Page 77 of Cold Feet
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You like order. Control." There was no judgment in his tone, just observation. "Makes sense, given everything."
"Everything?" I echoed.
He gestured vaguely with his free hand. "Family legacy. Brothers in the spotlight. Always having to prove yourself."
The accuracy of this assessment, from someone I'd never really discussed it with, took me by surprise. The car rocked again in the wind, but my anxiety had dialed back from acute to merely uncomfortable.
"What was it like?" he asked after a moment. "Growing up in the Decker dynasty?"
I'd been asked variations of this question a hundred times by reporters, but something about Cam's genuine curiosity made me want to give a real answer, not the polished sound bite I usually offered.
"Complicated," I said finally. "I love my parents and my brothers obviously; they're my favorite people in the universe. The "anything for the team" mentality was sometimes hard to deal with. The dynasty part – I'msoproud of my family's accomplishments. I loved the games, being part of the community, always being around hockey. But also..."
"Never quite feeling like you belonged?" he suggested quietly.
I looked at him intensely, trying to puzzle out how he saw so much. "Yes. Exactly. How did you know?"
He shrugged, eyes on the stationary traffic ahead. "Recognized something familiar, I guess. Different circumstances, same feeling."
The bridge swayed beneath us, but I barely noticed now, caught in the current of this unexpected conversation. "Tell me," I said.
Cam was silent for so long I thought he might not answer. Then he sighed, his fingers still intertwined with mine.
"The family stuff. I've made some pretty bad choices in my life, sacrificed some things I shouldn't have, just trying to feel like I belonged."
The raw honesty in his voice made my throat tighten. It struck me again how similar we were – I wasn't the only one who'd been hiding behind a professional mask all these years. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to justhughim.
"I get that," I said softly. "Different version of the same thing. Frank Decker's daughter. Drake and Zayne's little sister. The team's PR director. Never just... Lana."
He fully turned to me then, his blue eyes serious. "I'm looking at you right now, and I don't see anythingbutLana. Just so you know."
Something fluttered in my chest, a dangerous, fragile thing I wasn't ready to name. Outside, the rain had intensified to sheets of water cascading down the windshield, the wail of the wind creating a cocoon around our stillness.
In the enclosed space of the car, with rain drumming on the roof and the bridge swaying beneath us, something shifted between us, revealing vulnerable spaces beneath. I was acutely aware of how close we were, how his hand still held mine, how his eyes had darkened to the color of the storm-tossed waters below us.
He leaned forward slightly, gaze dropping to my lips, and I didn't pull away. My heart hammered against my ribs, anticipation coiling tight within me. This wasn't for show. There were no cameras, no audience, nothing and no one to perform for. Just us, suspended above the world.
His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch feather-light. "Lana," he murmured.
I couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only nod almost imperceptibly as he closed the distance between us. I felt his breath, warm against my lips, his masculine scent filling my senses. My eyes drifted closed, and my mind emptied of everything but just this moment, just this man.
A horn blast fractured the moment. In front of us, traffic had begun to move, drivers impatient to be off the bridge as the storm intensified. Cam pulled back, his expression unreadable as he released my hand and put the car in drive.
"Shit. Looks like we're moving," he said, his voice strained.
The descent from the bridge was steep and quick, the car picking up speed as we passed the wreck and followed the flow of traffic down toward solid ground. As we descended, I felt reality crashing back in. The weekend was over, we were heading back to work, to colleagues, to the carefully constructed fiction of our engagement that increasingly felt like everything but fiction.
The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it was heavy with things unsaid. As we reached the mainland and the road flattened out, sheets of rain now falling in earnest around us, Cam finally spoke.
"I should probably take you straight to the rink, if it's okay," he said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. "It's already 8:30, and with this rain, we won't make it back to your place and then to practice on time."
"Right," I agreed, my voice sounding strangely normal given the turmoil inside me. "I have that media training with Blackwood at eleven anyway."
He nodded, adjusting the wipers as the rain intensified. "Back to the grind."
"Back to reality," I echoed, my voice laced with dread.
