Page 134 of Cold Feet
Love you," he mumbled, already drifting off, one arm locked around me like even unconscious he needed to keep me close.
"Love you too," I whispered back, letting my own eyes close.
The sapphire ring on my finger caught the city lights one last time as I settled my hand over his heart.
For the first time in days, we both slept peacefully, tangled up together in the hotel bed, exactly where we belonged. The Montreal decision still loomed. The scandal fallout remained. The complications with the team hadn't disappeared.
But for now, at this moment, we had each other. We had truth instead of pretense, love instead of fear.
And that was everything we needed for now.
Chapter 24
My alarm went off at five-thirty Monday morning, though I'd barely slept. I stared at the ceiling of my apartment, mentally rehearsing the press conference I'd scheduled for nine o'clock. The professional part of my brain had crafted a carefully worded statement taking responsibility for the fake engagement without implicating the team or damaging Cam's image further. The personal part of my brain was still a jumble of emotions I couldn't begin to untangle.
I showered, blow-dried my hair into submission, and put on my armor: charcoal pencil skirt, white silk blouse, and my blazer in Slashers teal. I slipped on my favorite slay-all-day Christian Louboutin stilettos, the ones with the silver metal embellishment on their pointed toes. Perfect for kicking butt. As I fastened silver Tiffany hoops to my ears, my phone rang. My caller ID displayed "Joey Keegan – ESPN."
Joey was one of the most respected hockey journalists in the country. He'd been covering the Slashers for a decade, and unlike some reporters, he'd always been fair. Even during our worst seasons, he'd never gone for cheap shots or manufactured drama. I hesitated only a second before answering.
"Joey, good morning. I appreciate the call, but I'm afraid I can't comment until after the press conference."
"I know," he said, his voice serious. "And I wouldn't normally do this, but I thought you should know something before you walk into that room."
My stomach tightened. "What's that?"
"I know who leaked the story about your engagement being fake. It was Blake Churchin."
My hand froze on my earring. Blake Churchin was a recent hire, a coaching assistant who'd joined the team just before the season started. He mainly worked with the defensemen and had always been perfectly pleasant to me. It didn't make any sense.
"How do you know that?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
"He approached me last week, tried to give me the scoop. Sent me photos of the NDA documents. I declined the story – didn't feel right. Then, obviously Anson atHockeyInsiderran with it and it blew up."
I sank onto the edge of my bed. "Why would Blake do that?"
"That's the interesting part," Joey said. "After the story broke I circled back with him. He told me he'd done it to help the team. He'd thought it would torpedo Cam's Montreal deal and keep him with the Slashers. My bosses were pissed that I'd passed on the scoop, but even after it broke I could never confirm a second source."
I closed my eyes, processing this betrayal. Someone inside our organization, someone I worked with daily, had deliberately sabotaged Cam and me to manipulate his career decisions.
"I saw the game in Boston, Lana," Joey continued, his voice softening. "I was right behind the glass when Morozov said that shit about you to Cam, and I saw his reaction up close. I saw Cam's face when he spotted you on the Jumbotron. I've been covering this league for fifteen years, and I've never seen anything like the way he played after that moment."
I swallowed hard, remembering the intensity in Cam's eyes after he'd seen me, the way his entire game had transformed.
"You don't have to confirm anything," Joey added. "This is just a courtesy call, professional respect. But I thought you should know who was really behind this before you fall on your sword in a couple hours."
"Thank you, Joey," I managed. "I appreciate you telling me."
"For what it's worth," he said before hanging up, "I've never known you to lie to the press in all the years I've covered the team, and I sincerely hope you keep your job. Whatever you and Cam were doing, I don't think it was fake. Not really."
I sat there for several minutes after the call ended, turning Joey's words over in my mind. Blake Churchin. The leak had come from within our organization – from someone who thought he was acting in the team's best interest. The betrayal stung, but in a strange way, it was also validating. This wasn't just about me making a mistake. Someone else had deliberately tried to sabotage us.
The media room at SlashersArena was packed when I arrived. The scent of coffee and electronics filled the air, mingling with the faint backdrop of ice and sweat that permeated every NHL arena. Cameras from every major sports network and gossip site lined the back wall. Beat reporters filled the seats, tablets and notebooks ready. Social media team members hovered along the periphery, phones poised to capture every moment. I spotted Marcus and Coach Sully in deep conversation near the side entrance.
I approached them, the paper of my prepared statement crackling slightly in my grip.
"Blake Churchin leaked the NDA," I said without preamble.
Coach Sully's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know?"
