Chapter 10 #3
"Do you know what the worst part was?" I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Not that you left. But that I didn't see it coming.
It felt like we'd found something real, and it turned out to be nothing.
" I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat.
"I laid there like an idiot, waiting for you to come back, making up excuses – maybe you went to get coffee, maybe you had an early class. But you never came back."
I could hear the embarrassing tremor in my voice but couldn't seem to stop the words that had been locked inside for too long. "It made me doubt myself. My judgment. Like I couldn't tell the difference between what was genuine and what wasn't. Like I'd imagined the entire connection."
"Lana – "
"Ever since then, I've been so careful. So determined not to be fooled again.
And now here we are, pretending to be engaged, sleeping in the same bed, playing this elaborate game where it's getting harder and harder to tell what's real and what's for show, and I just – " I broke off, horrified to feel tears threatening again, betraying my vulnerability.
I blinked rapidly in the darkness, willing them away.
"Hey," Cam said softly, and I felt his hand find mine on top of the covers, his fingers wrapping gently around mine. "This isn't like that."
His palm was warm against the back of my hand, sending a current of awareness up my arm.
"Isn't it?" I whispered, absolutely hating the vulnerability in my voice.
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb continuing its gentle path across my skin. The simple touch anchored me in the darkness, a physical connection to match the emotional one we were tiptoeing around.
"I wanted to stay," he finally said, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. "That night in college. I wanted to stay more than anything."
The raw honesty in his voice made something catch in my chest. "Then why didn't you?"
I felt, rather than saw, him shake his head in the darkness. "I can't... it was complicated."
A wave of frustration swept through me, and I tried to pull my hand away. His fingers tightened, not letting go. "That's cryptic and unhelpful."
"I know." His fingers intertwined with mine, holding on when I would have retreated. "I'm sorry. I just... I need you to know that it wasn't because of you. It wasn't because what we had wasn't real. It wasn't because I didn't care."
The earnestness in his voice was almost painful to hear. He moved closer, just a few inches, but I could feel the heat of him now, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.
"I've regretted leaving a thousand times," he continued, his voice rough with emotion. "I've replayed that night in my head more times than I can count. I've wondered what might have happened if I'd stayed, if we'd had a chance to see where things could go."
I lay there in the darkness, trying to process his words. They didn't make sense – if he'd wanted to stay, why hadn't he? If it had meant something to him, why had he never mentioned it in all the years since? Why was he being so evasive now?
"I don't understand," I said finally.
"I know," he repeated, squeezing my hand. "And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I hurt you."
The apology was unexpectedly affecting. I'd locked the memory away, pretended it didn't matter, convinced myself it was just a college hookup gone wrong. To hear Cam recognize the hurt he'd caused made something inside me crack open.
"I've spent ten years trying not to think about that night," I admitted. "Trying to forget how it felt. How you made me feel."
His breath caught audibly, and his hand tightened around mine. "How did I make you feel?" The question was hesitant, almost vulnerable, as if he was bracing himself for the answer. But the darkness gave us both cover, a veil of protection.
I closed my eyes, letting myself remember.
The way we'd talked for hours. The walk back to my dorm, stars overhead, our shoulders bumping as we laughed.
The kiss that had started gentle and quickly blazed out of control.
The way he'd looked at me as we'd undressed each other, like I was something rare and cherished.
"Like I was the only person in the world who mattered," I said softly. "Like you saw me, really saw me. Not as Frank Decker's daughter or Zayne's sister or a back door into some hockey dynasty. Just... me."
The truth of it settled over me as I spoke. That was what had been so intoxicating about that night: the feeling of being truly seen, of connecting on a million different levels with someone who wasn't looking at me through the lens of my family name or reputation.
"I did see you," Cam said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I still do."
He shifted again, his free hand finding my face in the darkness, fingertips ghosting along my jaw with exquisite gentleness. The touch was so unexpected, so tender, that I couldn't have pulled away if I'd wanted to.
"That night with you," he continued, his voice low and intimate, "it was different from anything I'd ever experienced. It wasn't just physical. It was... everything. The way you looked at me. The way you listened. The way you laughed. I'd never felt so known."
I didn't know what to say. It felt too big, too laden with meaning I had no idea how to examine.
I was acutely aware of his hand still holding mine, his other hand now resting lightly on my cheek, the heat of him so close in the darkness.
My pulse was roaring in my ears, and I was sure he must feel it.
We lay in silence for what felt like a long time, the tension between us electric and fragile. His thumb traced the curve of my cheekbone, a touch so light it was barely there, but it sent tremors through me.
"I should let you sleep," he finally said, though he didn't move away, didn't release my hand.
"Yeah," I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Big day tomorrow. Fishing and ghost stories."
"Can't wait," he murmured, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
Slowly, reluctantly, his hand slipped away from my face. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze before finally letting go, and I immediately missed the warmth of his touch. I rolled onto my other side, facing away from him, trying to process the conversation and what it meant.
Cam had wanted to stay that night. He'd seen me, really seen me,and whatever had made him leave, it apparently hadn't been a lack of interest or connection. The thought was both comforting and confusing, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Behind me, I felt Cam settle into his pillow, heard his breathing gradually deepen and slow.
But sleep eluded me, my mind replaying our conversation on an endless loop as the night stretched on.
The weight of ten years of wondering, of hurt, of what-ifs felt both heavier and lighter now, transformed by his words but not erased.
It was hours later that I finally drifted off with Cam's words echoing in my mind.
"I wanted to stay more than anything."
After our midnight conversation, my mind refused to quiet down, replaying Cam's words over and over.
What did that even mean? Why had he said it now, ten years too late? And if it was actually true, why didn't he?
I'd finally drifted off sometime after 3 AM, and awoke again to the sensation of warmth against my back and something heavy draped across my waist. For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, savoring the comfort of it.
Then reality filtered in, and I realized that I was once again wrapped in Cam Murphy's arms.
Sometime during our brief sleep, we'd gravitated toward each other once again, and now we were spooning in the middle of the bed, my back pressed against his bare chest, his arm wrapped securely around me. His breath was warm against the back of my neck, steady with sleep. It was warmer than usual in the room, which explained why Cam’s t-shirt was balled up at the end of the bed.
Sunlight cast the room in a soft golden glow. Outside, I could hear the first chorus of birds greeting the day against the distant sound of the waves.
I should move. I should carefully extract myself and retreat to my side of the bed before he woke up and things got awkward again. That's what a professional would do, what someone maintaining appropriate boundaries would do.
Instead, I found myself lying perfectly still, allowing myself to absorb the feeling of being held by him.
His arm was heavy and warm across my waist, his body solid and reassuring behind mine.
The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back was hypnotic, soothing.
His leg was tangled with mine, his bare foot resting against my calf.
It felt... right. Safe. Like coming home after a long journey.
And that was terrifying. Okay, comfy but terrifying.
Whatever this strange intimacy was that had developed between us, it couldn't, shouldn't, last beyond the next few weeks. This wasn't real; it was a temporary arrangement, a business deal with an expiration date.
But my treacherous body didn't seem to care about that distinction. It responded to Cam's proximity with a humming awareness that belied all my mental arguments.
Could it?
Behind me, Cam stirred as he drifted toward wakefulness. I felt the exact moment he became fully conscious. His body stiffened slightly, his breathing changed, and for a heartbeat I thought he would pull away.
He didn't.
"Morning," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep, vibrating against my shoulder blade.
"Morning," I replied, my own voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances.
Neither of us moved. The moment stretched between us, fraught with possibility and danger.
"Did you sleep okay?" he asked, his breath warm against the nape of my neck.
He shifted his weight but still made no move to release me from his embrace.
If anything, he seemed to settle in more comfortably, his fingers lazily tracing the edge of my camisole where it had ridden up, sending tiny tingles across my skin.
"I was awake for a while," I admitted, fighting to keep my voice even despite the havoc his touch was wreaking. "My mind wouldn't quiet down after… everything."
"Mine either," he said softly, his breath warm against my shoulder. "But it was worth it. Talking like that."
There was something different in his tone this morning; a quiet vulnerability that made my chest tighten. Yesterday had been playful, teasing. Today felt weighted with the revelations of our midnight conversation.
"Lana," he began, his voice serious in a way that made my pulse quicken. His hand splayed across my abdomen, warm and solid. "About last night… "
Before I could respond or he could continue, a knock sounded at the bedroom door, sharp and insistent.
"Lana? Cam?" My mother's voice filtered through the wood. "Rise and shine! Everybody decent?"
"Hey Mom," I called back, aching to hear what Cam had been about to say. He quickly pulled on a t-shirt, and I yelled through the door, "Yeah, we're decent."
"Up and at 'em, lovebirds! You're on breakfast duty!"
Cam's arm loosened around me, and I took the opportunity to sit up, putting some much-needed distance between us. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. Part amusement, part frustration, part something deeper and more dangerous.
"Another day of our magical fake engagement," he whispered lightly, though his eyes remained serious, searching mine. "Ready for it?"
I nodded, barely trusting my voice, but definitely not trusting my morning breath.
After our midnight conversation, after waking up in his arms for the second morning in a row, with his confession about that night ten years ago still echoing in my mind, I was less sure than ever about what was real and what was pretend.
Other than the fear that this would all go terribly, terribly wrong. That felt very real.