Page 74 of Cold Feet
"You'll come back for Thanksgiving?" my mother asked us, her eyes hopeful as she squeezed my hands. "Both of you, of course."
"We'll have to see, Mom," I said, glancing at Cam. "You know the schedule gets pretty crazy during the season."
"That I do. At least for Christmas, then," she insisted. "We can do some wedding planning."
I felt Cam stiffen slightly beside me, but his smile never faltered. "We'd love to, Diana," he said warmly. "But we'll have to check the schedule."
"Don't forget what we talked about on the breakaway," my father said to Cam, clapping him on the shoulder. "You’re drifting a bit low in the defensive zone — trust your D and center and support the puck by getting to the boards and staying in your lane to take the breakout pass. If you stay high between the circles and the blue line, you’ve a better chance of slipping behind the D on the breakout. Work with Rocco on that."
"Already texted him," Cam replied. "Said he'd run me through some drills this afternoon."
My father nodded approvingly. "Good man."
"Shame Zayne had to rush back last night," my mother said, walking us to the door. "But I suppose he wanted to avoid the Monday morning traffic."
"Smart move," Cam agreed. "The Skyway can be a mess around rush hour."
"Text me so I know you’ve arrived safely," my mother instructed, hugging me tightly. "And Cam,” she turned to him with a warm smile, “ take care of our girl.”
"Always," he promised, and something in his tone made my insides all warm and gooey.
We made our final goodbyes, and as we pulled away from the house, I watched it recede in the side mirror until it disappeared around a bend in the road. The bubble was bursting, one molecule at a time.
"Your mom thinks I'm good for you," Cam observed after we'd driven in silence for a few minutes.
"My mom thinks everyone should be happily married with 2.5 children and a golden retriever."
"Not a golden retriever person?" he asked, changing lanes smoothly as we approached the causeway to the mainland.
"I'm more of a rescue mutt person," I replied. "Something with a big personality that doesn't shed too much."
"Noted," he said with asmall smile, as if filing away this information for future reference.
"When did you text Coach Rocco?" I asked, genuinely curious. "I didn't see you on your phone much this weekend."
"This morning when you were in the shower," he replied. "Your dad gave me some great pointers. Said he's noticed the same issue since college."
"That sounds like Dad. He probably has a file on every player's technical weaknesses going back to peewee."
Cam laughed. "Probably. But he's not wrong. If I can work through that before Tuesday's opener, we'll have a better shot against Montreal."
I studied his profile as he drove, the tiny dimple in his chin, the focused set of his eyes on the road ahead. For all his playboy reputation, Cam was deadly serious about hockey. It was one of the things I'd always respected about him, even when I was determined to keep my distance.
"Your family's amazing," he said as we crossed the bridge to the mainland. "I mean, Zayne's said that a million times over the years... but seriously, Lana. I can see why you're so close to them."
"They liked you," I replied, glancing over at him and then burying my head in my hands. "Ohmygod, my mom and all the wedding stuff.” I laughed. “She's out of control."
He laughed, but there was a strange note in it… almost wistful. "Your dad actually offered to take me fishing again next time we have a few days off."
"Really?" I raised my eyebrows. This was profound. "Frank Decker extending a fishing invitation is practically a formal adoption ceremony."
"Yeah?" Cam looked genuinely pleased. "I haven't been fishing since I was a kid. One of my stepfathers used to take me, but then he stopped after he and my mom..."
"You hardly ever talk about your family, thanks for sharing this weekend," I said.
He shrugged. "Not much more to tell. Mom is still in Minnesota, my dad is somewhere in Arizona with fiancée number six or maybe seven, I think? I stopped counting once I left home. We're not exactly the Deckers."
The casual way he dismissed his own family squeezed something in my chest. Before I could respond, he changed the subject.
