Page 147 of Cold Feet
During the intermission, I checked in with Katie, who was monitoring social media from the press box.
"Mentions of Cam are through the roof," she reported. "Everyone's watching him tonight."
"And the Redline announcement?" We'd timed the press release about Cam's sneaker deal to drop during the first intermission.
"Already trending. Lots of positive buzz. Oh, and Marcus just forwarded an email fromSports Business Journal– they're calling you 'the PR mastermind who turned a potential scandal into the feel-good story of the season.'"
I couldn't help the proud smile that spread across my face. After everything we'd been through, my professional reputation wasn't just intact – it was enhanced. I headed up to the VIP box to sit with my mom and dad, Coco, and some of the other WAGs. The moment I stepped through the door, I was engulfed in a flurry of hugs and congratulations. Mom pulled me into a tight embrace, her familiar perfume wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
"I knew it would all work out," she whispered, her eyes shining with pride and maybe a few unshed tears. "You two are perfect for each other – I've known it since the moment he walked into our home."
Dad, never one for excessive displays of emotion, gave me a gruff but heartfelt hug. "The Slashers have a solid chance at winning the Cup again with Cam staying on," he said, his voice thick with approval. "And I'm proud of you, honey. The way you handled everything – pure Decker grit." He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Cam's officially part of Team Decker now, whether he likes it or not."
"I think he likes it," I said softly, as my dad nodded knowingly.
Coco bounced over, her enthusiasm infectious as always. "So are you coming to the team celebration after? Logan says everyone's riding high after the trade news and your press conference love fest."
Before I could answer, the Redline executives approached, their faces beaming with corporate delight. "Lana, we can't thank you enough," the marketing VP gushed, shaking my hand vigorously. "This whole situation has generated more authentic engagement than our last three campaigns combined. We're absolutely thrilled about working with both you and Cam moving forward."
I smiled, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. At my lowest point, I'd been ready to resign from the job I love. Now, I was surrounded by support, love, and the promise of something real with the man I'd been denying my feelings for all these years.
The second period started with Pittsburgh still leading 2-1. Cam seemed more focused, his skating more fluid, his passes sharper. Midway through the period, he set up Pietro for a beautiful goal that tied the game again. The crowd erupted, and as Pietro celebrated with the team, Cam pointed up to where I stood, making my heart skip.
Then, disaster struck. A controversial call sent Zayne to the penalty box for tripping, and during the ensuing power play, Pittsburgh scored again. 3-2, with momentum slipping away.
As the period wound down, the tension in the arena was palpable. The Slashers needed something – a spark, a game-changer. No better time for my surprise.
I texted Marty in the broadcast control room. During a TV timeout, the arena's giant screens showed fans in the stands, as they always did. Stadium cameras panned across sections, catching people dancing, cheering, holding signs. When the camera suddenly swung to me, I was ready.
With a deep breath and a silent prayer that I wasn't about to embarrass myself to an unrecoverable degree, I stood up right next to the glass and slowly opened my blazer to reveal the "PUCK DADDY" t-shirt underneath.
And there I was, back on the Jumbotron.
The crowd went wild. Gasps, then cheers, then full-on roaring laughter and applause. On the bench, players turned to see what the commotion was about. And there was Cam, head thrown back in laughter when he saw the shirt, eyes bright with surprise and delight.
Katie, who stopped by the box to get my signoff on media credentials for a late-arriving features reporter, stopped dead in her tracks, mouth open in shock before dissolving into giggles.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Is this the same Lana Decker who once made me change my shoes because they were too 'casual professional' for a game?"
I shrugged, unable to stop smiling. "People change."
"For the better," she said, giving me a quick hug before hurrying off.
The moment lasted only seconds before the camera moved on, but the energy in the arena had shifted completely.
The crowd started chantingPUCK DADDY!PUCK DADDY!PUCK DADDY!and as play resumed, the Slashers skated with renewed purpose. By the end of the second period, Zayne had scored on a slap shot from the blue line, tying the game 3-3.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed during the second intermission, "tonight's attendance is a season-high 19,257! And I think we all know they're here to see if our PR director has any more surprises up her sleeve!"
I blushed as several people nearby gave me thumbs-up or knowing smiles. Hockey was serious business, and I'd always maintained the utmost professionalism at games. But tonight was different. Tonight was about celebration, redemption, and yes – a little bit of fun.
The third period was a battle of wills. Neither team gave an inch, both goalies making spectacular saves. With two minutes left in regulation, Coach Sully called a timeout, gathering the team around him at the bench.
I couldn't hear what was said, but when the players returned to the ice, there was a different energy about them. Cam, especially, seemed to radiate intensity. His eyes focused in that way that made me think of a predator tracking its prey.
With just forty seconds left on the clock, Logan won a face-off in the Penguins' zone, sliding the puck back to Zayne, who fired a pass to Cam positioned near the right circle. What happened next unfolded like a movie scene.
Cam received the puck, deked around one defender, then another. The Penguins' goalie slid to the near post, anticipating the shot, but Cam hesitated – just a fraction of a second – before firing the puck into the top corner of the net.
