Chapter 19
Iarrived at the office earlier than usual, slipping through the quiet hallways like a ghost. The morning sun cast long shadows through the windows, illuminating dust particles dancing in the pale golden light.
Most of the building was still dark, the familiar hum of fluorescent lights and ringing phones not yet filling the space.
Perfect. I could barricade myself in my office, bury myself in work, and maybe – just maybe – find a way to navigate this mess without completely falling apart.
The dull throb of a tension headache had already settled behind my eyes, a physical manifestation of the emotional storm I was trying desperately to contain.
I rounded the corner to my office and stopped dead.
Cam was already there, leaning against my door frame, arms crossed over his chest. The sight of him made my stomach drop.
He looked as though he hadn't slept much either – dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly disheveled.
Despite everything, he still managed to look unfairly handsome in worn jeans and a faded Nirvana t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders.
"Morning," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the silent hallway.
I inhaled sharply, the scent of his familiar cologne making my heart clench painfully. I straightened my shoulders and walked past him, keys jingling as I unlocked my door. "I have nothing more to say to you, Cam."
"That's fine. You can listen."
I dropped my bag on my desk with more force than necessary, irritation flaring hot beneath my skin. "I have work to do. Important work that doesn't involve facilitating your career move to Montreal."
He followed me into the office, shutting the door behind him. The soft click of the latch felt oddly final, sealing us into our own private battlefield.
"I told you, I haven't decided about Montreal."
"And I told you, it doesn't matter." I busied myself with my laptop, the screen a blue shield between us. "We had a deal. The Redline contract is happening. Mission accomplished. You don't need me anymore."
"This isn't about Redline." His voice was low, insistent, almost desperate. "Lana, would you please just look at me?"
My fingers stilled on the keyboard. I could feel his eyes on me, a physical weight I couldn't ignore. Reluctantly, I raised my gaze to his. The raw emotion I saw there nearly undid me – pain, regret, longing.
"I need to explain something," he said. "About before. About us."
"There is no 'us,' Cam." My throat felt tight, the words sticking like sandpaper.
"There could be."
The words hung in the air between us, loaded with possibility and danger. Coffee from the break room drifted through the office, mingling with the scent of my floral perfume and his woody cologne – an unwelcome reminder of other mornings, other conversations.
"I can't do this right now." I pulled my gaze away, focusing on arranging items on my desk with meticulous precision. Pens aligned. Notepad squared. Control what you can control, Lana.
"When, then?" he pressed, taking a step closer. "Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week when I might be forced to make a decision about Montreal? When exactly are you planning to stop running from this?"
"I'm not running," I snapped, finally looking up at him again. "I'm being realistic. You run, remember? That's your thing."
His expression hardened, jaw tightening. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You've done it before."
Cam took a deep breath, visibly trying to maintain his composure. His hands flexed at his sides, a gesture I recognized from our days working together – he was fighting for control.
"That's exactly what I need to explain," he said more softly. "About that night. Ten years ago."
My heart stopped cold for a moment, then resumed at double speed, thudding so hard I was certain he could hear it.
Was this what a heart attack felt like? I'd spent so many years trying not to think about that night, trying not to wonder what had gone wrong, what I'd done to make him leave without a word.
"Ancient history," I said dismissively, though my voice betrayed me with a slight tremor.
"Is it?" He stepped closer, his eyes searching mine. "Because I think it's still between us. I think it's always been between us."
I crossed my arms over my chest, creating a physical barrier between us. "What do you want from me, Cam?"
"I want you to stop pretending." His voice was low but intense, vibrating with emotion. "I want you to admit that what happened between us, what's happening between us now, is real."
"You don't get to decide what's real for me." My fingernails dug crescents into my palms.
"Fine." His jaw tightened. "Then tell me this: Do you want this to be real?"
The question struck me like a physical blow, making me step back until my legs hit the edge of my desk. Did I? Did I want to risk my heart, my career, my carefully constructed life for something that could disappear at any moment? For someone who had already left me once before?
"You don't get to ask that," I whispered, my voice catching. "Not now. Not when you're still considering leaving."
"Lana," he said quietly, "I think it's time I told you the truth about what happened that night."
And just like that, my mind catapulted back a decade, the present office fading as memories washed over me – the scent of falling snow, the taste of cheap beer, the feeling of finally being seen…
“When I realized who you were…”
"Zayne's sister," I said flatly.
He nodded, shoulders slumping slightly. "Zayne was my teammate, my best friend. One of my only real friends. And he had this one absolute rule… "
"Stay away from his sister," I finished, a dull ache spreading through my chest.
"Not just stay away. He made it clear to everyone on the team that if anyone so much as looked at you, we'd regret it.
" Cam's face darkened with the memory. "His exact words to a teammate who commented on seeing you at a game were 'My sister comes before hockey, and I will end anyone who touches her.
' The guy had a black eye for a week. And I’m like 90% sure Zayne gave him a midweek refresher. "
I remembered that incident. Zayne came home with bruised knuckles, refusing to tell me why he'd fought with his teammate. I'd been embarrassed and annoyed at his overprotectiveness, but I hadn't realized the extent of his threats.
"So what?" I challenged, a spark of anger cutting through the hurt. "You were afraid of my brother?"
"It wasn't that simple." Cam's voice was strained, his eyes pleading for understanding.
"The team was... everything to me then. I told you my family was a disaster – my dad was on his fourth wife, my mom on her third husband, everyone too busy with their new lives and step-kids to care about mine.
Hockey was all I had. Those guys were my brothers. My only real family."
Understanding began to dawn, unwelcome and painful. "And Zayne was part of that family," I said slowly.
"I don’t know if I ever told you how alone I felt.
For most of my life. He was my closest friend on the team, the closest thing I'd ever had to a brother.
I couldn't…" He broke off, swallowing hard, ".
..I couldn't risk losing that. Not when my own family had shown me over and over that love doesn't last, that people leave when something better comes along.
But teammates... teammates always have your back. "
The pieces were finally falling into place. All these years, I'd thought he'd left because I wasn't enough: not pretty enough, not experienced enough, not interesting enough. But the truth was both better and worse: he'd left because of who I was. Because I was a Decker.
"You chose him," I said, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "You chose my brother over me."
"I made the wrong choice," Cam said quietly, his voice thick with regret. "I know that now. I knew it then, too, if I'm being honest. But I was twenty-one and terrified of losing the only real family I'd ever known."
"So you just... what? Decided to pretend I didn't exist? That nothing had happened between us?"
"I thought it would be easier that way. A clean break.
" He stepped toward me, then stopped himself.
"I told myself you'd forget about me, move on to someone who deserved you.
Someone who wasn't breaking his best friend's trust." His voice cracked slightly.
"I told myself I was doing the right thing, the honorable thing. But the truth is, I was a coward."
I stood frozen, struggling to process everything. Ten years of wondering, of hurt, of doubting myself – all because my brother had been too protective and Cam had been too afraid of losing his surrogate family to fight for what we might have had.
The office suddenly felt too small, too confined for the magnitude of emotions crashing through me. I moved to the window, needing space, air, distance to think.
"When I got drafted to the Slashers, and I found out you worked there – as the PR director, no less – I thought fate was playing some cosmic joke on me," Cam continued, his voice low.
"I'd spent years trying to forget you, and suddenly you were there, every day.
Beautiful, brilliant, and still completely off-limits. "
"So you just continued pretending nothing had happened between us? For years?" I turned back to face him, incredulity sharpening my voice.
"What choice did I have?" he asked, frustration evident. "Zayne was still my teammate, still my best friend. And you clearly hated me. I figured you'd moved on long ago."
"I didn't hate you," I said quietly, wrapping my arms around myself. "I was confused. Hurt. You made me feel like I'd imagined everything between us."