Chapter 6 #2
"You're doing great," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
More flashes exploded around us, but in that moment, I barely noticed them. All I could focus on was Cam – the blue of his eyes, the delectable curve of his mouth, the way his hand at my waist felt both protective and possessive.
We moved down the carpet, stopping for brief interviews along the way. The questions were exactly what we'd prepared for:
"How long have you two been together?"
"When did you know it was serious?"
"Can we see the ring?"
We delivered our rehearsed responses with practiced ease, letting Cam take the lead when appropriate, stepping in when needed.
We were a well-oiled machine, finishing each other's sentences, exchanging fond glances, playing the perfect couple with an ease that should have concerned me more than it did.
As we neared the end of the carpet, a reporter from Hockey Night called out to Cam.
"Murphy! Your contract renewal is coming up soon, and there are rumors about that big sneaker deal with Redline. Any comment on how your new relationship status might affect those negotiations?"
Cam's expression remained perfectly neutral, but I felt his body tense slightly beside me. This was it – the moment this whole charade had been designed for.
"I'd say my personal life has made me more focused than ever," Cam replied with just the right balance of confidence and humility.
"When you find someone who believes in you, who challenges you to be better both on and off the ice.
.." He looked at me, his expression softening.
"It changes your perspective. I'm playing the best hockey of my career right now, and I think any brand would want to be associated with that kind of positive momentum. "
It was a perfect answer: authentic without being schmaltzy, confident without being arrogant, and it neatly sidestepped the direct question about our relationship status while still conveying exactly the message we wanted to send.
Pride swelled in my chest, followed immediately by a pang of something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. Cam was good at this – too good. So good that for a moment, even I found myself believing the fiction we'd created.
As we finally entered the venue, leaving the red carpet chaos behind, Cam leaned down to whisper in my ear. "How'd I do, Coach?"
"Not bad for a hockey player," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "You might have a future in PR if that whole Cup-winning, scoring-goals thing doesn't work out."
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and I found myself smiling in response. Despite the pressure, despite the stakes, there was something undeniably enjoyable about working with Cam like this – our minds in sync, anticipating each other's moves.
Inside, the ballroom was transformed into a glittering wonderland of crystal and candlelight.
Tables surrounded a central stage where the awards would be presented, while a dance floor and bar area occupied one side of the vast space.
Teammates, coaches, executives, and their plus-ones mingled throughout, creating a buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.
Cam guided me toward the Slashers' designated tables, his hand never leaving the small of my back. The gesture was possessive, intimate – stating clearly to everyone watching that we were together. That I was his.
We were almost to our table when Cam’s thumb accidentally (or accidentally on purpose) brushed the bare skin on my back. And even though I’d been holding on to his arm all night, the unexpected touch sent warm tingles through me.
"Lana!"
I turned to see Logan approaching, resplendent in a charcoal gray tuxedo, his dark hair swept back from his forehead. As team captain, he wore the mantle of leadership as naturally as he wore the formal attire – with easy confidence and understated authority.
"You look gorgeous," Logan said, kissing my cheek before turning to Cam with a knowing smile. "And you look like a fucking movie star like you always do you glorious bastard."
"Careful, Cap," Cam replied good-naturedly. "I might just beat you for best-dressed tonight."
"Not a chance," a new voice interjected as Coco appeared at Logan's side in a stunning emerald gown that complemented her auburn hair and brought out the green in her eyes. "But nice try."
She hugged me tightly, stealthily whispering in my ear, "That ring is ridiculous. We are talking about this later."
I squeezed her back in silent acknowledgment, grateful for her friendship and discretion. Despite being engaged to the team captain, Coco hadn’t pressed me for details about my sudden relationship with Cam, and I wondered how much exactly Logan had told her.
As we made our way to our table, I caught sight of my brother standing near the bar, deep in conversation with Coach Rocco.
Zayne looked up as we approached, his expression darkening slightly when his eyes landed on Cam's hand at my waist. By the time the 4-carat sapphire caught his eye, he looked positively homicidal.
"Brace yourself," I murmured to Cam as we neared them. "He's been giving me the silent treatment since those photos went up. And he just spotted the ring."
"The guy’s one of my best friends, but seriously, when has your brother ever not looked at me like he wants to check me into the boards?" Cam replied with forced lightness, though I felt him tense beside me.
Before I could respond, we reached Zayne and Coach Rocco. My brother's handshake with Cam was just a fraction too firm, his eyes fixed somewhere over Cam's shoulder.
"Looking sharp, Z," Cam said, unfazed by Zayne's chilly reception.
"Yeah? Looking like we need to have a discussion in private after the event," Zayne responded coldly.
Zayne's nomination for the Norris Trophy, aka Defensive Player of the Year, was well-deserved – he'd had a career season, leading the league in blocked shots and contributing significantly to our Stanley Cup win.
But my brother had never been comfortable with public speaking, preferring to let his play on the ice do the talking.
Cam nodded. "Ready to give your acceptance speech?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Zayne replied tersely before turning to me. "Mom and Dad are here. Somewhere."
The news hit me like a bucket of ice water. "What? They weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow's press day."
Zayne shrugged. "The story is Dad got a call from ESPN about some last-minute commentary gig. They flew in early. We both know Mom wanted to see the awards."
Panic fluttered in my chest. My parents, my very perceptive, very involved parents, were here. Tonight. When they were supposed to be in Florida. When Cam and I were pretending to be engaged.
They didn't know about our arrangement. My mother, with her uncanny ability to detect even the slightest hint of dishonesty. My father, with his very protective instincts where his family and legacy were concerned.
And they were here, somewhere in this ballroom, about to discover that their daughter was apparently engaged to Cam Murphy, the teammate my father had once described as "talented but undisciplined" when he and Zayne played together back at college, and whom my mother had clucked over as "such a shame, all that potential and no real family to ground him. "
"Breathe," Cam whispered, his hand finding the small of my back again. "It's okay. We can handle this."
I turned to him, anxiety evident in my expression. "Cam, they will think this is real. They're going to have questions… "
"So we'll answer them," he said calmly. "Just like we've been doing all night. Trust me, Lana. We've got this."
Before I could respond, the lights dimmed slightly, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. An announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, welcoming everyone to the annual NHL Awards and asking all attendees to take their seats. Saved for now.
Cam guided me to our table, where Logan, Coco, Zayne, our goalie Nick Fosse, and a couple of other teammates were already seated.
I waved to our newest trade, Axel "Reaper" Blackwood, sitting slightly apart from the others, his brooding presence unmistakable.
The intricate tattoos crawling up his neck stood in stark contrast to his immaculately tailored black suit – like a gothic haunted house nestled inside a gated community.
"Blackwood," Cam nodded as we passed, his tone friendly but cautious. The defenseman responded with a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head, dark eyes assessing us briefly before returning to his whiskey.
“Hey, congratulations you two,” Nick said, offering a toast. The rest of the group joined in and we all clinked glasses.
“Thanks,” we said in unison.
As I sat down, straightening my gown carefully around me, I felt Cam's fingers brush against mine under the table – a small gesture of reassurance that somehow steadied my racing heart.
The ceremony proceeded with its usual mix of heartfelt speeches, highlight reels, and carefully scripted banter from the hosts.
I found myself watching Cam more than the stage – the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the respectful attention he gave to each winner's speech, the occasional glances he sent my way, as if checking to see if I was enjoying myself.
When Logan won the Lady Byng award, Cam was the first on his feet, applauding with genuine enthusiasm.
Logan's acceptance speech was gracious and brief, thanking his teammates, coaches, and especially Coco and Poppy for "teaching me what real leadership looks like – putting others first, even when it's hard. "