Chapter 24
My alarm went off at five-thirty Monday morning, though I'd barely slept.
I stared at the ceiling of my apartment, mentally rehearsing the press conference I'd scheduled for nine o'clock.
The professional part of my brain had crafted a carefully worded statement taking responsibility for the fake engagement without implicating the team or damaging Cam's image further.
The personal part of my brain was still a jumble of emotions I couldn't begin to untangle.
I showered, blow-dried my hair into submission, and put on my armor: charcoal pencil skirt, white silk blouse, and my blazer in Slashers teal.
I slipped on my favorite slay-all-day Christian Louboutin stilettos, the ones with the silver metal embellishment on their pointed toes.
Perfect for kicking butt. As I fastened silver Tiffany hoops to my ears, my phone rang.
My caller ID displayed "Joey Keegan – ESPN. "
Joey was one of the most respected hockey journalists in the country. He'd been covering the Slashers for a decade, and unlike some reporters, he'd always been fair. Even during our worst seasons, he'd never gone for cheap shots or manufactured drama. I hesitated only a second before answering.
"Joey, good morning. I appreciate the call, but I'm afraid I can't comment until after the press conference."
"I know," he said, his voice serious. "And I wouldn't normally do this, but I thought you should know something before you walk into that room."
My stomach tightened. "What's that?"
"I know who leaked the story about your engagement being fake. It was Blake Churchin."
My hand froze on my earring. Blake Churchin was a recent hire, a coaching assistant who'd joined the team just before the season started. He mainly worked with the defensemen and had always been perfectly pleasant to me. It didn't make any sense.
"How do you know that?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
"He approached me last week, tried to give me the scoop. Sent me photos of the NDA documents. I declined the story – didn't feel right. Then, obviously Anson at HockeyInsider ran with it and it blew up."
I sank onto the edge of my bed. "Why would Blake do that?"
"That's the interesting part," Joey said.
"After the story broke I circled back with him.
He told me he'd done it to help the team.
He'd thought it would torpedo Cam's Montreal deal and keep him with the Slashers.
My bosses were pissed that I'd passed on the scoop, but even after it broke I could never confirm a second source. "
I closed my eyes, processing this betrayal. Someone inside our organization, someone I worked with daily, had deliberately sabotaged Cam and me to manipulate his career decisions.
"I saw the game in Boston, Lana," Joey continued, his voice softening.
"I was right behind the glass when Morozov said that shit about you to Cam, and I saw his reaction up close.
I saw Cam's face when he spotted you on the Jumbotron.
I've been covering this league for fifteen years, and I've never seen anything like the way he played after that moment. "
I swallowed hard, remembering the intensity in Cam's eyes after he'd seen me, the way his entire game had transformed.
"You don't have to confirm anything," Joey added. "This is just a courtesy call, professional respect. But I thought you should know who was really behind this before you fall on your sword in a couple hours."
"Thank you, Joey," I managed. "I appreciate you telling me."
"For what it's worth," he said before hanging up, "I've never known you to lie to the press in all the years I've covered the team, and I sincerely hope you keep your job. Whatever you and Cam were doing, I don't think it was fake. Not really."
I sat there for several minutes after the call ended, turning Joey's words over in my mind.
Blake Churchin. The leak had come from within our organization – from someone who thought he was acting in the team's best interest. The betrayal stung, but in a strange way, it was also validating.
This wasn't just about me making a mistake.
Someone else had deliberately tried to sabotage us.
The media room at Slashers Arena was packed when I arrived.
The scent of coffee and electronics filled the air, mingling with the faint backdrop of ice and sweat that permeated every NHL arena.
Cameras from every major sports network and gossip site lined the back wall.
Beat reporters filled the seats, tablets and notebooks ready.
Social media team members hovered along the periphery, phones poised to capture every moment.
I spotted Marcus and Coach Sully in deep conversation near the side entrance.
I approached them, the paper of my prepared statement crackling slightly in my grip.
"Blake Churchin leaked the NDA," I said without preamble.
Coach Sully's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know?"
"Joey Keegan called me this morning. Said Blake approached him with the story and photos of the documents. Joey declined, but as we all know, Blake found someone else willing to run with it."
Marcus cursed under his breath. "That explains a lot."
Coach Rocco shook his head in disbelief. "Blake's been pushing hard against the Montreal deal in staff meetings. Thinks we can't afford to lose Cam."
"I'll deal with Blake," Coach Sully said, his voice ominously calm. "You focus on getting through the next thirty minutes, Lana."
I nodded, suddenly noticing movement at the back of the room.
My parents and Nana Decker had arrived, slipping into seats near the wall.
My mother looked fierce and determined, my father stoic as always.
Nana looked ready for battle, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her lucky Slashers brooch pinned to her cardigan.
And beside them – Zayne. The last person in the universe I expected to be here today.
He'd been incredibly supportive since the scandal broke, but showing up to a press conference was another level entirely.
As I made my way to the podium, I spotted more familiar faces.
Logan and Coco were there, holding hands in the second row.
Several other players had shown up too: Pietro, Miller, even Nick Fosse, our goaltender.
The sight of so many team members, my extended hockey family, made something tighten in my chest.
I took my place behind the microphone, carefully arranging my statement and supporting documents on the podium. The camera flashes intensified and the room fell silent.
"Good morning," I began, my voice steadier than I expected. "Thank you all for coming. I've called this press conference to address the recent reports regarding my relationship with Cam Murphy."
I paused, taking a deep breath.
"As the team's Director of Communications, I hold myself to the highest standards of integrity and transparency.
Recent reports have suggested that an engagement to Cam Murphy was fabricated for publicity purposes.
I'm here today to correct factual errors in the reporting and take responsibility for my part in this situation. "
I glanced down at my prepared text, acutely aware of the sapphire ring on my finger catching the light from the overhead fluorescents. I'd worn it today – for Cam, for myself, for us.
"The truth is that Cam and I have known each other for ten years, since our college days at Boston University.
Our relationship has always been complicated – both professionally and personally.
When the opportunity arose for Cam to secure the Redline endorsement deal, I agreed to help present an image that would satisfy the company's morality clause requirements.
Neither Cam nor I made a single statement to the media, Redline, or anyone in the Slashers organization claiming that we were engaged. "
I continued, "We've been informed that the source of the leak of certain confidential documents – which are standard practice in situations involving image management – was a member of our coaching staff hoping to impact Cam Murphy's standing with other teams in an effort to keep him with the Slashers. "
The side door of the media room swung open with such force that it bounced against the wall. Every head in the room turned.
Cam stood in the doorway, breathing hard like he'd sprinted here from the locker room.
He was wearing jeans and a well-worn, blue t-shirt the same color as his eyes, emblazoned with Taylor Swift Fearless Tour – hardly his usual press conference attire.
His hair was adorably mussed, and the bruise along his jaw from the Boston fight was still visible.
Our eyes met across the room, and something electric passed between us.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said with his trademark grin, not to the room but directly to me.
Murmurs and chuckles rippled through the audience as Cam made his way to the front. Camera shutters clicked in rapid succession. I stood frozen at the podium, my carefully prepared statement forgotten.
"What are you doing?" I whispered as he approached.
"Something I should have done a long time ago," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.
He stepped up beside me, and after a moment's hesitation, I moved aside to give him access to the microphone. The room fell into a hushed silence.
"I wasn't supposed to be here today," Cam began, his voice clear and strong. "Lana told me to stay away. Let her handle it. That's what she does – she handles things. Fixes problems. Takes care of every member of this team."