Chapter 22
SUTTON
My living room is bathed in the blue glow of the television, empty wine glass on the coffee table, laptop deliberately closed and shoved under a throw pillow so I can’t be tempted to check the latest gossip blog updates.
I’ve been stress-cleaning for two hours.
My baseboards are scrubbed, ten shelves of books reorganized, and couch cushions have been fluffed within an inch of their lives.
Anything to keep my hands busy while Campbell played the most important game of his career.
The game I watched from my couch instead of the owner’s box, because apparently I’m a coward who can’t face the cameras when they’re looking for reactions to capture and dissect.
But let me tell you, he was magnificent.
Two goals, an assist, and the kind of leadership that made the entire team play like they were possessed.
Every shift was poetry in motion, every pass threaded with precision that made the commentators run out of superlatives.
The camera caught him celebrating his second goal—arms raised, that brilliant smile splitting his face—and my heart did something complicated in my chest.
This is what he was born to do. This is what he deserves.
The doorbell rings close to midnight, and I know without looking that it’s him. Campbell’s truck in my driveway confirms it, and when I open the door, he’s standing there still in his game-day suit, tie loosened, hair mussed from the post-game interviews.
“Hi,” he says simply.
“Hi yourself, superstar.” I step aside to let him in, trying to keep my voice light despite the way my pulse jumps just from seeing him. “What a game.”
“Thanks.” His smile is soft, genuine, nothing like the media-trained grins from the interviews. “I was hoping you were watching.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” I close the door, suddenly hyperaware that we’re alone in my house for the first time since everything got complicated. “I know you probably need to get to your dad, but do you want something to drink? Water? I might have some champagne somewhere—”
“Sutton.” He catches my hand, stopping my nervous rambling. His fingers are warm, steady—too steady for the chaos suddenly spinning through my chest. “I don’t need anything to drink right now,” he says quietly. “I stopped by on my way home because…”
He hesitates, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. The air between us shifts, heavier now, charged.
“Because I needed to see you.”
For a second, neither of us moves. We stand perfectly still, caught in each other’s orbit, the world shrinking down to the inches of space between us.
His eyes search mine—wanting, waiting. And, for the love of all things precious, I feel it, too.
That pull. That ache that says step closer, just once.
“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice low. “For sending the nurse aide. For checking on my dad. You don’t know how much it means.”
I lift a hand before I can stop myself, fingertips grazing his cheek. “Of course I do,” I whisper. “I wanted to do that for you.”
He exhales, the sound shaky, and then—before I can fall all the way into him—he pulls back, just enough to break whatever spell we’ve fallen under.
His gaze drops to the floor, then back to me. “We need to talk.”
My stomach drops. “About?”
Campbell’s eyes lock on mine, so intense I half expect the room to start spinning. “This. Us. The way you’ve been dodging me for days. And I’m pretty sure I know why.”
I pull my hand free, wrapping my arms around myself like armor. “Campbell—”
“It’s about you, too, isn’t it?” His voice is quiet, understanding. “This whole mess with the blogs, the board breathing down your neck. You’re trying to protect me from the fallout.”
The words stick in my throat for a moment. Because he’s right, partially. But it’s more layered than that, more selfish than that.
“Not anymore,” I say finally.
His brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
I gesture toward the television, where highlights from tonight’s game are still playing on SportsCenter. “Look at you, Campbell. Two goals, dominating on the ice, scouts taking notes like they’re writing love letters. This is your moment. This is everything you’ve worked for.”
“Okay...”
“And I’m not going to be the distraction that costs you this opportunity.” The words come out in a rush, like I’m ripping off a bandage. “You were incredible tonight. You’re going to get called up to Alexandria, and you’re going to be amazing there, too. I can’t wait to root for you.”
Campbell’s expression shifts, becoming harder to read. “You’re talking like this is goodbye.”
I try to smile, but it feels brittle around the edges. “I mean, not goodbye goodbye. We’ll still see each other. League functions, probably some overlap with the affiliation—”
“Sutton, stop.” His voice is firm enough to cut through my babbling. “You’re making decisions for both of us without asking what I want.”
“What you want doesn’t change the reality of the situation.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
I stare at him, at this man who just played the game of his life and is standing in my living room looking at me like I’m the prize he’s most interested in winning. The unfairness of it all crashes over me like a wave.
“The reality is that I’m thirty-five years old and you’re what, almost thirty, and even though that means nothing, to some folks apparently it does.
The reality is that I have money and influence and power, and you’re a player trying to make it to the NHL.
The reality is that no matter what we feel for each other, there will always be people who think I’m taking advantage of you because of those two reasons. ”
“And you care what those people think?”
“I care what it does to you.” My voice cracks slightly. “I care that every achievement you earn will be questioned. Every call-up, every contract, every opportunity—people will wonder if it’s because you’re sleeping with the right person.”
Campbell runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “So your solution is to walk away? To decide that I can’t handle the pressure?”
“My solution is to not put you in that position in the first place.”
“Too late for that, don’t you think?”
Before I can answer, he continues, his voice taking on a different tone. “Speaking of putting people in positions, I ran into Victor tonight. After the game.”
My blood chills. “What did he want?”
“I didn’t bother asking, because when I first saw him he was by the dumpster, with the event photographer from the gala.”
“What?”
“I don’t have the proof, yet, but I think he’s also the person who took our picture in the parking lot.”
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. “You think he’s been paying for the photos.”
“I saw what I suspect is payment with my own eyes in the form of a fat wad of cash handed over in an envelope,” Campbell manages through gritted teeth, his jaw tightening.
“Not suspicious at all, huh? I’m willing to bet my career that Victor has been orchestrating this whole campaign in the press, trying to destroy your reputation and create problems for the team. ”
“I hate that guy.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “All this time, I wondered if it could be him, but it felt so Netflix, overly produced, you know? I thought it was just bad luck for us, bad timing. But of course he’s been manipulating the narrative.”
“Which means none of this is your fault. The gossip, the speculation, the board’s concerns. Every bit of it has been manufactured.”
“I hear you, but it doesn’t matter.” I sink onto my couch, the weight of this revelation settling over me. “Whether Victor started it or not, the damage is done. The questions about our relationship, about my judgment—they’re not going away.”
“So we fight back. We tell the truth.”
“The truth?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “The truth could mess up everything you’ve worked for, and me, too. We can’t lean into the truth, not when you’re this close to everything you’ve dreamed of.”
Campbell sits beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of arena soap. “What if I told you that what I’m dreaming of includes you?”
My heart does that fluttering thing again, but I force myself to stay rational. “Then I’d tell you that dreams and reality are two different things. And the reality is that we need to think about what’s best for the team. For everyone involved.”
“You mean what’s best for me.”
“That, too.”
“And you’ve decided that’s not you.”
The way he says it, flat and hurt, makes me realize how my words must sound to him. Not like protection, but like rejection.
“Campbell, that’s not—”
His phone rings before I can respond, the sound sharp in the tense silence. He glances at the screen, and his expression immediately shifts to concern.
“It’s the nursing service,” he says, answering quickly. “Hello?”
I watch his face change as he listens, seeing the fear creep in around his eyes.
“How bad? Okay. Yes, I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up, already reaching for his keys. “Dad’s having another episode. Not as bad as this morning, but the nurse aide thinks I should come home.”
All thoughts of our conversation evaporate. “Do you need me to drive you? Is there anything—”
“I’ve got it.” His voice is distant, professional. “Thanks again for...for everything you did today.”
“Campbell, please…”
“I should go.” He pauses at my front door, looking back at me with an expression I can’t quite read. “For what it’s worth, I think we’re two people who care about each other, trying to figure out how to make it work despite the hurdles.”
“We are. We were.”
“Were.” He nods slowly. “Right.” Taking a deep breath as he runs his hand across his face, he says, “Look, I've got to go help my dad but I need to talk to you about several things that happened after the game tonight…”
He trails off, eyes flicking away as if replaying it all. “Victor was in the corridor after the game,” he says quietly. “Where he shouldn’t have been. The way he was talking to a couple of women from your staff…it wasn’t right.”
As Campbell goes on to relay to me what he witnessed, and stopped in the corridor tonight, I feel heat rising inside of me as my stomach drops. I can picture it—the leer, the discomfort on their faces, the way Victor always seems to slither into spaces he doesn’t belong.
My hand flies to my chest, my exhale sharp and shaky. “I may kill him…” I breathe, words barely forming.
Before I can say more, Campbell’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances down, grimacing. “I have to go—the nurse needs me.”
“Go,” I say quickly, even though part of me wants to grab his sleeve and make him stay. “Go, go, go.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in my too-quiet house with the realization that I may have just pushed away the best thing that’s happened to me in years… in ever.
I sink back onto my couch, staring at the television where they’re still showing highlights from Campbell’s triumphant game. On screen, he’s celebrating, victorious, surrounded by teammates who believe in him.
In reality, he’s driving home to take care of his sick father, probably wondering why the woman he cares about just told him he’s not worth the fight.
The worst part? I’m not entirely sure I made the right choice.
I’m not sure of anything anymore, except that my house feels emptier than it ever has, and somewhere across town, Campbell is facing another family crisis alone because I’m feeling the pressure to be the person he could lean on.
Not to mention everything he just told me about Victor.
I need to check in with Jenny and Lisa to make sure they’re okay.
And then there’s the security footage… I’ll have to loop in the team’s legal department and figure out what happens next.
My phone sits silent on the coffee table. No calls from reporters, no text updates about new gossip blog posts, no board members demanding explanations.
Just silence, and the growing certainty that in trying to protect everyone, I may have hurt the one person I actually wanted to protect the most.