Page 126 of Cold Feet
But the second period wasn't much better. Logan and Zayne were playing their hearts out, keeping the Slashers in the game with solid defense and a few good chances, but the team couldn't find the equalizer. Cam's frustration was visible in every line of his body: the way he slammed the bench door during line changes, the force behind his increasingly reckless checks.
"This isn't good," Coco muttered as Cam was called for a slashing penalty. "He's going to get himself thrown out at this rate."
I watched him skate to the penalty box, head down, and felt an ache deep in my chest. This wasn't the Cam I knew – the player who thrived under pressure, who played with joy even in the toughest games. I found myself leaning forward, wishing I could somehow catch his eye, let him know I was here.
The Slashers killed the penalty, but the momentum stayed with Boston. As the second period wound down, Morozov, a Bruins defenseman, checked Cam hard into the boards right below our box. We couldn't hear what was said, but suddenly Cam's head snapped up, and he shoved the player forcefully.
"Oh no," Shayna whispered.
The Bruins player said something else – something that made Cam's face contort with rage. In an instant, gloves were dropped, and Cam was throwing punches with a ferocity I'd never seen from him. The Boston player got in a few shots, but Cam was relentless, driving him back against the boards.
"Jeez. What did he say to him?" I asked, standing to see better.
Marcy, who was squinting through a pair of professional-grade binoculars, said, "Can't read lips from this angle, but..." She trailed off, lowering the binoculars to give me a knowing look. "If I had to guess, given recent headlines, he probably said something about you."
Other players converged, and suddenly it wasn't just Cam and the defenseman – it was a full-on brawl. Zayne was there in a flash, pulling a Bruins forward off Cam's back. Logan joined the fray, defending his teammates. A Bruins helmet skittered across the ice. Officials struggled to separate the players as the crowd roared its approval.
"What the hell happened?" I asked, still standing for a better view.
"Cam's been on edge since the whole scandal broke," Trixie explained, surprisingly calm as chaos unfolded below. "Sully says he's been taking everything personally. That boy down there is fighting for a lot more than just a hockey puck."
As the officials finally gained control of the situation, assessing penalties and sending players to the box, the Jumbotron began showing faces in the crowd, a standard way to keep fans entertained during delays.
I wasn't paying attention, too focused on trying to see if Cam was okay, until Marcy grabbed my arm.
"Lana," she hissed, "look up."
I raised my eyes to the massive screen hanging from the ceiling and felt my stomach drop. There I was, in full HD glory, wearing Cam's jersey, the sapphire ring clearly visible on my hand. The camera lingered, and a murmur went through the crowd as recognition dawned.
"Shit," I breathed, instinctively starting to shrink back.
"Take a breath, look right at me and nod like I just said something fascinating," Trixie advised, leaning in towards me. "You're okay,what scandal?,no big deal,we're just supporting our team up here..."
I did as instructed, forcing my features into a calm mask while my heart hammered against my ribs.
On the ice, the penalty boxes were being sorted. Cam, still breathing hard from the fight, had his back to the jumbotron. But as the crowd's murmur grew louder, he turned – and froze.
Even from this distance, I could see the exact moment he spotted me on the screen. His whole body went still, his eyes locked on my image. I couldn't look away, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but hold his gaze across the impossible distance between us. I gave up the pretense of calm and smiled directly at the camera, letting him see me –reallysee me.
The camera finally moved on to another section of fans, but the damage – or maybe the miracle – was done. Cam knew I was here.
"Well," Trixie said beside me, "that cat's out of the bag. That's fine, we've planned for this too."
I sank back into my seat, heart hammering. "So much for staying under the radar."
"Are you okay?" Coco asked, squeezing my hand.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I didn't exactly plan on announcing my presence via jumbotron, but I guess this saves me from having to figure out what to say to him first."
Shayna leaned in. "If it helps, Cam looked more awake in those five seconds than he has all game."
She wasn't wrong. When play resumed after the penalties were sorted (Cam got five minutes for fighting, offset by the Bruins player's five), something had changed. Cam's entire demeanor was different: focused, intense, present in a way he hadn't been all night.
"What did that Bruinsplayer say to him?" I asked Coco again.
She raised an eyebrow. "My guess is he was talking shit about you." She cracked up, and suddenly I was too. "Wrong move, buddy..."
The third period started with the Slashers still down by one goal, but the energy on the ice had shifted. Cam came out of the penalty box like a man possessed, forechecking with ferocious intensity, winning puck battles, creating chances. Twice he nearly scored, only to be denied by brilliant saves from the Boston goaltender.
