Chapter 22 #3
I raised my eyes to the massive screen hanging from the ceiling and felt my stomach drop. There I was, in full HD glory, wearing Cam's jersey, the sapphire ring clearly visible on my hand. The camera lingered, and a murmur went through the crowd as recognition dawned.
"Shit," I breathed, instinctively starting to shrink back.
"Take a breath, look right at me and nod like I just said something fascinating," Trixie advised, leaning in towards me. "You're okay, what scandal?, no big deal, we're just supporting our team up here..."
I did as instructed, forcing my features into a calm mask while my heart hammered against my ribs.
On the ice, the penalty boxes were being sorted. Cam, still breathing hard from the fight, had his back to the jumbotron. But as the crowd's murmur grew louder, he turned – and froze.
Even from this distance, I could see the exact moment he spotted me on the screen.
His whole body went still, his eyes locked on my image.
I couldn't look away, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but hold his gaze across the impossible distance between us.
I gave up the pretense of calm and smiled directly at the camera, letting him see me – really see me.
The camera finally moved on to another section of fans, but the damage – or maybe the miracle – was done. Cam knew I was here.
"Well," Trixie said beside me, "that cat's out of the bag. That's fine, we've planned for this too."
I sank back into my seat, heart hammering. "So much for staying under the radar."
"Are you okay?" Coco asked, squeezing my hand.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I didn't exactly plan on announcing my presence via jumbotron, but I guess this saves me from having to figure out what to say to him first."
Shayna leaned in. "If it helps, Cam looked more awake in those five seconds than he has all game."
She wasn't wrong. When play resumed after the penalties were sorted (Cam got five minutes for fighting, offset by the Bruins player's five), something had changed. Cam's entire demeanor was different: focused, intense, present in a way he hadn't been all night.
"What did that Bruins player say to him?" I asked Coco again.
She raised an eyebrow. "My guess is he was talking shit about you." She cracked up, and suddenly I was too. "Wrong move, buddy..."
The third period started with the Slashers still down by one goal, but the energy on the ice had shifted.
Cam came out of the penalty box like a man possessed, forechecking with ferocious intensity, winning puck battles, creating chances.
Twice he nearly scored, only to be denied by brilliant saves from the Boston goaltender.
"That's more like it," Marcy said approvingly. "Looks like your boy just needed a little motivation."
The minutes ticked down, tension mounting with each Slashers rush. With five minutes left in regulation, Boston took a penalty for tripping Logan as he drove toward the net. Power play opportunity.
"Come on, come on," Coco muttered beside me, clutching my arm.
The Slashers' first power play unit took the ice: Logan at center, Miller at right wing, Cam at left wing, Zayne and Pietro back at the blue line at the points. They moved the puck with precision, looking for openings in Boston's penalty kill formation.
Logan won a face-off back to Miller who feinted a shot before sliding the puck to Pietro. Pietro found Cam on the left side, and Cam one-timed a rocket toward the net – only to have it blocked by a diving defenseman.
"So close!" Shayna groaned.
Boston cleared the puck, but the Slashers regrouped quickly. This time, Logan carried it into the zone himself, drawing two defenders before dropping it back to Zayne. Zayne fired a cross-ice pass to Cam, who was cutting toward the net.
In one fluid motion that seemed to happen in slow motion, Cam received the pass, deked around a defender, and fired a shot top shelf that the goalie had no chance of stopping.
The red light flashed. The horn blared. The Slashers bench erupted.
"YES!" I screamed, jumping up and pulling Coco with me. The rest of the WAGs were on their feet too, hugging and cheering.
When the celebration line broke apart, Cam skated to center ice and looked up – straight at our box. He couldn't possibly see me specifically from that distance in the dimly lit arena, but somehow, I felt his eyes find mine.
He raised his stick in a deliberate salute, and my heart practically burst through my chest.
"That," Trixie said with satisfaction, "was for you."
The game ended tied 1-1, sending it to overtime. Before the extra period could start, Coach Sully called the team to the bench for a quick strategy session.
When overtime began, Logan, Zayne, and Pietro took their usual positions for the opening face-off. But as they skated to center ice, Sully called Pietro back and sent Cam out instead.
"That's different," Shayna noted. "Bold move by Sully."
"Or maybe he just knows something we don't," Trixie said with a knowing smile.
Three-on-three overtime was always heart-stopping – wide open ice, end-to-end rushes, incredible scoring chances.
Both teams had golden opportunities in the first minute: a breakaway for Boston that Fosse somehow stopped with his toe; a two-on-one for the Slashers that ended with Logan hitting the post.
Two minutes in, Boston got caught on a bad line change. Logan pounced on the loose puck and flew up the right wing with Cam on his left and Zayne trailing. The lone Boston defender backed up, trying to take away the pass to Cam while still challenging Logan.
Logan slowed just enough to draw the defender toward him, then slid the puck across to Cam.
The Boston goalie pushed hard to his right, anticipating Cam's shot – but instead of shooting, Cam immediately sent the puck back across the crease to Zayne, who had continued his rush and was now wide open on the right side.
Zayne buried it in the empty net before the goalie could recover.
Game over. Slashers win.
The celebration was instant and euphoric. Zayne was swarmed by his teammates, disappearing under a pile of blue jerseys. When they finally let him up, the first thing he did was point to Cam, acknowledging the perfect pass that had made the goal possible.
Cam nodded back, then once again turned to look up at our box – this time raising both arms in triumph.
"I think that's his way of saying 'I see you,'" Coco said softly.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The emotions of the moment were too raw, too overwhelming.
Pride in watching Cam fight back from his early struggles.
Joy at seeing the team – Cam, Zayne, and Logan especially – come together for a dramatic win.
Fear about what would happen next. What I would say to him. What he would say to me.
Trixie touched my arm. "We should head back to the hotel right away. The boys will be a while with media and cooldown, and it will be better if you're not here when the press starts looking for you."
I hesitated, part of me wanting to stay, to wait for Cam, to finally face what I'd been running from. But Trixie was right – the middle of a hockey arena after my face had been plastered on the jumbotron was not the place for that conversation.
"Okay," I agreed. "Back to the hotel."
The extraction was as carefully orchestrated as our arrival had been.
While most fans were still celebrating the win or filing out of the arena, we were escorted through service corridors to a loading dock where the SUVs waited.
Trixie, ever the strategist, had arranged for decoy vehicles to wait at the VIP exit, drawing away the photographers.
On the ride back to the Four Seasons, I stared out at Boston's lights, my mind racing. After days of hiding, of shame and uncertainty, I'd made myself visible again – not just to Cam, but to the hockey world. There was no going back now.
"What are you thinking?" Coco asked quietly.
"That I have no idea what I'm going to say to him when I see him," I admitted.
"You'll figure it out," she said, squeezing my hand. "And for what it's worth, I think you being here already said a lot."
Once we were safely back in our room, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bed, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had carried me through the game was fading, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
"The team bus probably won't be back for at least an hour," Coco said, checking her phone.
"There's already media chatter about me being at the game, so they'll get extra questions, Cam in particular" I said. Quickly, I shot off a quick text to Coach Sully to ask him to remind the team again that the answer to any questions regarding Cam, me, or our relationship should be "no comment."
Not that the players should have any questions about what to say. I'd already texted and emailed them all multiple times with specific guidelines.
"Just so you know, once the guys get back, I'm staying in Logan's room tonight unless you need me. He's supposed to be bunking with Cam, so unless one of you calls me tonight to tell me to sleep in my own room, I'll assume all is well." Coco gathered a few things into her overnight bag.
I turned my head to look at her. "Are you sure? I don't want to kick you out of your own room."
She smiled. "Please. Besides, you and Cam need space to talk." She zipped up her bag. "I'll text you in the morning."
After she left, I raided the minibar, trying to calm my nerves and organize my thoughts. What did I want from this conversation with Cam? Closure? Reconciliation? A way forward, despite Montreal and the scandal and ten years of misunderstandings?
All of the above.
I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the blank screen. Should I text him? Or just wait for him to come find me? What if he didn't want to see me at all?
No. I'd seen his face when he spotted me on the jumbotron. I'd watched him transform on the ice afterward. He wanted to see me as much as I needed to see him.
Taking a deep breath, I typed:
ME: I don't need any more space. Room 1422.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then set the phone down and waited.
For Cam. For answers. For whatever came next.