Chapter 18 #2
"I'm not scared," I protested, my shoulders tensing. "I'm realistic. He's probably going to Montreal, Coco. It's... fine. Just business."
Coco's eyebrow arched elegantly. "I saw you two at the awards show. In the box with your folks. I saw your face when he scored that hat trick. That wasn't just business, Lana."
The memory of last night – watching Cam dominate the ice, the electricity between us afterward, his strong hands on my body, his mouth on mine – threatened to overwhelm me. I dug my nails into my palm, trying to stay present.
"It doesn't matter," I said finally. "Montreal's offering the deal of a lifetime. And why wouldn't he take it? It's an incredible opportunity."
"Has he said he's taking it?" Coco asked.
"He says he hasn't decided," I admitted, smoothing my blazer. "But it's Cam. Hockey is everything to him."
Coco set her water bottle down, leaning forward. "Can I ask you something? And I want an honest answer."
I nodded warily.
"Are you mad that he might leave, or are you mad that history's repeating itself?"
The question hit me like a body check, knocking the air from my lungs. "I – what do you mean?"
"I mean, are you really upset about Montreal, or are you upset because once again, Cam might choose hockey over you? Just like in college?"
I stared at her, speechless for a moment. "Is there a difference?"
"A huge one," she said gently. "One's about circumstances. The other's about your worth."
The insight hit uncomfortably close to home.
I twisted the ring on my finger, feeling exposed.
"Maybe both," I admitted quietly. "I just..
. I opened up to him. I let myself believe we could have something real.
And then, not even twelve hours later, I get ambushed in a meeting and find out he's considering moving across the continent. "
"Did he know about the offer when you were together last night?" Coco asked.
"He says he didn't."
"And you don't believe him?"
I hesitated. Below us, Cam took a shot that went wide of the net, something he rarely did. Coach Sully shouted something, and Cam nodded sharply, his movements stiff with frustration.
"I want to," I said finally. "But the timing..." I trailed off. "I don't know. It feels like the universe is playing some cosmic joke on me. Like the second I let myself be vulnerable, everything falls apart."
Coco reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened between you two last night, but whatever it was? It wasn't fake. He risked your brother's wrath by declaring his love for you. And we both know how that could have gone."
I thought about Cam's words from our confrontation earlier: Last night was real. Everything I said, everything I felt – it was all real. I wanted to believe him. Wanted it more than I'd allowed myself to want anything in years.
"Even if that's true," I said slowly, "it doesn't change the reality. He has a career-making opportunity. I have my job here. The timing is all wrong – yet again."
"Or maybe the timing is exactly right. Maybe this is your chance to break the pattern. To choose each other despite the circumstances."
"I can't go to Montreal. I'm the youngest PR Director in the league, one of only a handful of women to ever hold the job.
Jack Donnelly has been in my position for fifteen years in Montreal, and plans to be buried below his desk so he can still run comms after he dies.
" I tried to laugh, but it came out hollow.
"Besides, I can't ask Cam to give up an opportunity like this for me. "
"Have you asked him what he wants?" Coco challenged.
"Not in so many words," I admitted. "But – "
"But you assumed," she finished. "Just like you've been assuming all along that what was between you wasn't real."
The observation stung. "I'm being realistic."
Coco laughed, the sound warm but exasperated. "Realistic? Lana, you've been in love with this man for ten years. There's nothing realistic about any of this. It's messy and complicated and painful – but that doesn't mean it's not real."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words stuck in my throat. Had I? Been in love with him all this time?
My emotions hit me with such force that I had to grip the railing. All those years of keeping my distance, of telling myself I was over him – and here I was, still falling apart at the thought of losing him. Again.
Coco's expression softened. "Talk to him. Listen to him. Give him a chance to tell you what he wants before you decide it's not you."
I turned to face her, not bothering to hide the tears that had gathered in my eyes. "I don't know if I can. What if I open up and he still leaves? Or what if he stays and then resents me later because he turned down the opportunity of a lifetime?"
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I know it's scary. But for what it's worth? That man is crazy about you. And I think you're crazy about him too."
"It's not that simple," I whispered.
"It never is," she agreed. "But sometimes, the messy, hard, complicated stuff? That's the stuff worth fighting for."
She hugged me tightly and I sank into her embrace, letting her comfort me as the walls I'd so carefully constructed around my heart continued to crumble, leaving me more exposed than I'd allowed myself in years.
I just didn't know if I had any fight left in me.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with a text from Marcus.
MARCUS: Need statement for Redline delay ASAP. Meet now?
ME: On my way.
"I have to go," I said, grateful for the excuse. "Media stuff."
I pulled away, my professional mask firmly in place like armor. Coco gave me a look that said she knew exactly what I was doing, but she didn't call me out. Instead, she squeezed my arm again.
"Just... don't make any decisions you can't take back, okay?"
The Sports Illustrated photographers arrived twenty minutes later, setting up along the glass, checking angles and light.
I nodded to them, keeping my expression neutral as I scanned the ice.
The players had transitioned to scrimmage, and I couldn't help but notice that Logan kept putting himself between Cam and the other players, as if he was worried about what Cam might do.
I'd never seen him play with such reckless aggression before.
"Miss Decker," one of the photographers called, breaking my trance, "where would you like us to set up for the team photo later?"
I forced my attention away from the ice. "The center logo would be best. I'll coordinate with Coach when they're done with drills."
As I spoke, I felt eyes on me. Looking up, I caught Cam watching me from the ice, his helmet under his arm, sweat glistening on his forehead.
Our gazes locked for a moment, something unreadable passing across his face before I deliberately turned away, focusing on my tablet and pretending to check something important.
My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. This was ridiculous. I'd spent years maintaining professional distance from Cam. I could certainly do it again now. While simultaneously pretending to be engaged to him. Sure. Not a problem.
"Everything good?" Logan skated over to the boards near me, his captain's jersey standing out against the practice jerseys of the other players. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes, dark and perceptive, showed concern.
"Perfectly fine," I answered briskly, not meeting his gaze. "Looking forward to seeing the SI feature."
Logan glanced over his shoulder to where Cam was now taking shots on goal, his slap shots noticeably harder than usual. One ricocheted off the post with a metal clang that made several people jump. "Uh-huh," he said, unconvinced. "You know, if you two need to talk… "
"We don't," I cut him off, more sharply than I'd intended. I softened my tone. "It's being handled professionally."
Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning against the boards. "Professionally, huh? Is that why Cam just about took Blackwood's head off with that shot?" He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened, but I know that look on your face."
"What look?" I asked defensively, straightening the collar of my blazer.
"The one that says you're five seconds from either crying or punching someone, but you're too professional to do either."
I blinked, surprised at his perception. "I'm fine, Logan."
He sighed. "You know, sometimes I think you and Cam are more alike than either of you realizes. Both of you put the team first, even when it's killing you inside."
The observation hit uncomfortably close to home. Before I could respond, Coach Sully blew his whistle, calling the players together. Logan gave me one last significant look before skating away.
I spent the next hour directing the photo shoot, positioning players, suggesting angles, all while maintaining a careful buffer zone between myself and Cam.
If the photographers noticed the awkwardness, they didn't mention it.
I felt Cam's eyes on me several times, but I refused to meet his gaze directly, focusing instead on my tablet or on other players.
When I had to speak to him, I kept my tone professionally detached. "Cam, can you move to the left a bit? We need to balance the shot."
He complied silently, his jaw tight. When his arm brushed against mine as he moved past me later, I stepped back as if burned, pretending to check something on my phone. The hurt that flashed across his face was quickly masked, but I caught it. It twisted in my chest like a knife.
Professional to the core, that was me. That was Cam.
After practice, I was gathering my things when a shadow fell across the bench where I'd been sitting.
"You're avoiding him," Zayne said, not a question but a statement. His practice jersey was dark with sweat, his hair damp beneath his backwards cap.
I looked at my brother, his dark eyes serious. "I'm working."