Chapter 20 #3
By late afternoon, the tide was beginning to turn – at least partially.
Clips of Josh Winters' podcast with Cam's statement were all over social media. Winters had written a story centered around Cam’s statement, presenting a more balanced view than earlier reporting.
Sports commentators were divided: some praising Cam's integrity, others continuing to question everyone involved in the "deception. "
Redline Athletics issued a terse statement that they were "reevaluating the partnership in light of recent developments" but had made no final decisions.
In other words: still a complete disaster, just a slightly more nuanced one.
I spent the rest of the day in my office, drafting statements, fielding calls from friendly media contacts, and trying to salvage what I could of the situation. By seven p.m., I was emotionally and physically exhausted, staring blankly at my computer screen.
A soft knock at my door made me look up. Katie stood there, purse in hand.
"You should go home," she said gently. "There's nothing more you can do tonight."
I nodded, too tired to argue. "Thanks, Katie. For everything today."
"That's what I'm here for." She hesitated. "For what it's worth, the staff is on your side."
I managed a weak smile. "That means a lot."
After she left, I began gathering my things, wincing as I scrolled through yet more notifications on my phone. The hashtag #FireLanaDecker was gaining traction. Several sports blogs were calling me "the most hated woman in hockey right now." Wonderful.
Another knock, this one more hesitant. I looked up to see Cam standing in my doorway, his expression uncertain.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey."
An awkward silence stretched between us. There was so much to say, and yet I had no energy left to say any of it.
"I just wanted to check on you before I left," he finally said. "It's been... a day."
I laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. "That's one way to put it."
"Lana, I – "
"Don't," I cut him off, unable to bear whatever he was about to say. Apologies, explanations, regrets – none of it would change what had happened. "Please. I can't do this right now. I need to stay focused if I'm going to salvage this situation."
"You think I care about the damned sneakers? If this goes sideways, I lose my brother, my team…" he paused, "and the only woman I've ever loved."
My heart ached and tears stung my eyes, "I can't do this with you right now."
He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Okay. But I meant what I told Josh. Every word."
I looked away, afraid of the hurricane of emotions threatening to sweep me away . "You shouldn't have done that. The Redline deal – "
"I don't care about the deal," he interrupted. "Not if it comes at the expense of your reputation."
"It's my job to protect your reputation, Cam. Not the other way around."
"Maybe I'm tired of everyone protecting me." He stepped further into the office, his voice low and intense. "Maybe I wanted to be the one who stood up for someone else. For you."
I was too exhausted for this conversation, too raw to navigate the complicated feelings his words stirred up. "Thank you for what you did today. But I think I need some time. Space."
He nodded, a flash of hurt crossing his face before he schooled his expression. "Of course. Whatever you need." He turned to go, then paused. "For what it's worth, I'd do it again. All of it. Even knowing how it would end."
After he left, I sat alone in my darkened office, surrounded by the wreckage of the day. My phone buzzed with a text from my mother:
MOM: Saw the news. Call us when you can. We love you sweetheart.
Another from Coco:
COCO: These assholes on Twitter don't know what they're talking about. You're a badass and everyone who actually knows you knows that.
And finally, from Zayne:
ZAYNE: Coming over with pizza and bourbon in 30. No arguments.
My brother. Always the protector. The thought finally broke the dam of tears I'd been holding in all day.
I drove home in a daze, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a physical thing. As I climbed the stairs to my condo, all I could think about was crawling into bed and hiding from the world. But first, I needed to make a call.
Marcus answered on the second ring. "Lana. How are you holding up?"
"I've been better," I admitted. "Marcus, I just want you to know I won't be coming in tomorrow."
"Of course not. Take as much time as you need."
"Thanks, but it's not just for me," I explained. "The press will be camped outside the training facility. If I'm visibly present, it just adds oxygen and video to the story."
"Smart thinking, as always," he said. "Where will you go? The media might track you down at home."
I sighed, already dreading the conversations to come. "I'm going to my parents' in Siesta Key. The neighborhood has good security, and I think we both know no reporter is getting past Frank Decker."
He chuckled. "Good. Your family should be with you right now." His voice softened. "And Lana? This will pass. You've built up too much goodwill in this league for one scandal to define you."
"I hope you're right," I said, not entirely convinced. "Thank you, Marcus. For everything today."
"This organization stands behind you. Remember that."
After we hung up, I sank onto my couch, too numb even to cry. Sid, my orange tabby, jumped up beside me, butting his head against my hand for attention.
"At least you still like me," I murmured, scratching behind his ears.
Everything I'd feared had come to pass. My professional reputation was in tatters. The line between personal and professional had become hopelessly blurred. And Cam... Cam was both the cause of it all and the one person who'd stood up for me when it mattered most.
The irony wasn't lost on me: I, Lana Decker, supposed PR director extraordinaire, was now at the center of the biggest PR disaster in Slashers history. All because I'd broken my own cardinal rule: Never get personally involved with a player.
But as I stood there in my darkened bedroom, fighting back tears while I packed an overnight bag for Siesta Key, I couldn't bring myself to regret it entirely.
Not the family weekend at the beach. Not the quiet conversations under the stars.
Not the feeling of Cam's arms around me, his lips on mine, the way he'd looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world.
Real or fake, it had still been worth it.
The doorbell rang, and I cautiously checked the peephole before opening the door.
Zayne stood on the doorstep, bearing a pizza and a bottle of Blanton's bourbon, my big brother's signature crisis management toolkit.
No matter how complicated our lives became, he'd always been there for me.
And I knew without a doubt he always would.
“Hey dork,” he said sweetly.
And I burst into tears.