Chapter 23
The knock came exactly one hour and fourteen minutes after I'd returned to the hotel room.
I knew because I'd been staring at the clock between checking my phone obsessively, pacing a groove in the carpet between the window and the door.
I still wore Cam's jersey over my jeans, the sapphire ring on my finger like a security blanket.
My phone screen showed a stream of unread messages:
Team Group Chat:
LOGAN: Anyone heard from Murph?
PIETRO: He bolted from the bus like his ass was on fire
ZAYNE: ??
I'd changed positions approximately thirty times – sitting on the bed, standing by the window watching for the team bus, curled up in the armchair trying to calm my racing heart, back to pacing.
The city lights of Boston blurred through my exhausted eyes.
The hotel room felt too quiet, too empty, the hum of the heating system the only sound besides my own restless movements.
When the knock finally came, three soft raps, tentative in a way that was so unlike Cam's usual confident arrival, my heart slammed against my ribs. I froze mid-step, then practically ran to the door, stopping just short of yanking it open. My hand hovered over the handle.
Deep breath. Another.
The metal was cool under my trembling fingers as I turned the lock.
Cam stood in the hallway looking like he'd been through a war.
He was wearing his post-game black suit and dark gray tie; his duffel bag was dropped carelessly at his feet.
His hair still was damp from his post-game shower, curling slightly at his neck the way it did when he didn't bother to style it.
A bruise was already blooming along his jaw from the fight, purple-black against his skin.
Exhaustion carved lines around his eyes, and he swayed slightly on his feet like staying upright took effort.
But his eyes – those deep, ocean blue eyes that had haunted me for a decade – locked on mine with an intensity that stole my breath.
"Hi," I whispered.
"Hi," he said back, and something in his voice cracked like ice breaking.
That was all it took. I grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket with both hands and pulled him into the room, his bag dragging behind him.
The door had barely clicked shut before his arms came around me, crushing me against his chest with a strength that felt cathartic.
His face buried in my hair, and I could feel him breathing me in – or maybe that was me. Maybe it was both of us.
"Lana," he whispered against my temple. "I haven't slept for days and all I want to do is climb into bed and hold you."
His breath was warm on my cheek, and the scent of him – soap and hard-fought victory and that uniquely Cam scent underneath – made my knees weak. I could feel his heart hammering against mine, evidence that I wasn't the only one falling apart.
I pulled back just enough to see his face, my hands framed his jaw carefully, avoiding the worst of the bruise. "You're hurt."
"Doesn't matter." His hands tightened on my waist, fingers pressing into me like he was afraid I'd disappear. "You were there. You came to Boston. Saw you on the screen and thought I was hallucinating or something."
"Of course I came. I couldn't stay away." I said, and then his mouth crashed into mine.
This kiss was nothing like our controlled moments during the fake engagement.
This was desperation and relief and two days of agony poured into the clash of lips and tongues and shared breath.
His hands tangled in my hair, I felt a shiver run down my spine as I pressed closer to him, needing to erase every inch of distance between us.
His lips met mine with an intensity that made my heart race, kissing me like a drowning man desperate for air.
The world around us faded into a blur as the heat of his body against mine became my sole focus, every touch igniting a spark that made me crave more.
When we finally broke apart, both gasping, he rested his forehead against mine. His hands shook where they held me.
"When I saw you on that screen," he said roughly, "wearing my jersey, the ring still on your finger... Christ, Lana. The whole arena disappeared. There was just you."
"Come sit," I said, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. "You look like you're about to collapse."
He sank onto the mattress like his strings had been cut, pulling me down beside him. Our knees touched, and he immediately laced our fingers together, gripping tight.
"The last two days," he started, then stopped, shaking his head. "I haven't slept more than an hour at a time. Could barely choke down food. Logan said I was a zombie at practice. Coach threatened to bench me if I didn't get my head right."
"Me too," I admitted. "I wrote about fifteen different texts to you and deleted them all. Coco finally told me to stop being an idiot and just come to Boston."
"Remind me to send Coco flowers. Or a car. Maybe a small island."
Despite everything, I laughed. "She'd probably prefer tickets to Paris, honestly."
"Done," he smiled.
"What happened out there tonight?" I asked.
His face darkened suddenly. "When that Boston asshole said – " He cut himself off, jaw clenching hard enough that I worried about his teeth.
"What did he say?" I asked gently.
Cam's eyes went cold as arctic ice. "He made a crude comment about you being available now that your fake engagement was over. Said maybe he'd look you up when they played in Florida. Used some... colorful language about what he'd do."
"Cam – "
"And then he called you a puck bunny," he growled. "Said he'd like to...never mind. I'm not repeating it. I saw red. Nobody talks about you like that. Nobody."
My heart clenched at the protective fury in his voice. "So you tried to punch him through the ice?"
"Would've succeeded if the refs hadn't intervened." A ghost of his usual grin flickered across his face. "Zayne got some solid hits in too."
"I saw."
"Then, when I saw you up on the jumbotron, I couldn't believe you came... and then I realized... you weren't just wearing any jersey. You were wearing mine. Number twenty-two. My name." His voice dropped to a whisper. "My ring still on your finger after everything.
I lifted our joined hands, the sapphire catching the hotel room lights.
"I couldn't take it off. Even when I was furious with you, even when I thought we were done.
I couldn't take it off for more than a minute.
It felt... wrong. Like taking it off would break the spell, and make everything really over. "
Something shifted in his expression, raw vulnerability replacing the intensity.
"After I saw you, it was like someone flipped a switch.
One of the ESPN reporters said I played the last ten minutes like a man on fire.
Everything clicked into place – every pass, every shot.
I've been skating through fog since Thursday afternoon, and then there you were, and I could see clearly again. "
"We do need to talk about Montreal," I said quietly, even though the words tasted like ash.
He sighed, the exhaustion showing more clearly now. His shoulders slumped. "I know."
"I can't tell you what to do," I said carefully. "If I say stay and you do, what happens in three years when you see what that money could have bought? If I say go and you listen, I'll always wonder if I pushed you away. It has to be your choice, Cam."
"But how can I choose when I don't know where we stand?" He turned to face me fully, shifting closer. "Would you... would you even consider coming to Montreal with me?"
My heart clenched painfully. "I thought about it.
But Montreal's PR Director has been with the club for fifteen years and he's never going anywhere.
And honestly? After this scandal, taking a lesser position and hoping to work my way up would be career suicide.
I need to stay put and solve this, or I'm not going to come out of it alive.
"The NHL is your dream. I get it," he said.
"Since I was a kid," I confirmed. "I've always known the NHL was where I belonged. And St. Pete... my parents are getting older. Zayne is there. My whole life is there."
"Mine too," he said quietly. "The Montreal offer.
.. it's going to be life-changing money.
Ryan says it'll end up eight figures plus bonuses.
But Zayne..." His voice caught. "Christ, Lana.
He's the steadiest thing I've ever had in my life.
Fourteen years of friendship. The closest thing to a real brother I've got.
And more than that, even if you and I figure this out, things with him will change. That scares me."
I nodded.
"But for the record, if anybody can get Pandora back in the box, it's you." He squeezed my hand.
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of all the complications pressing down on us. Outside, Boston traffic hummed, and somewhere down the hall, a door slammed.
"I need you to trust me," Cam said finally, capturing both my hands in his.
His palms were warm, strong from years of stick handling.
"I know I haven't earned it. I know I left you once before when I should have stayed.
But I need you to trust that you're the most important thing in the world to me. "
"Cam – "
"Remember what I said at your parents' house?
About bad decisions?" His eyes locked on mine, refusing to let go.
"Every choice I've made since that night in college has been about protecting what I thought I couldn't lose.
But I was protecting the wrong things. I was so afraid of losing Zayne, of losing my place on the team, that I was willing to lose you instead.
And that's the worst decision I've ever made. "
My throat tightened. "What are you saying?"