Page 128 of Cold Feet
On the ride back to the Four Seasons, I stared out at Boston's lights, my mind racing. After days of hiding, of shame and uncertainty, I'd made myself visible again – not just to Cam, but to the hockey world. There was no going back now.
"What are you thinking?" Coco asked quietly.
"That I have no idea what I'm going to say to him when I see him," I admitted.
"You'll figure it out," she said, squeezing my hand. "And for what it's worth, I think you being here already said a lot."
Once we were safely back in our room, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bed, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had carried me through the game was fading, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
"The team bus probably won't be back for at least an hour," Coco said, checking her phone.
"There's already media chatter about me being at the game, so they'll get extra questions, Cam in particular" I said. Quickly, I shot off a quick text to Coach Sully to ask him to remind the team again that the answer to any questions regarding Cam, me, or our relationship should be "no comment."
Not that the players should have any questions about what to say. I'd already texted and emailed them all multiple times with specific guidelines.
"Just so you know, once the guys get back, I'm staying in Logan's room tonight unless you need me. He's supposed to be bunking with Cam, so unless one of you calls me tonight to tell me to sleep in myownroom, I'll assume all is well." Coco gathered a few things into her overnight bag.
I turned my head to look at her. "Are you sure? I don't want to kick you out of your own room."
She smiled. "Please. Besides, you and Cam need space to talk." She zipped up her bag. "I'll text you in the morning."
After she left, I raided the minibar, trying to calm my nerves and organize my thoughts. What did I want from this conversation with Cam? Closure? Reconciliation? A way forward, despite Montreal and the scandal and ten years of misunderstandings?
All of the above.
I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the blank screen. Should I text him? Or just wait for him to come find me? What if he didn't want to see me at all?
No. I'd seen his face when he spotted me on the jumbotron. I'd watched him transform on the ice afterward. He wanted to see me as much as I needed to see him.
Taking a deep breath, I typed:
ME: I don't need any more space. Room 1422.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then set the phone down and waited.
For Cam. For answers. For whatever came next.
Chapter 23
The knock came exactly one hour and fourteen minutes after I'd returned to the hotel room. I knew because I'd been staring at the clock between checking my phone obsessively, pacing a groove in the carpet between the window and the door. I still wore Cam's jersey over my jeans, the sapphire ring on my finger like a security blanket.
My phone screen showed a stream of unread messages:
Team Group Chat:
LOGAN: Anyone heard from Murph?
PIETRO: He bolted from the bus like his ass was on fire
ZAYNE: ??
I'd changed positions approximately thirty times – sitting on the bed, standing by the window watching for the team bus, curled up in the armchair trying to calm my racing heart, back to pacing. The city lights of Boston blurred through my exhausted eyes. The hotel room felt too quiet, too empty, the hum of the heating system the only sound besides my own restless movements.
When the knock finally came, three soft raps, tentative in a way that was so unlike Cam's usual confident arrival, my heart slammed against my ribs. I froze mid-step, then practically ran to the door, stopping just short of yanking it open. My hand hovered over the handle.
Deep breath. Another.
The metal was cool under mytrembling fingers as I turned the lock.
