Chapter 26
The press conference room buzzed with the particular energy of a story breaking.
The space was too small for the crowd that had gathered—folding chairs crammed against the walls, reporters standing in the aisles, camera crews jostling for position near the back.
The air conditioning struggled against the heat of too many bodies, and the fluorescent lights hummed overhead like a swarm of impatient bees.
The smell of coffee and nervous sweat permeated everything.
Camille sat at the long table, microphones clustered before her like eager flowers, camera flashes popping from every corner of the room.
The media turnout was unprecedented—not just the usual sports reporters, but news anchors and entertainment journalists and representatives from outlets that had never covered women's hockey before.
Word had gotten out. Something was happening, and they all wanted to be there when it broke.
Lou sat beside her, their shoulders almost touching, a solid presence in the chaos.
The rest of the team filled seats behind them—Rowan still flushed with victory, Elise in a team hoodie, the whole roster arrayed like an honor guard.
Mara stood to the side, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes bright with something that might have been pride.
Astoria had handled the logistics with her usual efficiency. The press conference was being streamed live to three different networks. Sponsors had been notified in advance—some would stay, some would go, but Astoria had assured Camille that Phoenix Ridge would stand behind her regardless.
Now came the hard part. The moment that would change everything.
"We'll take questions," Astoria announced from the podium, her voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority, and the room erupted.
The first dozen questions were about the game. How did it feel to score the winning goal? What was going through her mind in those final minutes? How had the team overcome the loss of Frankie in the second period?
"The goal belonged to the whole team," Camille said, the words practiced and smooth. "Lou made that incredible sacrifice play to create the opening. Rowan's been stepping up all season. And our defense—even without Frankie—held strong when it mattered most."
More questions. Statistics and strategy and the technical details of plays she'd rehearsed a thousand times. Camille answered on autopilot, her media training kicking in, the words flowing smoothly while her heart hammered against her ribs.
She was waiting. They all were. For the question that everyone wanted to ask but most were too nervous to voice.
"Camille." A reporter in the third row—young, hungry, clearly hoping this would make her career. "There have been rumors circulating about your personal life. Specifically, about your relationship with your teammate Lou Calder. Care to comment?"
The room went silent. Every camera lens focused on Camille's face, every microphone straining to catch her response. This was it. The moment she'd been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
Camille glanced at Lou. Those green eyes met hers across the space between their chairs, steady and certain, filled with the same love that had carried them through the past weeks of chaos and uncertainty and growth.
Lou gave the slightest nod—permission, encouragement, partnership in whatever came next.
Camille turned back to the reporter and took a breath.
"Yes," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the microphones. "I'd like to comment on that."
The silence deepened. Pens hovered over notebooks. Camera operators leaned in, adjusting focus.
"I've spent my entire career managing my image.
Controlling what people see, what they know about me, what story they tell themselves about who Camille Laurent-Dubois is.
" She paused, letting the words settle. "I came to Phoenix Ridge expecting to play hockey for a season and move on.
What I found instead was a team that became a family, and a woman who became everything. "
She looked at Lou again, and this time she didn't look away. The whole room could see it—the tenderness in her expression, the connection that crackled between them like electricity. Let them see. Let them write their stories and draw their conclusions. None of it mattered compared to the truth.
"Lou Calder is my partner. Not just on the ice—in every part of my life that matters." Camille's voice grew stronger with each word, the fear transforming into something that tasted like freedom. "I love her. I'm proud to love her. And I'm done pretending otherwise."
The room exploded. Questions shouted over questions, camera flashes creating a strobe effect, reporters practically climbing over each other to get their followups heard.
Camille sat still through all of it, her hand finding Lou's beneath the table, their fingers intertwining in the shelter of the tablecloth.
"Camille—when did this relationship begin?"
"Have you been hiding this the entire season?"
"What does this mean for your endorsements?"
"Lou, did you know this was coming?"
Astoria stepped to the podium, raising a hand for quiet. "Let's take questions one at a time, please."
The reporter who'd asked the initial question got the first followup. "Camille, why now? Why choose to come out at this particular moment?"
"Because I'm tired of being afraid." Camille's voice was steady now, the initial terror fading into relief. "Because for the first time in my life, I've found someone worth being honest for. And because if there's one thing this team taught me, it's that you can't win if you're playing scared."
She looked out at the sea of faces, some sympathetic, some calculating, all hungry for whatever piece of her story they could capture and share.
"I know this will change things. I know some people will be disappointed, some will be angry, some will say I should have kept this private.
But I spent most of my life building an image that looked perfect from the outside while I was lonely on the inside.
Lou changed that. She made me want to be brave.
And I owe her—I owe myself—the courage to tell the truth. "
Another reporter, this one from a major network. "Lou, do you have anything to add?"
Lou leaned toward her microphone, and Camille held her breath. They hadn't scripted this part—hadn't planned what Lou would say if given the chance. The room seemed to hold its breath along with her.
But Lou's voice, when it came, was steady as stone.
"I've been playing semi- professional hockey for twelve years.
In all that time, I've never talked publicly about my personal life.
Not because I was ashamed, but because it never seemed like anyone's business.
" She paused, her jaw set with the same determination she wore on the ice.
"I grew up in a world that told me who I was supposed to be, who I was supposed to love.
I spent a long time believing I had to choose between being myself and having a career in this sport. "
Lou's voice softened, and Camille's heart ached with love.
"Camille showed me I didn't have to choose. She's my business now. Our relationship is my business. And I'm proud to stand beside her—on the ice and off it. Today, tomorrow, and every day after."
The questions continued for another twenty minutes—logistics and timeline and the inevitable probing for drama or conflict. Camille answered what she could and deflected what she couldn't, always aware of Lou's hand in hers beneath the table, always drawing strength from that simple contact.
When Astoria finally called an end to the questions, the reporters dispersed slowly, still hungry for more but satisfied with what they'd gotten.
The story would run tonight on every network, would trend on every social media platform, would become the biggest sports news of the week—possibly the year.
But Camille barely noticed. Because Lou was standing beside her, her expression soft despite the crowd, reaching for Camille's hand as they moved toward the exit.
"How are you doing?" Lou's voice was low, meant only for her.
"Terrified. Relieved. Exhausted." Camille laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "How about you?"
"Same. Except add hungry. I could eat an entire buffalo right now."
"We'll get food." Camille squeezed Lou's hand. "But first—"
Astoria intercepted them near the door, her phone already lighting up with notifications. "The team's official photographer needs a few shots for the press release. Both of you, if you're willing."
Camille looked at Lou. Lou nodded.
They followed the photographer to a backdrop the team had set up—the Valkyries logo behind them, soft lighting arranged to make them look professional rather than ambushed. The space was quieter here, away from the main traffic of the arena, and Camille's racing heart began to slow.
The photographer was efficient and kind, a woman in her fifties with graying hair and laugh lines around her eyes. She positioned them naturally, giving gentle direction about angles and sight lines, treating them not as subjects but as people who deserved to have their moment captured with care.
"Can you move a little closer? That's it. Now Lou, if you could put your arm around—perfect."
Lou's arm settled across Camille's shoulders, warm and solid and exactly where it belonged. Camille leaned into the touch, her body naturally curving against Lou's side. This close, she could smell the mix of soap and exertion that clung to Lou's skin, could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing.
"One more. Lou, can you take Camille's hand? Just naturally, like you're about to walk somewhere together."
Lou's fingers found Camille's and intertwined, her grip firm but gentle. She squeezed once, a silent communication that said I'm here, I've got you, we're in this together.
The camera clicked. The flash popped. And for the first time in her life, Camille was photographed with someone she actually loved.
"Beautiful," the photographer said, lowering the camera. "You two look really good together."
"We are good together," Lou said simply, and Camille's heart swelled.
They emerged from the press area into the arena's back corridor, the relative quiet a relief after the chaos of the conference room. Camille's ears were ringing, her body still vibrating with adrenaline from the confession she'd just made to the world.
But the rest of the team was waiting. They'd watched the press conference on a monitor in the adjacent room, and their faces told Camille everything she needed to know—tear-streaked cheeks and proud smiles and the particular joy of people who'd been rooting for this outcome since they'd first noticed the sparks between their captain and their star forward.
Someone—probably Rowan—had found champagne, and the cork popped the moment Camille and Lou came into view.
"To our champions!" Frankie shouted, her voice slightly slurred from the painkillers she was undoubtedly on for her concussion.
A white bandage peeked out from beneath her team cap, but her grin was as wide as Camille had ever seen it.
"And to our lovebirds finally making it official! About damn time!"
The team erupted in cheers. Elise pulled them both into a bone-crushing hug. Rowan was crying—happy tears, her face split with a grin that seemed too big for her features. Even Mara was smiling, her usually stern expression softened by genuine joy.
"I'm proud of both of you," Mara said, gripping Lou's shoulder and then Camille's. "What you did in there—that took guts. Real guts."
Camille's eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall. "Thank you. For supporting us. For making this possible."
"You made it possible." Mara's voice was firm. "All I did was get out of your way."
The celebration continued as they moved toward the locker room—champagne passed from hand to hand, voices raised in songs Camille only half-recognized, the particular joy of a team that had achieved the impossible.
They'd qualified for the PWHL. They'd come out publicly.
They'd done everything they'd set out to do and more.
But through it all, Camille's hand stayed in Lou's. Their fingers remained intertwined, their bodies gravitating toward each other even in the chaos of celebration. It was such a simple thing—holding hands—but after weeks of hiding, of stolen moments and careful distance, it felt revolutionary.
"Hey." Lou pulled her to the side of the corridor, away from the celebration for just a moment. Her green eyes were bright with emotion, her face open in a way Camille had rarely seen it in public. "I meant what I said in there. I'm proud to stand beside you. Today and every day after."
Camille cupped Lou's face in her hands and kissed her. Not a careful kiss, not a hidden kiss, but the kind of kiss that said I love you and I choose you and the whole world can watch if they want to.
When they finally broke apart, the team was cheering again—this time with wolf whistles and applause and the particular enthusiasm of people who'd been rooting for this outcome all along.
"Get a room!" Frankie shouted, laughing, and the rest of the team joined in with catcalls and applause.
"Later," Lou called back, her arm tight around Camille's waist, her voice rough with emotion. "Right now, we celebrate with our team. We've earned this."
They rejoined the group, and the celebration swept them up again—champagne and laughter and the sweet, impossible joy of dreams coming true. Camille let herself be carried by it, let herself feel every moment without analyzing or calculating or planning what came next.
For the first time in her life, she was exactly where she belonged. With Lou beside her, with her team around her, with the whole world watching and nothing left to hide.
This was her life now. Open, honest, loved.
The road ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be critics and skeptics, sponsors who walked away and headlines that twisted her words.
There would be hard conversations and public scrutiny and moments when she'd wish she could retreat back into the comfortable safety of her carefully constructed image.
But Lou would be there. The team would be there. And the truth—the simple, powerful truth of who she was and who she loved—would carry her through.
It was better than anything she'd ever imagined. And it was only the beginning.