Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
kennedy
“Goalies never fight. That would mean leaving the crease,” I mimic in Cameron’s baritone as I dab antiseptic on the cut above his eyebrow with more force than necessary. “Blah, blah, blah. Bullshit.”
I move on from there, pressing the ice pack against the bruise blooming on his shoulder.
He hisses in pain, but I don’t apologize.
He got ejected from the game, and even though he won’t tell me what the Warriors player said, I’m certain it was about me.
And it had to be bad for him to launch himself at the guy.
He’s the one who told me goalies rarely fight (and if they do, it’s usually with the other goalie).
From the sound of things, he’s most likely suspended for the next few games.
Right before playoffs.
“Kennedy.”
I ignore him, focusing on cleaning the cut again. It’s not that bad. One antiseptic pad was enough, I’m sure. But I’m treating it like it’s life-threatening because if I stop moving, I’ll scream.
“Kennedy,” he repeats, his voice softer.
“Stop moving,” I snap, finally looking at him.
He’s shirtless and sitting on the edge of my couch, where the lighting is better. His hair is still damp from the shower, sticking up in seventeen different directions, and there’s another bruise forming along his ribs.
I clench my jaw. “It’s hard to clean when you—”
“Baby.”
The word stops my rambling.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“Nothing’s wrong, and I am talking to you.
” I snag more gauze from my first-aid kit and zero in on his wound again.
“I think I’ve said a lot, including but not limited to ‘You’re a stupid idiot’ and ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ and ‘Seriously, why couldn’t you just stay in the crease? ’ Now please quit moving.”
Cameron grasps my wrists, halting me mid-motion. His grip is gentle, but when I try to pull away, he tightens his hold. “Kennedy. Stop.”
The frustration coursing through me burns hotter. “I’m trying to be a helpful girlfriend.”
He doesn’t so much as flinch at the way I’ve dropped the “fake” qualifier. In fact, he releases one of my wrists and cups my face, tilting my head so I have no choice but to look at him. “Is that what you are?”
“Helpful?” I cock a brow, aiming for sarcastic but landing somewhere closer to defensive. “I think so, considering I’m using my name-brand Band-Aids on you instead of the cheap ones. You’re welcome, by the way.”
That’s not what he means, but he lets me off the hook anyway.
“I’m not going to tell you what Hertz said because it doesn’t matter,” he says softly, his thumb moving across my cheek.
“Is this karma for not telling you what Gigi said when she found me at practice?”
His nightmare of an ex truly outdid herself by leaking his investment in Crumb & Co. to the press, but I’d never blame him for that. Her? She’s moved from my shit list to my if Cameron’s car happens to hit her, I’m probably driving list.
His lips harden into a straight line. “No, it’s not karma.”
“Then why won’t you tell me?” I press. I know I sound petulant, but I can’t find it in my myself to care.
“Because it’s not important. What’s important is how I responded.”
I tilt my head. “By smacking him with your blocker?”
He huffs out a laugh. “That, and I told him that you’re my girlfriend, that I’m in love with you, and that he’s lucky I didn’t take off my gear, because if I did, he’d need facial reconstruction surgery.”
My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat. Leave it to Cameron Davies to include a threat in his declaration of love.
“You told an opponent that you love me,” I say slowly, my voice high-pitched, “before you told me you love me?”
An expression flickers across Cameron’s face—regret, maybe, or embarrassment. He’s still cupping my cheek, his thumb moving in circles, the gentleness of his touch completely at odds with the way he used that same hand to punch another player tonight.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it less true.
” He brings his other hand up, both palms framing my face like I’m precious to him.
“I love you, Kennedy. I’ve probably been in love with you since the moment you told the waiter I was celiac, if I’m being honest. I love you so fucking much it scares me.
” His voice drops, going rough around the edges.
“I know that doesn’t excuse what I did. I know you’re upset—”
“I love you, too.” My chest feels too full, too tight, like my heart is trying to expand beyond the space my ribs allow. “Even though you—”
“You love me,” he interrupts, as if he needs me to repeat myself so he can confirm he wasn’t imagining it.
“Yes, even though you’re an idiot who gets into fights and gets suspended and thinks violence is an appropriate response to—”
He kisses me, cutting off my rambling with his mouth on mine. It’s soft and gentle and claiming, a reminder that I’m his. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I fucking love you, Kennedy Caplan.”
I smile against his lips. “I fucking love you, Cameron Davies, but if you interrupt me one more time, you’re going to need facial reconstruction surgery.”
His smile is boyish, but he doesn’t say another word.
“I’m upset that you’re facing a suspension because some asshole talked shit about me.”
“Kennedy. No.” His voice is firm, almost sharp.
“This is not your fault. This is Gigi’s fault.
She’s the one who leaked confidential documents.
This is Hertz’s fault. He shouldn’t have run his mouth.
This is the media’s fault for turning a legitimate investment into a scandal.
But there is nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it, and that’s all you did.
You’re building an amazing business. And it’s sure as hell not your fault that I beat the shit out of a guy who disrespected you. ”
“You shouldn’t have had to—”
“I wanted to.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “And I’d do it again and again, sweetheart, because you’re worth way more than a few games and a fine. You’re worth all of it.”
I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. “You’re insane, Cam.”
“About you? Yeah.” He brushes away my tears with his thumbs. “Completely insane. Out of my mind. Absolutely gone for you.”
After someone posted my personal number online yesterday morning, I decided ignorance is bliss and kept my phone off.
I’d planned to turn it back on last night, but Cameron showed up at my door after the game, wild-eyed and bleeding.
Then he said “I love you” and kissed me with a desperation that made my knees weak…
so, yeah, turning my phone back on slipped my mind.
But now it’s closer to noon than midnight, and I can’t avoid reality forever.
Cameron’s still asleep, sprawled across my bed, uncovered except for one corner of a comforter, the morning light cutting across his chest.
He’s breathtakingly beautiful.
And he’s mine.
I place a featherlight kiss on his chest and slip out of bed. Then I snag his t-shirt from the floor, pull it over my head, and pad quietly to the kitchen.
My phone is where I left it on the kitchen counter, screen dark and lifeless.
I stare at it for a long moment before finally pressing the power button. It takes a few seconds to turn on, and then the notifications roll in one after another after another. Texts, missed calls, voicemails… it’s nonstop.
One notification near the top—between a text about a local boutique’s sale and a spam email regarding a free cruise I supposedly won—makes my stomach sink. Before I lose my nerve, I unlock the screen and open it, my hands trembling.
To: kennedy@
From: Diane.Weber@
Subject: Ashford-Chen Wedding – Contract Review
Hi Kennedy,
I hope this email finds you well. I’m writing regarding the cake commission for the Ashford-Chen wedding. After careful consideration and discussion with the family, we have made the difficult decision to terminate our contract effective immediately.
As you know, the Ashford and Chen families maintain very high-profile public images, and given the recent media attention surrounding your association with Mr. Cameron Davies—particularly in light of his on-ice conduct last night—we feel this is in everyone’s best interest.
I want to be clear that this decision reflects no judgment on your talent or professionalism. Perhaps when things settle down, we will come upon an opportunity to collaborate.
I wish you all the best moving forward.
Warm regards,
Diane Weber
I stare at the email until the words blur together. It’s not unexpected. In my gut I knew this kind of media scrutiny wouldn’t bode well for a high-profile wedding, but the confirmation still stings.
Six thousand dollars and five tiers of champagne cake with raspberry filling gone just like that.
And the worst part? I can’t even be mad.
Perception matters as much as reality in certain situations.
Honestly, Diane’s mention of a potential working relationship in the future is more than I hoped for.
I set my phone on the counter with a deep breath out and head to take a shower.
The bathroom tile is cold under my feet as I twist the nozzle and turn it so it’s as hot as it’ll go.
When steam billows out on the other side of the glass door, I tug Cameron’s t-shirt over my head and drop it in a heap on the floor.
The water hits my skin like needles, almost too hot, but I don’t adjust it. I let it beat against my shoulders and down my back, watching the steam rise around me.
Losing the Ashford-Chen wedding should be sending me into a full panic. Instead, I just feel… over it.
Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet or maybe I’ve been grieving it for the past twenty-four hours without realizing. Maybe Cameron pushing me to tell Amelia made me appreciate that my opinion should matter to me more than anyone else’s, and even without the contract, I’m still proud of myself.
I’m lost in thought, still standing under the shower’s spray, when Cameron says my name, his voice deep and sleep addled.
Startled, I nearly trip over myself. My heart slams against my ribs as I spin and find my no-longer-fake boyfriend standing a foot away from the glass shower doors like a creepy kid in a horror movie.
He’s wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, looking at me with those green eyes that make my chest ache in the best way possible.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Does he apologize? Nope. He simply strips naked and opens the shower door, letting the cold air in momentarily as he joins me and steps under the spray. Trying to, at least.
“Your shower is small,” he comments, maneuvering himself to get the other side of his body wet.
“My shower is normal.” I move a piece of hair plastered to my cheek. “You’re just the size of a Viking, but with a way better ass.”
“Were Vikings known for their lackluster butts?”
I shrug, lips quirking up. “No. I just wanted to compliment yours.”
He laughs, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling into my neck. “I saw the email, sweetheart.”
“The one about the cruise?” I ask, tucking my head into his chest. “I’ve always wanted to go to Saint Lucia.”
“Kennedy,” he grumbles.
“Oh, c’mon, that was funny.” I tilt my head back, resting my chin on his chest. “It’s rude to look through someone’s phone, by the way. Total invasion of privacy.”
He leans down and rests his forehead against mine, water dripping down our faces and into our eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry. It’s my fault you lost out on the contract.”
“A big contract.”
“I know.”
“One that would’ve been amazing for my portfolio.”
“I know,” he says, his voice a broken whisper.
“And my bank account,” I add. “And my confidence.”
He nods, head hanging. “Fuck, baby—”
“But it’s just one contract,” I remind him before he can send himself down a spiral of guilt.
“Does it suck? Yeah. But I have three other weddings booked in June. I have two corporate events next month. Between all the spam and Diane’s email was a baby shower order from a repeat client and a few new inquiries that seemed legit. ”
“Yeah?” His eyes search mine, water streaming down his face as he looks for doubt or insincerity.
“For the first time since I started this business, I’m not questioning whether I should be doing it. Because I already fucking did it,” I tell him. “And you made me realize that.”
He kisses me, slow and sweet, like we have all the time in the world. Like we’re not standing in a shower that’s bound to go cold any second.
“Try not to start any more fights, though,” I tease when we come up for air. “Consider last night your get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Fair enough.” He huffs out a laugh. “Want to know what I did this morning?”
“Before or after reading my email?”
He ignores the jab. I suppose he doesn’t find it all that problematic, considering my penchant for snooping. “I bought five hundred blank keys.”
I pull back, searching his face, confused. I want to be supportive, but I’m not making the connection here. “Okay.”
He grins, a boyish, mischievous expression that makes my heart skip a beat. “I’m going to make tags for them that say ‘if lost, please call this number’ with Gigi’s number listed.”
For a beat, I stare at him. Then I laugh so hard I don’t know if the moisture on my face is water or tears.
“Shut up. You’re serious?”
He cocks a brow. “I don’t joke about revenge. I learned from the best.”
I thread my fingers through his wet hair, tilting his face down so I can see him. His eyes are soft, vulnerable in a way that makes my toes curl. “That’s so ridiculously devious. I love it.” I pause, smiling. “And I love you.”
“I love you, too.” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against my lips. Then another. “I love you so fucking much.”
I stand on my toes to kiss him once more. “Good. That means you won’t mind helping me wash my hair before we use up all the hot water.”
His laugh echoes off the tiles as he reaches for my shampoo, and I think that right here, with him, is exactly where I’m supposed to be.