Chapter 12
Twelve
Logan
December
My palms feel clammy as Camden and I step through the double doors of the Grand Shoreline Hotel, the venue where tonight’s alumni banquet is being held.
It also happens to be one of the fanciest hotels in Chicago, the grandiose building built for that of a king and situated to overlook Lake Michigan.
“Damn, this place is insane,” Camden murmurs in awe.
The comment draws my attention to him, only to see his neck craned back to look at the ornate, baroque style ceiling. My lips twitch in amusement, and for the briefest second, I manage to forget the stress and anxiety, too focused on his childlike wonder as he takes in the opulent space.
“You haven’t been to the alumni banquet before?”
“Nah, only the seniors on the team usually attend these kinds of things.” He finally pulls his gaze away from the architecture, letting it fall to me instead. “I take it you have, though?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been to the hotel for a couple of weddings, though. I’m pretty sure my parents got married here, actually. Not that I was here for that one, obviously, but I have for others.”
Jesus. I must be nervous if I’m rambling like an idiot.
Camden shoots me a devious little grin. “Ah, yes. Can’t forget the bougie life of a Reed.”
I grimace at the comment and look away, the reality of why we’re here sneaking back in, and as we make our way toward the ballroom, I find I’m already regretting my decision to come. Camden at my side or not, this is no doubt going to be painful as hell to sit through.
“Hey,” he says gently while giving my shoulder a light nudge with his own. The contact has my attention flicking to him again, only to find concern etched into his features now.
“Yeah?”
“Just smile and hold my hand. It’ll be over before you know it.”
He offers his hand as he speaks, and in return, I give him the best smile I can muster—which I know isn’t much—before sliding my palm into his. It’s warm against mine, the heat flowing from his skin having an oddly grounding effect as we head into the ballroom.
“You know, you forgot to tell me how hot I am in a suit,” he teases while he holds open the doors.
I scan the room for my parents the second we’re inside, muttering a distracted response. “You look good in a suit.”
“Some boyfriend you are,” he laughs, squeezing my palm. “You’re not even looking.”
No, I’m certainly not. That’s in part because I’m busy looking for the table my parents are seated at, but also because I already saw how good he looks in his all-black suit back at the townhouse.
And unfortunately for me, he looks more than good.
He looks…well, really fucking hot. Especially with his blond hair slicked back with just enough gel to keep it off his forehead, he could’ve come straight from the cover of Vogue.
I slide my gaze back to Camden after finally spotting my parents, and sure enough, he still looks as sinful as he did earlier. Which only serves to make me more anxious.
“You look good. Now, can you please focus before we head over there?”
“Well, you see, Little Reed, me focusing defeats the purpose of me trying to distract you instead.”
“What? Why?”
He leans forward, the heat of his breath floating over my jaw when he murmurs, “Because you’re basically squeezing all the blood out of my hand right now.”
A flush fills my cheeks, and I try to drop his hand, but he keeps his hold on me.
“Don’t let go. Just try to relax.” His gaze lingers on my face for a few moments before he whispers, “And by the way? You also look damn good in a suit. Especially when you’re blushing like that.”
“You’re impossible,” I say with a pained laugh.
“Maybe. But it got you to loosen up, didn’t it?” he points out, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go.”
He gently tugs me toward my parents’ table, closing the distance with ease and confidence. Uncle Trevor and Louis are there as well, the two of them chatting with Dad when we approach, while Mom, on the other hand, is out of her seat and pulling me into a hug before I can so much as blink.
“Sweetheart, it’s so great to see you,” she says, squeezing me a little tighter.
Despite the dread coursing through my veins, it feels nice to feel my mother’s familiar embrace. I let myself get lost in it for a few brief moments, hugging her back and whispering, “You too, Mom,” before releasing her.
Dad must’ve noticed our exchange, as he is now also standing—his hand already outstretched for me to shake. I stare at it for the briefest moment, debating if I should take it or not. I mean, really. A fucking handshake for his own son?
In the end, I take it, but only because I know there’s bound to be plenty of press here tonight, and the last thing they need to catch wind of is infighting between the Reeds.
“And you must be Camden,” Mom says, a cheerful smile on her face before pulling him into a hug.
I wince, clearly having forgotten to make the introduction. “Uh, yeah. Mom, this is Camden. And Dad, I think you might’ve met before? When he and Oakley were teammates.”
“I believe so, but it’s always nice to get reacquainted. Especially with Leighton’s biggest NHL prospect,” my father says, extending his hand to Camden now.
It takes every bit of my self-control to not roll my eyes. But thankfully my pseudo-boyfriend simply aims a charming smile at both of my parents, completely ignoring the comment while he greets them.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Reed. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.” His gaze shifts to the other men seated at the table before adding, “Good to see you in the flesh, Louis. And you too, Coach. Though I did just see you at practice a couple hours ago.”
Louis, Dad, and Uncle Trevor all laugh, the three of them still as in sync as I remember from my childhood.
“Well, I have to say, you two make quite the handsome couple,” Louis states as he raises his glass of scotch to his lips.
My mother nods, practically beaming at the two of us.
My parents were pleasantly surprised when I mentioned bringing a date for the banquet tonight—almost as if they’d completely forgotten about my relationship with Camden. Fake relationship, though that distinction is obviously lost on them.
As it should be.
“Why don’t you two grab a seat. Dinner should be starting in a few minutes,” Mom informs both of us.
The two empty settings are beside Louis and my mother, with Dad and Uncle Trevor being seated across the table from us. Which, come to think of it, is probably the best option for everyone involved. Especially if Dad and I start going toe-to-toe with one another.
After draping our coats over the seat backs, Camden pulls out the chair beside my mom, allowing me to sit before taking his own next to Louis.
I expect him to go straight into conversation with his agent, and all things considered, I wouldn’t blame him.
If I were in his shoes, I’d want updates on how things are progressing on the public image front.
Yet, to my surprise, he leans his head toward me and speaks low into my ear. “Tell me if you wanna leave at any point, okay? To get air or get out of here completely.”
A shiver rushes down my spine, and I keep my gaze down when I nod wordlessly.
“Okay. Then I’m gonna kiss the side of your head and put my hand on your leg now.”
I’m grateful for the heads-up about his intentions for PDA. There’s no telling how I’d react if he caught me off guard, seeing as I’m already so high strung by simply being here. God knows I wasn’t expecting to get the chills from him talking to me just now.
But like earlier, his touch calms something inside me.
Both the heat from his palm seeping through my pants just above my knee, and now the gentle press of his lips to my temple, give more reassurance than anything else.
It’s a weird phenomenon I wasn’t expecting, but I don’t have the mental capacity to unpack it at the present moment.
Instead, I just slide my hand to cover his and harness whatever strength I can to make it through this evening.
As my mother said, the first round of food is delivered relatively soon after we’re seated, leaving conversations to a minimum. That is, until we’re between courses, and Dad takes that as an opening to start up on his favorite topic of conversation.
“So, Camden,” he says from across the table, “seems to me like you’re having one hell of a season so far.”
My hand, still resting over Camden’s on my thigh, tightens instinctually.
Fuck.
It’s embarrassing, having this kind of reaction to such a trivial thing like discussing a sport, and I know that’s part of the reason I get so irritated. Because I react this way the instant it’s brought up.
I feel my cheeks heat slightly, and I go to pull my hand away, but apparently my date’s quick hands extend off the ice as well, because I don’t make it more than an inch before he snatches it back.
Covering the back of my hand with his, he laces our fingers together before resting it back in place on my thigh, all without so much as looking in my direction.
In fact, he’s cool as a cucumber, offering my father a charming smile before answering.
“Ah, yes, sir. I’m grateful the team is doing well in general, but I think that’s more Coach’s doing than mine.”
“Please. Call me Travis. And the team’s success is in no small part to you,” Dad counters. “And let’s be honest, an SV percentage of .939 puts you at the top of the NCAA.”
“As much as I’d like to take credit, I think that belongs to Coach too. I’m training under one of the best goalies in recent history, as you know better than anyone.”
“Don’t do that, Steele,” Uncle Trevor admonishes with a wave. “You have a natural gift. It’s my job to enhance it and teach you to harness it.”
“You’re just letting the history comment roll off your back, huh?” Dad jokes jovially before taking a sip from his dark glass of liquor.