Page 121 of Cold Feet
"I'm okay," I said automatically, then amended, "Well, not okay, exactly, but... surviving."
"Where are you? Logan and I stopped by your place, but you weren't there."
"I'm at my parents' beach house in Siesta Key. I needed to... get away for a bit."
"Smart move," Coco said. "The press was camped outside the training facility all day." There was background noise on her end – announcements, the murmur of conversations. "Listen, I'm at the airport right now. The team flew out to Boston this morning, and I'm headed there with the other WAGs for tomorrow's game."
"Right. The Bruins." In the chaos of the scandal, I'd almost forgotten about the regular season schedule. "How's the team?"
There was a slight pause. "They're... processing. Most of them are just pissed about how you're being treated in the press. Logan's furious about the way thatHockeyInsiderarticle painted you as some kind of evil villain. The guys keep telling him they can’t wait for the media blackout to be over so they can defend you."
I closed my eyes, a wave of gratitude washing over me. "Tell him thanks. Tell them all thanks."
"Actually," Coco continued, "that's part of why I'm calling. Trixie, Coach Sully's wife, has arranged for a private box for tomorrow's game. She wanted me to tell you that if you want to fly up to Boston, the WAGs will protect you in the box and keep the press away. She says, and I quote, 'Those vultures will have to go through all of us first.'"
I was momentarily speechless. Trixie Michaels was a formidable woman who took her role as the coach's wife and unofficial team mom seriously. The thought of her marshaling the players' wives and girlfriends into a defensive box around me was both touching and slightly terrifying.
"I... I don't know, Coco," I said finally. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure I'm ready to face…"
"Just think about it," she interrupted gently. "The offer stands. We've got your back, Lana. All of us."
I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat. "That's... thank you. I'll think about it."
There was a beat of silence before I gathered the courage to ask the question that had been burning in my mind. "How is he? Cam, I mean."
Coco sighed. "Honestly? He's all over the place. He didn't want to go home last night, stayed in our guest room. Logan said he's cycling between being livid about how you're being treated in the press, heartbroken over you, stressed about the Montreal trade, then back to anger again."
My heart clenched. "Was he... did he seem okay at practice today?"
"Defineokay," Coco said dryly. "He was unfocused in the short practice this morning – missed passes, botched drills. Then he got into a shoving match with Hendricks over some comment about you. Logan had to physically separate them."
"Oh god," I murmured, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Logan's worried about him," she admitted. "Says he's never seen Cam this distracted before a game. But he also says – " She broke off abruptly.
"What?" I pressed. "What does Logan say?"
She hesitated. "He says he's never seen Cam care about anyone or anything this much before. Not even hockey."
Her words stole my breath. I pressed my palm flat against my chest, as if I could somehow contain the ache blooming there.
I heard an announcement in the background. "They're calling my flight. But Lana?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever you decide about tomorrow, Boston or not, just know the team is behind you one hundred percent. No matter whatHockeyInsideror those jerks on social media say."
"Thank you," I whispered, genuinely moved by her loyalty. "That means more than you know."
"Take care of yourself. And think about Boston," she added before hanging up.
I set the phone down, my mind spinning with this new information. Cam was struggling. The team was rallying. I had to find a way forward through this mess.
Outside, the waves continued their eternal conversation with the shore, a reminder that some things remained constant even as everything else changed. I'd always found comfort in that sound – the steady rhythm of water against sand, nature's own heartbeat.
Turning back to my laptop, I continued working on my plan with renewed determination. I was Lana Decker, PR director for the St. Petersburg Slashers, daughter of Frank Decker, sister to Zayne and Drake, and – for better or worse – the woman who had fallen hopelessly in love with Cameron Murphy.
I didn't know if I could fix everything that had broken between us. I didn't know if Cam would stay with the team or take the Montreal offer. I didn't even know if my career would survive this scandal intact.
