Page 5 of Cold Feet
"Shocked?" he asked, amused.
"Impressed," I corrected. "Most guys I know think literature peaked with ESPN The Magazine."
"Most guys are missing out."
"Quick, what's your favorite Vonnegut quote," I asked, "so I know you're not completely full of shit."
"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."
"I love that. Is that Mother Night?" He nodded in response, his blue eyes dancing.
We talked until the sun came up, the night dissolving around us until it was just him and me and words that felt more important than they should have. When he walked me back to my dorm, I didn't want it to end.
"This was..." I started, then trailed off, not sure how to finish.
"Yeah," he agreed softly, “it was.”
When he kissed me outside my building, it felt inevitable. When I invited him upstairs, it felt right. And when we made love until dawn, it felt like the beginning of everything.
But then came the moment that changed everything.
We were lying tangled in my sheets, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on my shoulder, when his gaze landed on the framed photo on my nightstand – Dad holding his first Stanley Cup, grinning like he'd conquered the world.
"Hockey fan?" Cam asked casually.
The question shot panic through me. I’d just met him. Lie or own up to it?
"That's my dad."
I felt him freeze, though he tried to play it off. "Frank Decker is your father?"
Every defense mechanism I'd ever built snapped into place. How many guys had shown interest just to get closer to my family? How many had seen dollar signs and their NHL shot instead of me?
"You know him?" I asked carefully.
"And Zayne Decker?"
"My brother." I sat up slightly, tension creeping into my shoulders. "You know him?" I already knew the answer.
Something complicated flickered across his face – recognition, then something darker. "Yeah. We're teammates. So you're his sister? He's, uh,... protective of you."
I laughed, some of my worry easing. "That's the understatement of the century."
"How come we've never met?"
"My whole life has been hockey. I don't come to games unless my parents are here. I've been trying to steer clear since I got here. You know, find my own way outside of my family's shadow."
Cam smiled then, pulling me closer and kissing me until I forgot to worry about anything else. But looking back, I realized that smile didn't look like all the other ones I'd seen that night.
When I woke up, he was gone. No note. No explanation. Just the fading scent of his cologne and a hollow ache in my chest.
"Uh oh, Sorry, Did I catch you in the middle of a coma?"
I jerked back to the present to find Logan Rivers standing in my doorway, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. Our team captain had a way of moving through the world that commanded attention without demanding it – all steady confidence and natural authority.
"Hilarious. Sorry," I said, minimizing the Redline contract on my screen. "What's up?"
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with the deliberate care of someone who had things to say that weren't meant for public consumption.
