Page 106 of Cold Feet
Chapter 19
Iarrived at the office earlier than usual, slipping through the quiet hallways like a ghost. The morning sun cast long shadows through the windows, illuminating dust particles dancing in the pale golden light. Most of the building was still dark, the familiar hum of fluorescent lights and ringing phones not yet filling the space.
Perfect. I could barricade myself in my office, bury myself in work, and maybe – just maybe – find a way to navigate this mess without completely falling apart. The dull throb of a tension headache had already settled behind my eyes, a physical manifestation of the emotional storm I was trying desperately to contain.
I rounded the corner to my office and stopped dead. Cam was already there, leaning against my door frame, arms crossed over his chest. The sight of him made my stomach drop. He looked as though he hadn't slept much either – dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly disheveled. Despite everything, he still managed to look unfairly handsome in worn jeans and a faded Nirvana t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders.
"Morning," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the silent hallway.
I inhaled sharply, the scent of his familiar cologne making my heart clench painfully. I straightened my shoulders and walked past him, keys jingling as I unlocked my door. "I have nothing more to say to you, Cam."
"That's fine. You can listen."
I dropped my bag on my desk with more force than necessary, irritation flaring hot beneath my skin. "I have work to do. Important work that doesn't involve facilitating your career move to Montreal."
He followed me into the office, shutting the door behind him. The soft click of the latch felt oddly final, sealing us into our own private battlefield.
"I told you, I haven't decided about Montreal."
"And I told you, it doesn't matter." I busied myself with my laptop, the screen a blue shield between us. "We had a deal. The Redline contract is happening. Mission accomplished. You don't need me anymore."
"This isn't about Redline." His voice was low, insistent, almost desperate. "Lana, would you please just look at me?"
My fingers stilled on the keyboard. I could feel his eyes on me, a physical weight I couldn't ignore. Reluctantly, I raised my gaze to his. The raw emotion I saw there nearly undid me – pain, regret, longing.
"I need to explain something," he said. "About before. About us."
"There is no 'us,' Cam." My throat felt tight, the words sticking like sandpaper.
"There could be."
The words hung in the air between us, loaded with possibility and danger. Coffee from the break room drifted through the office, mingling with the scent of my floral perfume and his woody cologne – an unwelcome reminder of other mornings, other conversations.
"I can't do this right now." I pulled my gaze away, focusing on arranging items on my desk with meticulous precision. Pens aligned. Notepad squared. Control what you can control, Lana.
"When, then?" he pressed, taking a step closer. "Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week when I might be forced to make a decision about Montreal? When exactly are you planning to stop running from this?"
"I'm not running," I snapped, finally looking up at him again. "I'm being realistic. You run, remember? That's your thing."
His expression hardened, jaw tightening. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You've done it before."
Cam took a deep breath, visibly trying to maintain his composure. His hands flexed at his sides, a gesture I recognized from our days working together – he was fighting for control.
"That's exactly what I need to explain," he said more softly. "About that night. Ten years ago."
My heart stopped cold for a moment, then resumed at double speed, thudding so hard I was certain he could hear it.Was this what a heart attack felt like?I'd spent so many years trying not to think about that night, trying not to wonder what had gone wrong, what I'd done to make him leave without a word.
"Ancient history," I said dismissively, though my voice betrayed me with a slight tremor.
"Is it?" He stepped closer, his eyes searching mine. "Because I think it's still between us. Ithink it's always been between us."
I crossed my arms over my chest, creating a physical barrier between us. "What do you want from me, Cam?"
"I want you to stop pretending." His voice was low but intense, vibrating with emotion. "I want you to admit that what happened between us, what's happening between us now, isreal."
"You don't get to decide what's real for me." My fingernails dug crescents into my palms.
