Page 57 of Cold Feet
Something in his tone made my chest ache. I thought about what he'd said on the dock about learning to read rooms, to adjust to new situations. It hadn't just been about making small talk or navigating social events. It was about survival.
"Is that why hockey was so important to you?" I asked. "Something stable?"
"Yeah." The admission came easily in the darkness. "The rink was always the same. The rules never changed. I knew exactly what was expected of me. It was, uh, predictable. Safe." He shifted again. "When everything else in your life keeps changing – your home, your family, your school – you hold onto the things that stay the same. For me, that was hockey. No matter where we moved, I could find a rink, find a team."
I'd never thought of hockey that way; as a refuge. For me, it had always been about the game we all love, family, about belonging to the Decker dynasty. I wondered what it might have been like to find the sport on my own, to choose it rather than inherit it.
"That's why the team means so much to me," he continued, his voice deepening with emotion. "The guys, coaches, even staff." It's the closest thing I've ever had to a real family. People who are actually sticking around, who want me to be there, not as someone who has to be crowbarred into their new life plan."
"Even Zayne?" I teased gently, trying to lighten the moment.
"Especially Zayne," he said seriously. "He was the first person I met my freshman year at BU. He’s constant. Solid. When everything else was shifting, Zayne was just Zayne. Same in the dorms as he was on the ice as he was in class. Never pretended to be something he wasn't, never expected me to be anything but myself."
His voice softened, became reflective. "I'd never had that before, someone who didn't change depending on the circumstance. He's always Zayne. Loyal, steady, Zayne."
I felt a sudden surge of affection for my stoic, grumpy brother. For all his flaws and overprotectiveness, Zaynedidhave a steadiness to him that I'd always taken for granted. I'd never considered how that quality might have appeared to someone like Cam, whose life had been defined by instability.
"We're lucky to have him," I said softly. "Even when he's being an overprotective pain in the ass."
Cam laughed quietly. "He loves you. He just wants to protect you."
"I know." I paused, then added, "He's not about to murder you in your sleep for coming within five feet of me, is he?"
"Nah. He's more the broad-daylight murder type. Witnesses, consequences… he's not afraid."
I snort-laughed, then sobered. "How bad was it? Moving around so much?"
"On the positive, it taught me to adapt. To read people, adjust, become what was needed. But... yeah. Never feeling like you belong anywhere, like you have a home base? It wears on you. Especially as a kid." His voice had taken on a reflective quality I'd rarely heard from him. "Some days, even now, I'll wake up and not remember which house I'm in. Just for a second. Disoriented until I remember it'smyplace, and I never have to move unless I want to."
He paused, and I could hear him swallow in the darkness. "That night in college, with you... that was only the second time I felt like maybe I could just be me. Not whoever I needed to be to keep the peace or fit in. Just... Cam."
My breath caught at the unexpected pivot. We'd been carefully avoiding any direct mention of that night for years, dancing around it with practiced precision. Now here it was, suddenly looming large between us in the darkened room.
"I didn't think you remembered that night," I said carefully, my heart suddenly pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
His laugh was soft, disbelieving. "Lana. How could I forget?"
The simple question was loaded with implication. My pulse skittered wildly, and I was grateful for the darkness that concealed my expression.
"You left," I said finally, the words coming out before I could stop them. "You didn't even say goodbye. You never called."
He was silent for a long moment, and I could sense him gathering his thoughts in the darkness. "I know."
"I woke up, and you were just... gone." The memory still stung, even after all these years and I felt my eyes burning.Do. Not. Cry.I breathed slowly to manage my emotions so Cam wouldn’t hear. "I felt so stupid. I thought we had this... connection. This amazing night. And then you disappeared like it meant nothing."
"It didn't mean nothing," he said quietly, intensely. "It meant everything."
"Then why did you leave?" The question I'd wanted to ask for ten years finally escaped, hanging between us.
"It's complicated."
"That's not an answer."
He sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry the weight of a decade. "No, it's not."
I waited, but he didn't elaborate. The silence stretched between us, taut with unspoken words. Outside, the waves continued their eternal conversation with the shore, indifferent to our human struggles.
I was not dropping this. I’d waited ten years to have this conversation.
