Of course nothing from Camille. Why would there be? Lou had made her choice crystal clear with that text message—twelve words that had demolished everything they'd built together. She hadn't even given Camille the respect of a phone call, of a conversation, of a chance to argue or cry or convince Lou to stay. She'd taken thecoward's path, texting her goodbye from the safety of distance, and then turned her phone off so she wouldn't have to face the response.
What would Camille possibly have left to say to her now? What could anyone say after that kind of dismissal?
Lou drove home in a daze, the familiar streets of Phoenix Ridge sliding past like a half-remembered dream. Her small house waited at the end of the street, dark and empty, exactly as lonely as she'd made her life. The porch light had burned out days ago and she hadn't bothered to replace it. The lawn needed mowing. The mailbox was stuffed with catalogues and flyers she would never read. Small neglects that had accumulated while she was busy trying to be strong for everyone except herself.
She didn't sleep that night. Sat at her kitchen table instead, the old wooden surface scarred with years of meals eaten alone, staring at the wall that needed repainting and the calendar that still showed last month. The house was too quiet—just the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood.
Lou replayed every moment of her relationship with Camille from the shower room encounter to the desperate sex on Camille's couch. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered confession in the darkness. The way Camille's face had looked in the morning light. The sound of her laugh when Lou said something unexpected. The particular way her body moved when she was happy.
She'd had something real. Something precious. And she'd thrown it away because she was too afraid to hold on.
When the sun finally rose over the Phoenix Ridge mountains, Lou made a decision. Not a brave one—she wasn't sure she had any bravery left—but a necessary one.
She picked up her phone and composed a message to Mara and Astoria.
I'm stepping down as captain. The team deserves better leadership than I can give them right now. I'll continue to support from the bench, but someone else needs to wear the C.
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
The phone buzzed almost immediately with an acknowledgment from Mara—just a briefReceived. We'll discuss tomorrow.No judgment, no argument, just the clinical efficiency of a coach dealing with another complication in an already complicated season.
Lou set the phone face-down on the table and waited for the rest of the consequences to arrive. She didn't know what would happen next—whether Astoria would accept her resignation, whether the team would recover, whether she would ever find a way back to the person she'd been before Camille walked into her life and turned everything upside down.
One thing was certain: she couldn't keep pretending. Couldn't keep leading a team when she could barely lead herself. Couldn't keep wearing the captain's C when she'd proven herself unworthy of the responsibility.
The sun climbed higher, painting the kitchen in stripes of gold and shadow, and Lou sat alone with her choices and their consequences.
20
Lavender's coffee shop was nearly empty at two o'clock on a quiet Tuesday afternoon.
Camille sat in the corner booth, her back to the wall, a faded baseball cap pulled low over her unwashed blonde hair and oversized sunglasses hiding most of her face. She'd barely looked in a mirror before leaving her apartment. The disguise was pathetic—she looked exactly like a celebrity trying not to be recognized—but it was better than the alternative. The reporters had been everywhere since the confrontation last week, camped outside her apartment, waiting at the arena, appearing at restaurants and grocery stores with their cameras and their relentless questions.
Is it true about you and Lou Calder?
When did you realize you were gay?
Does Mario know?
She'd stopped going most places. Stayed in her apartment with the blinds drawn, ordering delivery and watchingthe walls close in around her. The days had blurred together—wake up, go to gym, do rehab exercises, cry, sleep, repeat. Her phone was full of messages she hadn't answered from her agent, her mother, old teammates who'd seen the headlines. The only calls she'd taken were from the team doctor about her knee.
The only reason she was here now was because Elise had texted four times in increasing urgency until Camille finally agreed to meet.
Elise sat across from her, two lattes untouched between them, her dark eyes full of the kind of concern that made Camille want to cry. The booth's vinyl seats creaked as Elise shifted, her strong hands wrapped around her coffee cup like she was trying to draw warmth from it.
"You need to hear this from someone who cares about you," Elise said quietly. "Lou stepped down as captain."
The words landed like a blow.
Camille's hand jerked, nearly knocking over her latte. The ceramic cup scraped against the table, coffee sloshing over the rim. She barely noticed. Her whole body had gone cold despite the warmth of the coffee shop, a numbness spreading through her limbs like ice forming on a pond.
"Lou stepped down as captain."
She made Elise repeat it because surely she'd misheard. But Elise's expression confirmed the terrible truth.
Camille had expected bad news—had been bracing for it since Elise texted asking to meet. But this was worse than anything she'd imagined. Lou had built her entire identity around being the Valkyries' leader, the steady presence that held the team together through every storm. For nine years, she'd worn that C on her jersey like armor. The captaincy wasn't just a title to her; it was who she was.
"When?" Camille's voice came out rough, scraped raw by days of crying.
