"Just drive," she told the driver as she collapsed into the back seat, her crutches clattering against the door. "Please. Anywhere. Just drive."
The cab pulled away from the curb, and Camille watched Lavender's shrink in the rear window—the reporters spilling out onto the sidewalk, still shouting questions, their voices fading as distance swallowed them. One of them was already on the phone, probably calling an editor, probably already crafting the headline that would follow Camille for the rest of her career.
Hockey Star Flees Questions About Secret Lesbian Affair.
Camille Laurent-Dubois and Lou Calder: The Love Story Phoenix Ridge Didn't See Coming.
From Mario King to Mystery Woman: Inside Camille's Shocking New Romance.
The headlines wrote themselves in her mind, each one worse than the last.
Then the tears came.
Not the quiet, dignified tears of the gym, but ugly, body-shaking sobs that ripped from her chest like something being torn loose. She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds, but the driver had already noticed. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror—sympathetic but uncomfortable, the look of someone who'd signed up to transport passengers, not witness breakdowns.
"Anywhere in particular, miss?"
Camille shook her head. She had nowhere to go. Her apartment felt contaminated now—memories of Lou everywhere, the couch where they'd made love, the bed where they'd whispered secrets in the dark. She couldn't face the arena, couldn't face her teammates with their questions and their concern. She couldn't face anyone.
Lou had ended things via text.
The media had found out about them somehow.
And Camille was alone in the back of a cab, crying so hard she couldn't breathe, with her knee throbbing and her heart in pieces and no idea how to put any of it back together.
She fumbled for her phone, thought about calling Lou—demanding an explanation, begging her to reconsider, screaming at her for the cowardice of a breakup text. Her thumb hovered over Lou's contact, the picture there one from weeks ago, Lou smiling in a rare unguarded moment. But what would be the point? Lou had made her choice. The words were clear:I can't do this anymore.
Maybe Lou was right. Maybe this had been a mistake from the beginning—two people from different worlds trying to build something in the shadows, thinking the darkness would protect them. Maybe love always cost something, and Camille had been foolish to think she could have this without paying the price.
But God, she hadn't expected the price to be this high.
"Miss?" The driver's voice cut through her spiral. "You okay back there?"
"No." The word escaped before she could stop it—raw and honest in ways she never was with strangers. "No, I'm really not."
The driver nodded slowly, his eyes kind in the mirror. "There's a park up ahead. Nice and quiet this time of morning. Sometimes it helps to just... sit for a while."
Camille wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "That sounds good. Thank you."
He dropped her at a small park she'd never noticed before—a patch of green tucked between office buildings, with wooden benches shaded by olive trees and a fountain burbling in the center. Camille paid him double the fare and hobbled to the nearest bench, her crutches leaving divots in the grass.
She sat there for a long time, watching the fountain and letting the tears dry on her cheeks. A pigeon landed near her feet, pecking at invisible crumbs in the grass. A businessman walked past without looking at her, absorbed in his phone. The world kept turning, indifferent to her devastation.
The sun climbed higher, the shadows shifting around her, and slowly the panic receded into something duller. More manageable. The hollow ache of loss settling into her bones like it planned to stay. Her knee throbbed in timewith her heartbeat, a constant reminder of all the ways her body had failed her this week.
She kept thinking about the last time she'd seen Lou—the way Lou had kissed her goodbye at the door, the careful distance in her eyes that Camille had tried to ignore. Had Lou already been planning this? Had the words of that text been forming in her mind even as they'd made love?
The thought made her sick.
Lou was gone.
The secret was out—or close enough to out that it hardly mattered.
And Camille had to figure out what came next.
Her phone buzzed. Another text, this one from Elise:Heard what happened at Lavender's. Are you okay? Call me if you need anything.
Camille stared at the message for a long moment. Then she typed back:Not okay. But I will be.
