, making sure we were alone. The last of the photographers were packing up their gear at the far end of the rink, and most of the players had headed to the locker room.
"We... got closer over the weekend," I admitted, my voice shaky. "I let myself believe maybe... and then I saw that clip where he told you... anyway, it doesn't matter now. There's an offer from Montreal, and – " I stopped, my voice cracking.
"And you think he's choosing hockey over you," Zayne finished, understanding dawning in his eyes.
The words stung with their accuracy. "This isn't college anymore. This is his career, his future. Probably a chance to be the highest-paid left wing in the league. And I would never ask him to give that up."
"Have you asked him what he wants?" Zayne challenged.
"Because from what I can see, the guy's been a mess all through practice.
Nearly knocked Logan flat with a cross-check during scrimmage.
Broke a stick slamming it against the boards.
That's not Cam being focused on a big career move – that's Cam when he's upset. "
I twisted the sapphire ring on my finger, the reminder uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter what he wants," I said quietly. "Or what I want. The circumstances haven't changed. Hockey comes first. It always has."
Zayne sighed, looking suddenly tired. "You know, for someone so smart about everything else, you can be really dense about this.
For what it's worth, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but.
.. Cam isn't the same guy he was ten years ago.
Maybe you should talk to him, Lana. Actually listen to what he has to say. "
"I will," I lied. "When things settle down."
Zayne clearly didn't believe me, but he didn't push. Instead, he squeezed my shoulder gently and walked away, leaving me alone with thoughts I didn't want to face and a heart that felt too heavy for my chest.
---
By evening, I was emotionally exhausted but couldn't stop myself from scrolling through social media in my condo, a glass of wine in hand and my cats, Sid and Mario, purring beside me. The online frenzy had only intensified throughout the day.
Social media's trending topics included #HitmanHeartbreak, #MurphyMovingOn, and, most painfully, #LanaDeservesBetter.
Fan accounts had gone into overdrive analyzing every public interaction Cam and I had ever had. Someone had even created a montage set to James Arthur's Say You Won’t Let Go that showed Cam looking at me at various events throughout the years, culminating with his declaration to Zayne.
But it was the Montreal speculation that truly twisted the knife:
Montreal ladies, prepare yourselves! The Hitman might be headed your way!
Who else is booking flights to Montreal for next season? ??♀?
Poor Lana. Imagine finding your soulmate just to watch him move to another country…
And the worst: Breaking: Sources say Cam Murphy already looking at penthouses in Montreal's Golden Square Mile. Moving on FAST.
I knew I shouldn't believe anonymous "sources," but even the thought of Cam house-hunting in Montreal made me physically ill. I set my phone down and pulled Sid closer, burying my face in his orange fur.
"What am I going to do?" I whispered.
The answer, of course, was what I always did: my job. I would maintain my professionalism, help the team navigate this transition, and protect my heart by retreating behind my carefully constructed walls.
Team first. It was the only way I knew to survive.
---
The next morning, I was headed to a staff meeting when Cam appeared in the hallway, clearly waiting for me. My heart did that stupid lurch it always did at the sight of him, even now. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usual effortless charm replaced by tense determination.
"Lana," he said, moving like lightning to intercept me. "Got a minute?"
Every instinct screamed at me to flee, but there were too many people around. Running would create a scene, and if there was one thing Frank Decker's daughter didn't do, it was create public scenes.
"I'm on my way to a meeting," I said stiffly.
"It'll only take a minute." His blue eyes were pleading. "Please."
I glanced at my watch, then gave a short nod. "One minute."
He guided me a few steps away from the main traffic flow, his hand hovering near but not touching my elbow. Once we were relatively private, he took a deep breath.
"I haven't decided anything yet," he said quietly.
I maintained my professional mask with effort. "Whatever you decide, the team will support you, Cam. We all want what's best for your career."
Frustration flashed across his face. "That's not what I'm asking and you know it."
"Then what are you asking?" I kept my voice low, controlled.
"I'm asking if it matters to you what I decide." His eyes searched mine. "I'm asking if we matter to you."
The question pierced straight through my defenses, but I couldn't, wouldn't, let him see. "What matters is that you make the right choice for yourself."
"Goddammit, Lana," he muttered. "Can you stop being the PR Director for five seconds and just talk to me like a person? The real you?"
His intensity was drawing curious glances from passing staffers. I forced a pleasant, meaningless smile. "This isn't the time or place, Cam."
Before he could respond, I spotted an empty conference room. "In there," I said, nodding toward it.
Once inside with the door closed, I turned to face him, arms crossed protectively over my chest. "What? What do you want from me, Cam?"
"I want you to talk to me! I've been trying for two days!" His controlled frustration finally erupted. "You won't answer my calls, my texts – it's like the other night never happened."
"We slept together. It happens." I shrugged, the casual gesture costing me dearly. "It doesn't change anything."
"That's a load of crap," he said, echoing Coco's assessment from yesterday. "It changed everything and you know it."
I looked away, unable to meet the raw emotion in his eyes. "Maybe for you."
"Look me in the eye and tell me it meant nothing to you," he challenged, stepping closer. "Tell me you didn't feel what I felt."
My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. "What does it matter what I felt? You're leaving."
"I haven't decided that!"
"But you're considering it," I countered, finally letting some of my hurt show. "Which means you could go. Again. Just like before."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "So this isn't about Montreal. This is about college."
I said nothing, my silence confirmation enough.
"Lana," he said softly, reaching for me. I stepped back. "That was different. I explained that already. I left because… "
"You didn't explain anything," I interrupted, my voice rising despite my efforts to control it. "You disappeared. And now there's another chance to leave. Different city, same result."
He took a step toward me, his expression a mixture of frustration and determination. "I'm trying to figure things out! But I can't do that if you won't even talk to me."
"What is there to talk about? This is an amazing opportunity. You should take it."
"What if I don't want to?" His voice dropped, heavy with meaning. "What if what I want is right here?"
The hope that flared in my chest was dangerous, painful. I smothered it immediately. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't make promises you won't keep."
He stepped closer again, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint traces of his cologne. "I'm not promising anything except that I want to figure this out. Together. If it's what you want too."
I could feel my resolve crumbling under the intensity of his gaze, the sincerity in his voice. It would be so easy to give in, to believe him, to let myself hope. But hope was dangerous. Hope could destroy me when he inevitably left.
"Do you want this to be real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Us. Do you want us to be real?"
The question hung between us, loaded with possibility and terror. My heart screamed YES, but my self-preservation instinct kicked in hard. My fingers clutched at the engagement ring, twisting it anxiously.
"You don't get to ask that," I said, my voice brittle with unshed tears. "Not now. Not when you're this close to walking away again."
Pain flashed across his face, quickly followed by determination. "I'm not walking away, Lana. You're the one putting up walls."
"Because they're necessary!"
"No, they're not. They're just easier than taking a big shot." His voice softened. "I know you're scared. I am too. But what we have, what we could have – isn't it worth the risk?"
For one breathless moment, I wavered. The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his voice – it would be so easy to believe him.
But the memory of waking up alone ten years ago, of the humiliation and heartbreak that followed, was too powerful. And now everyone – the team, the fans, the media – would have front-row seats to my potential devastation.
"I can't," I whispered. "I can't do this. Not with you, Cam. I'm sorry."
Before he could respond, before I could change my mind, I walked out, leaving him standing alone in the conference room. Each step away from him felt like walking through quicksand, but I forced myself to keep moving.
I had survived Cam Murphy once before. I could do it again.
I had to.