Page 105 of Cold Feet
"That's a load of crap," he said, echoing Coco's assessment from yesterday. "It changed everything and you know it."
I looked away, unable to meet the raw emotion in his eyes. "Maybe for you."
"Look me in the eye and tell me it meant nothing to you," he challenged, stepping closer. "Tell me you didn't feel what I felt."
My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. "What does it matter what I felt? You're leaving."
"I haven't decided that!"
"But you'reconsidering it," I countered, finally letting some of my hurt show. "Which means you could go. Again. Just like before."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "So this isn't about Montreal. This is about college."
I said nothing, my silence confirmation enough.
"Lana," he said softly, reaching for me. I stepped back. "That was different. I explained that already. I left because… "
"You didn't explain anything," I interrupted, my voice rising despite my efforts to control it. "You disappeared. And now there's another chance to leave. Different city, same result."
He took a step toward me, his expression a mixture of frustration and determination. "I'm trying to figure things out! But I can't do that if you won't even talk to me."
"What is there to talk about? This is an amazing opportunity. You should take it."
"What if I don't want to?" His voice dropped, heavy with meaning. "What if what I want is right here?"
The hope that flared in my chest was dangerous, painful. I smothered it immediately. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't make promises you won't keep."
He stepped closer again, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint traces of his cologne. "I'm not promising anything except that I want to figure this out. Together. If it's what you want too."
I could feel my resolve crumbling under the intensity of his gaze, the sincerity in his voice. It would be so easy to give in, to believe him, to let myself hope. But hope was dangerous. Hope could destroy me when he inevitably left.
"Do you want this to be real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Us. Do you want us to be real?"
The question hung between us, loaded with possibility and terror. My heart screamedYES, but my self-preservation instinct kicked in hard. My fingers clutched at the engagement ring, twisting it anxiously.
"You don't get to ask that," I said, my voice brittle with unshed tears. "Not now. Not when you're this close to walking away again."
Pain flashed across his face, quickly followed by determination. "I'm not walking away, Lana. You're the one putting up walls."
"Because they're necessary!"
"No, they're not. They're just easier than taking a big shot." His voice softened. "I know you're scared. I am too. But what we have, what wecouldhave – isn't it worth the risk?"
For one breathless moment, I wavered. The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his voice – it would be so easy to believe him.
But the memory of waking up alone ten years ago, of the humiliation and heartbreak that followed, was too powerful. And now everyone – the team, the fans, the media – would have front-row seats to my potential devastation.
"I can't," I whispered. "I can't do this. Not with you, Cam. I'm sorry."
Before he could respond, before I could change my mind, I walked out, leaving him standing alone in the conference room. Each step away from him felt like walking through quicksand, but I forced myself to keep moving.
I had survived Cam Murphy once before. I could do it again.
I had to.
