Page 135 of Cold Feet
"Joey Keegan called me this morning. Said Blake approached him with the story and photos of the documents. Joey declined, but as we all know, Blake found someone else willing to run with it."
Marcus cursed under his breath. "That explains a lot."
Coach Rocco shook his head in disbelief. "Blake's been pushing hard against the Montreal deal in staff meetings. Thinks we can't afford to lose Cam."
"I'll deal with Blake," Coach Sully said, his voice ominously calm. "You focus on getting through the next thirty minutes, Lana."
I nodded, suddenly noticing movement at the back of the room. My parents and Nana Decker had arrived, slipping into seats near the wall. My mother looked fierce and determined, my father stoic as always. Nana looked ready for battle, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her lucky Slashers brooch pinned to her cardigan. And beside them – Zayne. The last person in the universe I expected to be here today. He'd been incredibly supportive since the scandal broke, but showing up to a press conference was another level entirely.
As I made my way to the podium, I spotted more familiar faces. Logan and Coco were there, holding hands in the second row. Several other players had shown up too: Pietro, Miller, even Nick Fosse, our goaltender. The sight of so many team members, my extended hockey family, made something tighten in my chest.
I took my place behind the microphone, carefully arranging my statement and supporting documents on the podium. The camera flashes intensified and the room fell silent.
"Good morning," I began, my voice steadier than I expected. "Thank you all for coming. I've called this press conference to address the recent reports regarding my relationship with Cam Murphy."
I paused, taking a deep breath.
"As the team's Director of Communications, I hold myself to the highest standards of integrity and transparency. Recent reports have suggested that an engagement to Cam Murphy was fabricated for publicity purposes. I'm here today to correct factual errors in the reporting and take responsibility for my part in this situation."
I glanced down at my prepared text, acutely aware of the sapphire ring on my finger catching the light from the overhead fluorescents. I'd worn it today – for Cam, for myself, for us.
"The truth is that Cam and I have known each other for ten years, since our college days at Boston University. Our relationship has always been complicated – both professionally and personally. When the opportunity arose for Cam to secure the Redline endorsement deal, I agreed to help present an image that would satisfy the company's morality clause requirements. Neither Cam nor I made a single statement to the media, Redline, or anyone in the Slashers organization claiming that we were engaged."
I continued, "We've been informed that the source of the leak of certain confidential documents – which are standard practice in situations involving image management – was a member of our coaching staff hoping to impact Cam Murphy's standing with other teams in an effort to keep him with the Slashers."
The side door of the media room swung open with such force that it bounced against the wall. Every head in the room turned.
Cam stood in the doorway, breathing hard like he'd sprinted here from the locker room. He was wearing jeans and a well-worn, blue t-shirt the same color as his eyes, emblazoned withTaylor Swift Fearless Tour– hardly his usual press conference attire. His hair was adorably mussed, and the bruise along his jaw from the Boston fight was still visible. Our eyes met across the room, and something electric passed between us.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said with his trademark grin, not to the room but directly to me.
Murmurs and chuckles rippled through the audience as Cam made his way to the front. Camera shutters clicked in rapid succession. I stood frozen at the podium, my carefully prepared statement forgotten.
"What are you doing?" I whispered as he approached.
"Something I should have done a long time ago," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.
He stepped up beside me, and after a moment's hesitation, I moved aside to give him access to the microphone. The room fell into a hushed silence.
"I wasn't supposed to be here today," Cam began, his voice clear and strong. "Lana told me to stay away. Let her handle it. That's what she does – she handles things. Fixes problems. Takes care of every member of this team."
He paused, scanning the room. "But I'm done letting her take the fall for my mistakes. I'm done pretending. So here's the truth: This relationship didn't start like some romantic comedy, but if I'm being honest here, it was the best way I could think of to get her to go out with me again. Lana and I met a decade ago in college. And I've been in love with her pretty much since day one."
A collective gasp went through the room. I felt my cheeks flush as dozens of eyes turned to gauge my reaction. Cam continued, his voice gaining confidence.
"I made a lot of mistakes. I let her craft an image of me that wasn't real because it was easier than admitting how I really felt. I let her believe things about me that weren't true. I walked away from her once because I was too scared to fight for what I wanted. Her."
He turned slightly to face me, no longer speaking to the press but directly to me.
"But I'm not scared anymore. I don't care about some sneaker deal. Or the trade offer of a lifetime. I don't care what anyone in this room writes or tweets or thinks. The only thing I care about is you, Lana."
His voice softened, and I could see the vulnerability in his eyes.
"I love you. I've been in love with you since the day we met. That's not PR. That's me."
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Every reporter, every camera was trained on us, capturing this moment in high definition. But all I could see was Cam.
Cam, who'd fought for me on the ice in Boston. Cam, who'd held me through the night at the Four Seasons. Cam, who was standing before the entire hockey world, laying his heart bare.
