Page 27 of Cold Feet
Cam guided me to our table, where Logan, Coco, Zayne, our goalie Nick Fosse, and a couple of other teammates were already seated. I waved to our newest trade, Axel "Reaper" Blackwood, sitting slightly apart from the others, his brooding presence unmistakable. The intricate tattoos crawling up his neck stood in stark contrast to his immaculately tailored black suit – like a gothic haunted house nestled inside a gated community.
"Blackwood," Cam nodded as we passed, his tone friendly but cautious. The defenseman responded with a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head, dark eyes assessing us briefly before returning to his whiskey.
“Hey, congratulations you two,” Nick said, offering a toast. The rest of the group joined in and we all clinked glasses.
“Thanks,” we said in unison.
As I sat down, straightening my gown carefully around me, I felt Cam's fingers brush against mine under the table – a small gesture of reassurance that somehow steadied my racing heart.
The ceremony proceeded with its usual mix of heartfelt speeches, highlight reels, and carefully scripted banter from the hosts. I found myself watching Cam more than the stage – the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the respectful attention he gave to each winner's speech, the occasional glances he sent my way, as if checking to see if I was enjoying myself.
When Logan won the Lady Byng award, Cam was the first on his feet, applauding with genuine enthusiasm. Logan's acceptance speech was gracious and brief, thanking his teammates, coaches, and especially Coco and Poppy for "teaching me what real leadership looks like – putting others first, even when it's hard."
As he returned to our table, trophy in hand, Cam stood up and clapped him on the shoulder with obvious pride. Their friendship – built over years of shared ice time, victories, and defeats – was evident in the wordless exchange of nods and smiles. It was one of the things I'd always admired about Cam: for all his playful bravado, he was genuinely happy for others' success.
"And the winner of this year's Ted Lindsay Award for an outstanding player selected by the NHL Players Association is... Cam Murphy of the St. Petersburg Slashers!"
The announcement sent a wave of applause through the ballroom. Cam looked genuinely surprised, his eyes widening slightly before a grin spread across his face. I felt a surge of pride that had nothing to do with our pretend relationship and everything to do with knowing how hard he'd worked for this recognition.
He turned to me, eyes bright with excitement. Without thinking, I leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
"Congratulations," I whispered, the words meant only for him. "You deserve this."
Something flickered in his eyes – surprise, gratitude, and something deeper I couldn't name. Then he was standing, making his way to the stage amid continued applause, every inch the confident star athlete in his perfect tuxedo and easy smile.
At the podium, he accepted the trophy with characteristic charm, thanking his coaches, teammates, and the Slashers organization. Then his expression became more serious.
"I also want to thank the people who believe in me – even when I don't always believe in myself," he said, his eyes finding mine in the audience. "Who see more in me than just what I can do on the ice. Who challenge me to be a better player, a better teammate... a better man."
My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't part of our script. This wasn't planned. Yet there was a raw sincerity in his words that couldn't be faked for cameras or sponsors.
"Success isn't just about talent," he continued. "It's about who's in your corner. Who you're fighting for. And I'm lucky enough to have found that..."
The ballroom erupted in applause as he finished, but I barely heard it over the blood rushing in my ears. When Cam returned to the table, trophy in hand, his eyes sought mine immediately, as if gauging my reaction.
"Was that okay?" he asked quietly as he sat beside me. "Not too much?"
I swallowed hard, fighting the unexpected emotion in my throat. "It was perfect," I managed, peeking over his shoulder stealthily as I hugged him. "Looks like the Redline executives are definitely impressed too. They're smiling."
"Good," he said, but something in his tone suggested that hadn't been his only concern.
The ceremony continued, and when Zayne's category was announced, I squeezed Cam's hand in nervous anticipation. My brother's face remained impassive as the nominees were listed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knee shook restlessly under the table.
"And the winner of the Norris Trophy is... Zayne Decker of the St. Pete Slashers!"
Pride surged through me as my brother made his way to the stage, accepting the trophy with his characteristic understated intensity. His speech was brief, thanking the coaches, his teammates, and our father – "who taught me that defense isn't just about stopping goals; it's about protecting what matters."
As Zayne's eyes scanned the audience, they paused briefly on Cam and me, narrowing slightly before moving on. The subtle challenge in that look was unmistakable – a warning that said clearer than words:Touch my sister, and there will be consequences.
When the ceremony concluded, we moved to the afterparty where a live band was already playing.
Cam leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. "Dance with me?"
Before I could respond, a familiar voice called my name, sending a jolt of panic through me.
"Lana! Darling!"
I turned to find my mother approaching, elegant as always in a pale gold gown, my father trailing in her wake. Her eyes were already fixed on my left hand, widening at the sight of the sapphire ring.
