Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Cam
Practice ran long today. Too many drills. Too many whispered conversations that die the second I get close. Too many glances from teammates that try to look casual and fail.
I’m sweating through my shirt and thinking about the shower I’m supposed to take in ten minutes.
Shower. Protein shake. Home.
I’m halfway to the players’ lot where Lila’s SUV is supposed to be waiting, when the paparazzi surge forward.
“Cam! Over here!”
“Is it true you refused mediation?”
“Are you cooperating with investigators?”
“Did you threaten her?”
Sharp. Heavy. Aimed at whatever shred of dignity I have left.
I keep my expression neutral. That’s the trick. Give them nothing. Don’t flinch. Don’t feed the machine.
But today, the noise is too close. The questions are too sharp. The flashes are too bright. My skin prickles like I’m under a heat lamp.
I square my shoulders and keep moving, head down, jaw locked. I’m not afraid of them. I’m angry at them. That’s different.
I open my mouth to say the usual line—no comment, talk to the team rep—when a voice cuts through the frenzy from somewhere behind the pack.
“Lila! LILA!”
The sound is so unexpected my body goes still.
It isn’t one voice. It’s several, stacking on top of each other, the way a crowd changes shape when it smells something new.
“Lila, look here!”
“Lila, what are you doing here?”
“Lila—give me a smile!”
My stomach drops.
I turn my head.
And there she is.
She steps around a black SUV at the edge of the lot, security forming a loose shield around her like they’re trying to hide the sun with their bodies.
Her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail.
Her sunglasses are huge, covering most of her face.
She’s wearing a cream sweater and dark jeans, simple enough that if she wasn’t her, she could blend in.
She does not blend in.
Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders. The way she holds herself like she expects the world to lunge.
My pulse spikes, hot and fast.
The moment the paparazzi realize she’s walking toward me, the energy flips.
Accusation dissolves into glee. Like my scandal was yesterday’s meal and now they’ve been served dessert.
“Are you two dating?”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Is this serious?”
“Did she come for you?”
“Are you in love?”
My first instinct is to laugh at the absurdity, because love is not what this is. Love is not what I do anymore.
Lila doesn’t answer a single question. She doesn’t even slow down.
She keeps walking, eyes fixed ahead like I’m the only stable thing in a sea of flashing lights.
She came here.
For me.
Every protective instinct I own lights up at once. Not the thoughtful kind. The reflexive kind. The kind that belongs to the part of me that’s spent years keeping men twice her size from getting past me.
I push through the bodies, ignoring the questions snapping at my back, eyes locked on her like if I look away she’ll disappear.
She shouldn’t have to do this.
There’s language in our contract about public alignment, about appearing together when it's strategic. There was no mention of ambushes in parking lots.
By the time she reaches me, the noise is deafening.
She stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell her perfume under the exhaust and sweat and asphalt. Clean. Familiar. Comforting in a way that throws me off balance.
“Hi,” she says quietly.
Not for them. For me.
There’s a plea threaded through the word.
Don’t leave me standing here alone.
I place my hand on her lower back—firm, steady—just enough to guide her forward.
The reaction is instant.
The paparazzi lose their minds.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?”
“CAM, ARE YOU CONFIRMING?”
“LILA AND CAM!”
I angle my body without thinking, shifting so I’m between her and the nearest cameras. I block half the lenses just by existing, and I know it. I’ve done this before. I know how to take up space when it matters.
I dip my head slightly, keeping my mouth near her ear. “You okay?”
She nods. Small. Tight. “I’m better now.”
Better.
Because she’s standing next to me.
The realization lands hard.
She leans in just enough that only I can hear her next words. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Not us.
Me.
Security finally finds an opening, carving a narrow path through the crowd. I don’t let go of her back as we move. I guide her toward the SUV, keeping my body angled, absorbing the shoves and shouted questions so she doesn’t have to.
Somewhere behind us, a reporter yells something about “protective boyfriend,” and the word rings in my head longer than it should.
I don’t correct them.
I don’t say anything at all.
I keep my head forward. Keep my body angled so I take the brunt of the flashes. I’m aware of everything at once—the heat of her through the thin fabric of her sweater, the way her steps sync to mine without discussion, the security team finally finding rhythm behind us.
She’s close enough now that I can feel her breathing.
I tighten my hand at her back, just slightly. A silent cue. You’re okay. I’ve got you.
She exhales. Slow. Controlled. Like she’s counting without moving her lips.
Good.
The cameras eat it up.
We reach the SUV. I open the door for her, stepping in close so my body shields her completely while she gets inside. Manny drilled it into me yesterday.
Once she’s in, I follow, shutting the door hard enough that the sound cuts through the noise like punctuation.
Inside, it’s suddenly quiet—the outside chaos muffled to a distant roar.
Lila pulls off her sunglasses and leans back, shoulders sagging as she exhales for real this time. The breath shakes a little.
“Wow,” she says softly.
I glance at her. Without the lenses, she looks smaller. More human.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods once, then again like she’s convincing herself. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
The SUV pulls away, the crowd shrinking in the mirror.
I should say something professional about optics, timing, or ERS protocols.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You didn’t have to do that.”
She turns toward me. No sunglasses. No barrier. Just tired eyes that don’t flinch.
“I know,” she says. “But you looked alone.”
She looks out the window again.
“I had it handled,” I say automatically.
“I know.” She pauses, then adds, softer, “That’s not what I meant.”
Silence settles between us—full, not empty.
Then she says, "You shouldn't have to go through this alone."
“Thanks,” I say finally.
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. “They were going to talk anyway. At least this way they weren’t only talking about you.”
I nod once.
And as her breathing evens out beside me, one thing becomes obvious.
This didn’t feel like strategy.
The city blurs past outside.
I roll my shoulders once, trying to shake out the leftover adrenaline. It doesn’t fully leave. It just settles deeper, like a weight I’m supposed to carry quietly.
We pull into the garage. The door closes behind us, sealing the outside noise away like it never existed.
Lila unbuckles her seatbelt but doesn’t open the door right away. She hesitates, fingers resting on the latch.
“They think we’re dating,” she says.
I snort softly. “They have no idea.”
She studies me for a beat, like she’s checking the answer for cracks.
Then she finally smiles and opens the door.
As we step out into the quiet, controlled space of her building, one thought settles heavy and undeniable in my chest.
She didn’t just help me today.
She chose me.
And that’s a far more dangerous thing than any headline.