Page 58 of Cold Feet
"Do you know what the worst part was?" I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not that you left. But that I didn't see it coming. It felt like we'd found something real, and it turned out to be nothing." I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat. "I laid there like an idiot, waiting for you to come back, making up excuses – maybe you went to get coffee, maybe you had an early class. But you never came back."
I could hear the embarrassing tremor in my voice but couldn't seem to stop the words that had been locked inside for too long. "It made me doubt myself. My judgment. Like I couldn't tell the difference between what was genuine and what wasn't. Like I'd imagined the entire connection."
"Lana – "
"Ever since then, I've been so careful. So determined not to be fooled again. And now here we are, pretending to be engaged, sleeping in the same bed, playing this elaborate game where it's getting harder and harder to tell what's real and what's for show, and I just – " I broke off, horrified to feel tears threatening again, betraying my vulnerability. I blinked rapidly in the darkness, willing them away.
"Hey," Cam said softly, and I felt his hand find mine on top of the covers, his fingers wrapping gently around mine. "This isn't like that."
His palm was warm against the back of my hand, sending a current of awareness up my arm.
"Isn't it?" I whispered, absolutelyhatingthe vulnerability in my voice.
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb continuing its gentle path across my skin. The simple touch anchored me in the darkness, a physical connection to match the emotional one we were tiptoeing around.
"I wanted to stay," he finally said, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. "That night in college. I wanted to stay more than anything."
Theraw honesty in his voice made something catch in my chest. "Then why didn't you?"
I felt, rather than saw, him shake his head in the darkness. "I can't... it was complicated."
A wave of frustration swept through me, and I tried to pull my hand away. His fingers tightened, not letting go. "That's cryptic and unhelpful."
"I know." His fingers intertwined with mine, holding on when I would have retreated. "I'm sorry. I just... I need you to know that it wasn't because of you. It wasn't because what we had wasn't real. It wasn't because I didn't care."
The earnestness in his voice was almost painful to hear. He moved closer, just a few inches, but I could feel the heat of him now, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.
"I've regretted leaving a thousand times," he continued, his voice rough with emotion. "I've replayed that night in my head more times than I can count. I've wondered what might have happened if I'd stayed, if we'd had a chance to see where things could go."
I lay there in the darkness, trying to process his words. They didn't make sense – if he'd wanted to stay, why hadn't he? If it had meant something to him, why had he never mentioned it in all the years since? Why was he being so evasive now?
"I don't understand," I said finally.
"I know," he repeated, squeezing my hand. "And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I hurt you."
The apology was unexpectedly affecting. I'd locked the memory away, pretended it didn't matter, convinced myself it was just a college hookup gone wrong. To hear Cam recognize the hurt he'd caused made something inside me crack open.
"I've spent ten years trying not to think about that night," I admitted. "Trying to forget how it felt. Howyoumade me feel."
His breath caught audibly, and his hand tightened around mine. "How did I make you feel?" The question was hesitant, almost vulnerable, as if he was bracing himself for the answer. But the darkness gave us both cover, a veil of protection.
I closed my eyes, letting myself remember. The way we'd talked for hours. The walk back to my dorm, stars overhead, our shoulders bumping as we laughed. The kiss that had started gentle and quickly blazed out of control. The way he'd looked at me as we'd undressed each other, like I was something rare and cherished.
"Like I wasthe only person in the world who mattered," I said softly. "Like you saw me, really saw me. Not as Frank Decker's daughter or Zayne's sister or a back door into some hockey dynasty. Just... me."
The truth of it settled over me as I spoke. That was what had been so intoxicating about that night: the feeling of being truly seen, of connecting on a million different levels with someone who wasn't looking at me through the lens of my family name or reputation.
"I did see you," Cam said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I still do."
He shifted again, his free hand finding my face in the darkness, fingertips ghosting along my jaw with exquisite gentleness. The touch was so unexpected, so tender, that I couldn't have pulled away if I'd wanted to.
"That night with you," he continued, his voice low and intimate, "it was different from anything I'd ever experienced. It wasn't just physical. It was... everything. The way you looked at me. The way you listened. The way you laughed. I'd never felt so known."
I didn't know what to say. It felt too big, too laden with meaning I had no idea how to examine. I was acutely aware of his hand still holding mine, his other hand now resting lightly on my cheek, the heat of him so close in the darkness. My pulse was roaring in my ears, and I was sure he must feel it.
We lay in silence for what felt like a long time, the tension between us electric and fragile. His thumb traced the curve of my cheekbone, a touch so light it was barely there, but it sent tremors through me.
"I should let you sleep," he finally said, though he didn't move away, didn't release my hand.
