Page 98 of Cold Feet
Cam stood in the doorway, tension radiating from every line of his body. "Lana," he said quietly, "we need to talk."
"Oh? About what, exactly?” I turned to face him, arms crossed protectively over my chest, using anger as a shield against the hurt threatening to overwhelm me. “Your exciting new future in Montreal? Or the fact that you kept me in the dark while I was making a complete fool of myself?"
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "It's not like that. I only found out this morning, literally fifteen minutes before the meeting. Marcus called me as I was about to get into the shower, and Ryan was already in town for last night's opener and the Redline meeting."
"Convenient timing." The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. I moved behind my desk, putting the furniture between us like a barrier.
"I couldn't tell you about it – "
"Because of confidentiality, right?" I laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. "I get it. I'm just the PR director. Just the woman you spent the night with. Just the person who put her entire professional reputation, not to mention my family's legacy, on the line for you. But sure, whatever."
Cam's frustration was evident in the tightness of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. "You know how these things work, Lana. There are protocols, legalities. It's not my decision what gets disclosed when."
"But it is your decision whether to take the offer." The words hung between us, heavy with implication.
His eyes flickered to the ring sitting in the middle of my desk. "I haven't decided anything yet."
"Really?" My voice dripped with skepticism. "Because you know that offer is going to be life-changing money, Cam. The kind of offer players dream about. We faked a freaking engagement for a sneaker deal. Whatever Montreal's offering is going to make that look like peanuts." I paced to the window, needing distance from his presence, from his familiar scent that reminded me of being wrapped in his sheets. Wrapped up inhim. "And Montreal: what a market to play in. Historic franchise, rabid fanbase, you'll be a media darling."Thanks to me.
My throat constricted painfully. "Plus, as Ryan so helpfully pointed out, it gives us the perfect excuse to end our charade. Mission accomplished, no broken engagement fallout, everyone wins."
Except me. I wouldn't win. I'd be left behind again, just like ten years ago.
He took a step toward me, his expression softening. "Lana, please. Can we just talk about what this means for us?"
"Us?" I turned to face him, anger and hurt finally breaking through my professional veneer. "Was there ever really an 'us,' Cam? Or was last night just... what? A pre-goodbye? A big game hook-up? A fantasy before reality sets in?"
"Last night was real," he said, voice low and intense. "Everything I said, everything I felt – it was all real." His eyes flickered again to the center of my desk, where my fake engagement ring now sat.
"Just like ten years ago? When you disappeared without a word?"
The parallel wasn't lost on him. His expression darkened with remembered pain. "That was different. You know why I left then."
"And now there's a new reason to go. Different city, same result." I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
"I haven't decided anything," he repeated, stepping closer. "I need time to think about what I want."
Something inside me snapped. My fear of being left behindagain, of not being enough – it all crystallized into a vivid, sharp wound. "Well, don't let me factor into your decision. I wouldn't want to stand between hockey's golden boy and his payday."
Hurt flashed across his face, his eyes widening slightly. "That's not fair."
"Fair?" I laughed, the sound too close to a sob. "Was it fair to let me believe in something last night, knowing this bombshell was coming? Was it fair to tell Zayne you've always loved me when you're already considering a future 1500 miles away?"
"I didn't know about the offer when I talked to Zayne!" His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. "And I meant every word I said to him."
For a moment, I wanted to believe him. The raw emotion in his voice, the intensity in his eyes – it was everything I'd seen last night when he'd held me, when he'd whispered my name against my skin. But the timing was too painful, the similarities to our past too obvious.
“I told you, over and over again, to stick to the rules of our fake engagement,” I hissed. “Not just for your protection, but formine. But from the second your agent brought up this insane idea, you’ve been constantly coming at me like some overly-aggressive forechecker. And once again, I fell for your bullshit.”
“Lana, wait…” Cam said, devastation in his eyes.
"You should go," I said, turning back to the window, unable to look at him anymore. The view of the practice rink below – where just yesterday I'd watched him skate, where just last night he'd scored that miraculous hat trick before taking me home, blurred through unshed tears. "You have a lot to think about, and I have PR strategies to develop for your imminent departure."
"Lana, please – " His voice caught, a rough edge to it that almost broke my resolve.
"Get out, Cam."My voice cracked slightly. "Just... please go."
The silence stretched between us, taut with emotions. Finally, I heard him move toward the door. I kept my back turned, afraid that if I looked at him, my fragile composure would shatter completely.
