Page 108 of Cold Feet
"And I wasn't worth fighting for. You barely knew me." The words escaped before I could stop them, raw and honest, coming straight from that wounded place I'd carried for a decade.
"You were worth everything," he said quietly, his blue eyes bright with emotion. "I just didn't realize what I'd given up until it was too late."
We stood there, the weight of a decade of misunderstandings and missed opportunities between us. The office was silent except for the distant hum of the air conditioning and the sound of our uneven breathing.
"When we started this whole engagement scenario," Cam continued, taking a cautious step toward me, "I thought maybe it was a second chance. A way to be near you, to finally show you who I really am. What you've always meant to me."
"And then Montreal happened," I said flatly.
He nodded, running a hand through his hair again. "The timing is... I know how it looks. But I swear to you, I didn't know about the offer when we were together the other night. Everything that happened between us was real, Lana. It's always been real for me."
I wanted to believe him. Part of me did. But another part, the part that had been protecting my heart for ten years, couldn't silence the voice whispering that history was repeating itself. That once again, when faced with a choice, Cam would leave.
"Even if that's true," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, "it doesn't change anything. You left once because hockey and my brother were more important than me, and honestly, Icompletelyunderstand where you were coming from. And now you have an opportunity in Montreal that any player would kill for. It’s just the fact that I understandwhyyou made the decision you did, won’t make it hurt any less for me if you leave." I met his eyes directly. "Tell me honestly, Cam. Can you look me in the eye and say you won't take it?"
He hesitated – just for a moment, but it was enough.
"That's what I thought," I said quietly.
"It's not that simple," he argued, desperation edging into his voice. "This is my career, my future. But that doesn't mean I don't want you in it."
"As what, exactly? The girlfriend waiting at home while you play in another country? The ex-fiancée who made a noble sacrifice for your career?" My laugh was bitter, brittle. "No thanks." I crossed my arms protectively. "I won't be second choice again, Cam."
"You were never second choice." His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. "Don't you get it? I've been in love with you for ten years. Ten years, Lana. Through girlfriends who never measured up, through seeing you every day at work, through forcing myself to keep my distance because I thought that's what you wanted."
The word "love" hit me like a physical blow, making my knees weak.
"That's not fair," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You can't say that now. Not when everything's falling apart."
He stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. "When should I say it, then? When is the right time? Because I've been holding it back for a decade, and all it's done is cost us both."
There was something in his eyes, a raw vulnerability I'd only glimpsed in our most intimate moments. It made my chest ache with a longing so profound I could barely breathe.
"I told Zayne how I felt about you," he continued quietly. "I told him you're the only one. That it's always been you. I was ready to risk our friendship, his anger – everything – because I couldn't bear losing you again."
"And then Montreal called." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice.
His expression tightened. "Yes. Then Montreal called. With a trade deal that will probably set me up for life. But that doesn't change how I feel about you." He hesitated, then added softly, "And what if the Slashers are just another stepfamily that doesn't really want me? What if I giveup everything for them, for this team, and they trade me anyway somewhere worse next year?"
The vulnerability in his admission made my heart twist. I understood his fear all too well – the fear of never truly belonging, of rejection.
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It doesn't have to change how you feel. That's the point, Cam. Your feelings didn't change ten years ago either, did they? You still left."
"I was a kid then!" His control finally snapped. "I made the wrong choice, and I've paid for it every day since."
"And what's your excuse now?" I challenged, angry tears threatening to spill. "We're not kids anymore. This is real life. Real choices. And once again, when it comes down to it, I'm not enough to make you stay."
He reached for me, but I stepped back, maintaining the distance between us. I couldn't let him touch me. If he did, if I felt the warmth of his hands, I might crumble completely.
"That's not fair," he said, voice tight with emotion. "I haven't made any decision about Montreal. I'm trying to figure it out. All I'm asking is for you to be part of that conversation."
"Why? So I can watch you talk yourself into leaving? So I can give you permission to go and ease your conscience? No thank you." I couldn't keep the hurt from bleeding through every word.
"So we can figure out what's possible together," he insisted, hands outstretched. "Long distance. Visits. Something. Anything. I'm not ready to give up on us, Lana."
"There is nous,'" I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. "There's just two people with really bad timing and a lot of history. We had one night ten years ago, the other night, and now we're in this mess. We're a two-night stand with a shit ton of baggage. That's all."
Even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. There had always been anus– invisible, unacknowledged, but real. From that first night in college to now, something had connected us, always pulling us back into each other's orbit despite everything.
