Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Cam
Lila and I are in the passenger drop-off outside Jax’s favorite rooftop restaurant, and my chest is doing that tight little squeeze like it’s trying to warn me about an oncoming tornado.
Except the tornado is my teammates.
And they are about to collide with Lila Hart.
She’s beside me in the backseat, pulling her coat closer even though the night is mild. Her hair is tucked neatly, her posture controlled, like she’s about to walk onto a stage—only this stage smells like fries and questionable decisions.
I glance at her and immediately regret it because she looks… stunning. Not red-carpet stunning. Not “sparkle until you blind someone” stunning.
Just her. Quiet. Gorgeous. Unfair.
The driver opens the door and the city noise hits us. Above, the rooftop glows with string lights and heat lamps and the kind of curated ambiance that screams, We’re chill, while charging twenty-five dollars for a cocktail that tastes like a houseplant.
Lila steps out first. I follow.
As we walk toward the private patio entrance, her voice drops.
“Your teammates know we’re coming?” she asks.
It’s a whisper, but it carries a whole world of please don’t let me be surprised.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re… prepared.”
Prepared is a polite lie.
My team is a pack of golden retrievers who found a steak and learned how to whistle.
I’m already running the lineup in my head like I’m calling plays.
Jax is going to come in hot. He’s incapable of not coming in hot. Devon will say something that makes HR in three different states break into a sweat. Hunter will watch everything with those quiet eyes that make you feel like you’re being evaluated for a loan.
And all of them will look at Lila and then look at me like I’m the punchline to a joke I don’t get.
Because that’s what this is to them.
Cam Drake, who doesn’t date. Cam Drake, who has been living like romance is a contagious disease. Cam Drake, showing up with his brand new wife.
My chest tightens again.
Like I’m bringing something breakable into a room full of elbows.
We reach the patio door. The hostess gives us a smile that’s too bright to be real. Someone inside catches sight of Lila through the glass.
The reaction is immediate.
A chorus of whistles and cheers detonates like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment to ruin my life.
I step in first on instinct, like my body wants to block the sound from hitting her full force. The team is spread around a long wooden table, skyline behind them, plates already stacked, glasses lifted.
Lila pauses beside me. I feel it, that tiny hitch in her breath. Then she does something I wasn’t expecting.
She laughs.
Soft, a little nervous, but real. Like the sound surprises her as much as it surprises me.
My hand twitches.
I want to reach for hers. I want to anchor her, to make a statement my mouth isn’t brave enough to make.
I don’t do it.
The last thing she needs is me turning this into a performance.
So I shift closer. Not touching. Just there—close enough to take the hit first.
Jax lets out another loud whistle and cups his hands around his mouth like we’re at a pep rally.
“LOOK AT YOU,” he yells, already grinning. “brOUGHT A GIRL.”
I wince. Lila’s eyes flick to mine, amused and wary at the same time, like she’s bracing for impact but willing to see if it’s funny.
I lean toward her, voice low.
“You can still run,” I murmur. “I’ll tell them you got abducted by aliens while we were at the museum.”
Her smile tugs up at one corner. It’s small, but it lands in my chest like a warm weight.
“Sounds reasonable,” she whispers back.
“With Jax?” I say. “Anything’s reasonable.”
Her laugh comes again, a little easier.
And as we step fully onto the patio, with my team watching and the city lights throwing gold across her hair, one thought hits me so clean it’s almost annoying.
This is my world.
And I want her in it.
Jax reaches us first. He grins like a man who has been waiting all day to ruin my peace. He slings an arm around my shoulders.
“Well,” he announces to the table, “if it isn’t the man who swore off relationships like they were gluten.”
Groans ripple around the table. Devon claps. Someone whistles again.
Jax looks at Lila like he’s just discovered Bigfoot. “And you must be the woman who breached the Cam Drake Ice Fortress.”
Lila blinks. Once. Twice.
“What?”
I drop my head. “Please don’t encourage him.”
Too late.
“Oh, it’s real,” Devon says, already halfway out of his chair, eyes shining. “We’ve tried to crack him for years. He’s an Ice fortress. With an emotional moat. And dragons.”
“Metaphorical dragons,” Hunter adds calmly from further down the table, lifting his glass. “Mostly in the form of sarcasm and avoidance.”
Lila laughs.
My chest does something stupid.
“I feel like I should apologize,” she says, eyes bright. “I didn’t know I was walking into a medieval situation.”
Jax beams. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re thrilled. Truly. The group chat has been feral.”
Devon leans in, dramatic hand to his chest. “Cam told us he got married. And to keep it on the down low. But I never imagined that you would be who he brought as his wife.”
“If you say wife one more time, I’m leaving,” I mutter.
Lila glances at me, amused. “The paperwork is very clear about terminology.”
The table loses it.
Devon pounds the wood. “SHE’S FUNNY.”
Jax points at me like he’s cracked a code. “You see? This is why. This is how she got past the walls.”
I guide Lila toward the open seats, subtly angling myself between her and the loudest voices without making it obvious. She notices anyway. I can tell by the way her shoulders ease once she’s seated, once the noise has a shape and a perimeter.
I take the chair beside her. Close, but not touching.
The skyline stretches behind us, lights blinking like the city is winking at its own reflection. Plates are passed. Drinks appear.
Lila looks around the table, curiosity softening her expression. “So,” she says lightly, “how long have you all been planning to interrogate me?”
Hunter smiles. It’s small, but genuine. “We were aiming for casual curiosity.”
“That’s a lie,” Devon says. “We’re nosy.”
“Professionally nosy,” Jax adds.
Lila nods solemnly. “I see.”
The banter rolls on, easy and loud and familiar. Jax tells a story about my rookie year that I categorically deny. Devon embellishes it anyway. Hunter listens more than he talks, asking Lila thoughtful questions about touring, writing music, and balancing creativity with pressure.
She leans in when someone speaks. Teases Devon when he gets dramatic. Laughs again—covers her mouth again—and every time she does, something tight inside me loosens.
This feels… right.
At one point, Jax leans back, studying us with a grin that’s softened around the edges. “You know,” he says, “I’ve never seen Cam bring anyone around. Not since his last girlfriend.”
The table quiets. Just a little.
Lila glances at me. Not asking. Just checking.
I shrug. “It could be because they scare people.”
“True,” Devon agrees. “We’re a lot.”
Lila smiles. “I’ve done stadium tours. I think I can handle dinner.”
Jax lifts his glass. “To Lila. For surviving the first fifteen minutes.”
Everyone cheers.
I don’t lift my glass right away. I’m watching her instead. The way she fits here. The way she isn’t shrinking. The way she isn’t armor-plated, either.
She belongs at this table.
Not in a trying-too-hard way. Not in a performance. She just… engages. Asks questions. Listens. Laughs at the right moments and the wrong ones. Calls Devon out when he exaggerates, which is often. Teases Jax about his inability to tell a story without becoming the hero.
“Objectively,” she says, sipping her drink, “if everyone in your story is impressed by you, I’m suspicious.”
The table howls.
Devon wipes his eyes. “Cam, she’s lethal.”
I nod once. “I know.”
Hunter asks her more about songwriting. Not the surface-level stuff. The process. The stuck places. What she does when a lyric won’t land.
Her face changes instantly.
She leans forward, elbows on the table. Starts talking with her hands. About melodies arriving half-formed. About chasing a line for weeks. About how sometimes the right word doesn’t feel right until it hurts a little.
I watch the way her shoulders relax as she talks. The way her voice steadies when she’s speaking about something that belongs to her. The way she forgets to self-edit.
She laughs when Devon asks if heartbreak songs are easier.
“Easier?” she says. “No. Writing heartbreak is louder, maybe."
She says it lightly, but not dismissive. Like there’s a whole sentence she didn’t finish.
I realize then that my teammates aren’t watching her the way they watch celebrities.
They’re watching her the way they watch each other.
Curious. Protective. Assessing.
And she’s passing every test without knowing there was one.
She laughs until she covers her mouth again. Leans back when Hunter makes a dry joke she almost misses.
Jax leans back in his chair. “So,” he says, casual as a trap, “on a scale of one to ten—how much is Cam pretending he doesn’t like you?”
I choke. Fully. On air.
“Jax,” I manage. “Don’t.”
The table goes quiet in a way that means it’s about to explode.
Lila blinks once. Twice. Then she tilts her head, thoughtful. Like she’s genuinely considering the question.
“The scale only goes to ten?” she asks.
The table loses its mind.
Devon slams a hand down, laughing so hard he nearly spills his drink. “That’s it. She wins. Cam, marry her twice.”
“I hate all of you,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face.
Hunter, infuriatingly calm, lifts his glass. “For what it’s worth,” he says, eyes on Lila, “Cam’s been different lately. In a good way.”
My pulse spikes.
“You’re good for him,” Hunter adds simply.
Nobody laughs.
Even Jax goes quiet for half a second.
I open my mouth. Close it.
Lila looks at me then.
Not amused. Not performing. Curious. Soft. Like she’s seeing something new and trying not to spook it.
That’s when I know I’ve lost whatever control I thought I had tonight.
Because I want to explain myself.
I want to tell her this isn’t supposed to be like this. That I didn’t plan on bringing her into my world and watching her fit so effortlessly.
Instead, I give a half-smile and say nothing.
The moment passes. Sort of.
Jax catches my eye across the table. His grin shifts. Less teasing. More knowing.
“You good, man?” he asks.
I glance at Lila. She’s mid-sentence, explaining why tour buses are emotional pressure cookers with wheels. Devon is rapt. Hunter is nodding like she’s confirming a hypothesis.
I look back at Jax.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m good.”
He studies me for another second. Then lifts his glass. “Thought so.”
Dinner winds down after that. People stand. Stretch. Start settling tabs. The city hums below us, with lights and motion and people living their lives.
I didn’t bring her here to prove anything.
This was supposed to be normal. Loud. Easy. A meal with people who know me and wouldn’t look too closely.
Instead, I’m watching Lila Hart laugh like she belongs there.
And somewhere between the first story and the second drink, something in me tipped. Quiet. Final.
I’m in deeper than I meant to be.
And I don’t know when it happened—only that it already has.