Page 100 of Cold Feet
There was only one explanation after Cam’s performance last night: The trade rumors. Shit.
That was the final straw. The Redline deal – the entire reason for this fake engagement charade – was likely now in jeopardy because of the trade rumors. Everything we'd worked for, risked our reputations for, was hanging by a thread.Fuck.
After Katie left, I allowed myself exactly thirty seconds of panic. I put my head in my hands and took deep, shuddering breaths. Thirty seconds to feel the full weight of disappointment, betrayal, and heartache. Then I straightened my spine, smoothed my hair, and opened my laptop.
Professional Lana was reporting for duty.
I drafted press statements for every scenario: Cam staying, Cam leaving, the Redline deal proceeding, the Redline deal collapsing. I created talking points for Marcus, for Coach Sully, for the team owner. I worked methodically, efficiently, as if I were handling a crisis for any other player – not the man who had spent last night making love to me.
It felt like writing my own heartbreak into reality, formalizing the end before we'd even truly begun. I started typing anyway, my fingers stiff and reluctant on the keyboard.
If Cam leaves: Position as amicable separation benefiting both parties. Emphasize Cam's legacy with Slashers, focus on exciting new chapter for him. Slashers' best opportunity to become a powerhouse for decades to come. Redline partnership continues regardless of team. Break engagement quietly after announcement, citing long-distance challenges.
The words blurred as I typed them. I blinked hard, my throat tightening again. I forced myself back into PR Director mode. This was my job: to manage public perception, to craft the narratives, to control the story. Even when the story was crushing me.
If Cam stays: Celebrate loyalty to team, position as commitment to bringing another Cup to St. Pete. Emphasize connection to community, teammates. Engagement continues as planned through Redline launch, reassess after…
I stopped typing, cursor hovering. Reassess after what? After the fake engagement had served its purpose? After we'd both gotten what we wanted professionally?
But what about what I wanted personally?
I closed my eyes, remembering how it felt to wake up in his bed this morning, feeling his warmth against my back, his arm draped possessively over my waist. For those few blissful moments,I'd allowed myself to want more… to imagine a future where the ring wasn't just for show, where the loving glances weren't just performance.
The memory stung like salt in an open wound.
My phone vibrated with an incoming text from Cam. The fourth since I kicked him out of my office an hour ago.
CAM: Lana, please. We need to talk.
I turned my phone face down and continued working.
The rink buzzed with activity when I arrived downstairs. Players were already on the ice, running drills under Coach Sully's watchful eye.
The familiar sounds of hockey practice – skates cutting ice, pucks hitting boards, coaches barking instructions – usually centered me. Today, they set my teeth on edge as I stood in the observation area above the rink, pretending to review media schedules for the upcoming road trip while actually avoiding looking at the ice.
At #22, specifically.
Cam was below, going through drills with brutal intensity, his movements more aggressive than usual. Even from this distance, I could see the tightness in his shoulders, the extra force behind each shot. He was playing angry.
Because of me? Because of Montreal? Both?
"Wow, he looks like he's trying to murder the ice," came Coco's voice from beside me.
"Coco!" I startled, not hearing her approach.
She leaned against the railing next to me, watching both the practice below and my expression with equal sharpness. "So, you want to tell me what happened? Because last I checked, you two were sneaking kisses after the game, and now he's trying to shatter the plexiglass with his death stare."
"It's complicated, and I'm not allowed to talk about it," I mumbled, eyes fixed on my tablet. My fingers unconsciously twisted the engagement ring, a new nervous habit I couldn't seem to break.
"Does it beginwith 'M' and end with 'ontreal?'"
I sighed, finally looking up at my friend. "There are no secrets in hockey. Yeah, they made us a trade offer. A massive one, apparently."
Coco's eyes widened. "Shit."
"Yep."
"And you found out after..." She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
