Chapter 15
CAMPBELL
It’s been announced, The Dominion are officially a team. Scouts confirmed for Thursday’s game. Alexandria’s assistant GM said they’re coming to watch the team, but are here to see you specifically. Don’t screw it up.
I stare at my phone screen until the words blur together. NHL scouts. Here to see me. Thursday—which is in two days.
This is it. Everything I’ve worked for since I was eight years old, skating on frozen ponds and dreaming of the big leagues.
Everything Dad sacrificed for, driving me to practices at dawn and tournaments on weekends we couldn’t afford.
Everything we need right now, with his medical bills piling up and his arthritis getting worse.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Sawyer.
Did Ben or Cannon text you?
Yeah.
Dude. This is huge. Alexandria’s been scouting the whole league.
I know.
You nervous?
Am I nervous? My hands are shaking, my heart’s hammering against my ribs, and I can’t seem to form a coherent thought that doesn’t involve either throwing up or jumping out of my skin.
Nah. Just another game.
I’m lying to my cousin, which feels wrong, but I can’t deal with his excitement on top of my own panic right now.
I set the phone down and take in the space around me.
My room is quiet, familiar. Not the kind of quiet that feels empty, but the kind that’s steady, reliable—like my dad’s old flannel shirts or Sunday coffee.
The bed isn’t made, sheets twisted from me rolling around all night, but everything else is pretty much in order.
Desk against the wall, stacked with a few books I keep meaning to finish.
A framed, signed poster from my childhood hockey hero takes up space above it, the one thing I let stay when I redecorated.
A couple of Renegades jerseys are draped over the back of the chair, half folded, half abandoned. Otherwise, it’s simple, adult, mine.
It could also be the childhood bedroom of the next NHL star, but hey, I’m going to leave that thought in the back of my mind. For now. I need to focus.
I head downstairs and start a pot of coffee while I make a quick breakfast. Look, I tried to concentrate on simply scrambling my eggs, but I managed to cook them so they’re almost hard and taste like cardboard, and the orange juice I try to wash the eggs down with might as well be battery acid.
Because, hey, I’ve got two days to either make my dreams come true or watch them slip away forever.
And then, because my life apparently has perfect timing, my phone buzzes with a text from Sutton.
Morning. Just wanted you to know your name was brought up in a board video call we had last night. You played a great game in Harrisburg. Seriously. That group of buttoned up tight humans are die-hard #TeamCampbell.
I stare at her message for a long moment, my chest tightening in a completely different way. Sutton. The elevator kiss. The way she looked at me when she thanked me for checking on her during the game, like it was even a chore. The growing thing between us that I can’t name but I also can’t ignore.
If the scout likes what he sees on Thursday, if Alexandria makes an offer, what happens to.
..this? Whatever this is becoming? What if, what if, what if…
I’m lost in a loop where I’m not even present.
I’m too busy in an alternate universe trying to make plans, aren’t I?
So I go back to what’s happening, right now.
That’s really cool to hear. Thank you.
Of course! I feel like if someone says something nice about anyone, they need to know. How’s your morning going?
I could talk to her about the scout. A part of me wants to.
But she’s the owner—she probably already knows, and if she doesn’t, maybe it’s not my place.
Could even be a conflict of interest if I open my mouth.
The last thing I want is to cross a line.
She’s got enough on her plate; I can hear it in the sharp edge of her voice when she mentions her board.
That sound makes me stop cold. Whatever’s going on, she doesn’t need me adding to the pile.
Quiet. Just thinking about Thursday’s game.
Should be a good one. See you at the arena today?
The cheesy grin that takes over my mouth isn’t one I want to put away. I like the way she makes me feel, and that she can make me grin like a freaking idiot. But more than that, I’m starting to realize I really like the fact that I make her smile, too.
Yeah. See you there.
I set the phone down and drop my head into my hands.
Two days. Forty-eight hours to prepare for the most important game of my life, while trying not to think about the fact that success might mean leaving behind more than I’m prepared to let go of right now.
My team, my dad, my…okay, what do I call her. My female friend, Sutton?
The woman who also happens to be my boss?
The woman whose team I might be abandoning if things go well?
Dad shuffles into the kitchen, interrupting my spiral, thankfully, moving slowly but better than yesterday. His hands look less swollen, which is a small miracle.
“You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet,” he observes, pouring himself coffee.
“Thanks. I’ve never quite understood that old saying, yet it’s exactly the look I was going for.”
He settles into the chair across from me, studying my face with that parental radar that never shuts off. “What’s going on?”
I could lie to him, too, keep the pressure to myself, but Dad’s been through enough uncertainty lately. He deserves to know that things might be changing.
“There’s a scout coming to Thursday’s game,” I say quietly. “He’s with the new team from Alexandria. Ben says he’s coming for the Renegades as a whole, but he’s asked specifically about me.”
Dad goes very still, his coffee mug halfway to his lips. When he sets it down, his hands are steady despite the arthritis.
“That’s good, Cam. That’s real good.”
“Yeah.” I push my eggs around my plate. “Could be everything we’ve been hoping for.”
“But?”
I look up at him. “But what if I’m not ready? What if I choke? What if—”
“Stop.” Dad’s voice is firm, the same tone he used when I was twelve and convinced I’d never make varsity. “You’ve been ready for this your whole life. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”
He’s right, I know he’s right, but there’s this knot in my stomach that won’t loosen. Part nerves, part excitement, part something else I can’t quite identify.
“What about you, and leaving River City?” I hold out my hands and look nostalgically at the tiny kitchen. We’ve lived here for so long, I have to admit it’s going to be weird when I go this time.
“Alexandria is only two hours by car, a little more by train. And if I really want to, I can get on a plane,” he says easily. “Also, don’t do this to yourself.”
I narrow my eyes and watch as he takes a sip of his coffee. “Do what?”
“Get ahead of yourself. Get the game behind you and get an offer, then we can worry about the other stuff.” He holds his mug in the air. “Until then, here’s to eggs.”
“Yeah,” I manage as I chuckle. “Not these eggs. These eggs are complicated. I didn’t pay enough attention to them, I wasn’t focusing, and I overcooked them.”
Dad laughs. “It’s just eggs.”
“Except breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“But still…” He points to my plate. “Just eggs. And they can be redone.”
“These eggs should be a comparison to my life.”
“Okay, it’s feel bad for Campbell hour,” he says, crossing his arms, threading them tightly in front of his chest and staring at me. “What else is going on? Because this doesn’t feel like we’re talking about the scout or eggs anymore.”
How do I explain Sutton to my father? How do I tell him that right when my career might be taking off, I’ve gone and fallen for my boss? That success might mean leaving behind something that could be amazing?
“It’s honestly too much to get into,” I trepidatiously begin.
“Ah, this is not my first rodeo,” Dad interjects as he leans back in his chair, a knowing look crossing his face. “I know this face, this look. There’s a woman.”
“Dad—”
“Is it serious?”
I think about the elevator, about the way Sutton looked when she said we shouldn’t, about the text she just sent asking about my morning.
“Could be,” I say honestly.
“And she’s connected to the team somehow.”
It’s not a question. Dad’s too smart for his own good sometimes.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that could complicate things.” He nods slowly, processing. “Depending on her role, I guess.”
I snort back a laugh. “Understatement of the year.”
He leans forward and squeezes my shoulder. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re overthinking this. Play the game, see what happens.
If Alexandria wants you, if they make an offer, you’ll be in a position to deal with the rest of it then.
Don’t borrow trouble, not now. Clear everything else out of your mind until this game is behind you.
There is no me, no complication with some woman, there is your team.
Your coach. You. On the ice. Shooting your shot. ”
He makes it sound so simple. Just play hockey, let everything else sort itself out. But as I sit there in our small kitchen, looking at my father’s swollen hands and thinking about Sutton’s smile, I know it’s anything but simple.
Thursday’s game could change everything.
My phone buzzes again.
Also, thank you for what you said in the elevator. I’ve been thinking about your words, about you. About not having to handle things alone.
I stare at the message, my chest tightening again. She’s been thinking about it. About me. And that statement feels so good.
We should talk about it soon. Alone.
We should.
Dad watches me type, that knowing look still on his face.
“Definitely complicated,” he says with a small smile.
“Yeah,” I agree, pocketing my phone. “Definitely.”
But as I head upstairs to get ready for practice, I can’t shake the feeling that complicated might be exactly what I need. The question is whether I’ll still have the chance to figure it out after Thursday night.