"What did you do?"
"I panicked. I pushed her away. I made every mistake you're making right now." Elise's eyes met hers, steady andcertain. "And then I realized that a life lived safe is a life lived small. So I took the leap. Ten years later, I'm still falling."
The barista announced something from behind the counter—a name, an order ready for pickup—and the spell of the conversation broke. Elise glanced at her watch, her expression shifting to apologetic.
"I need to get to practice. We're running skeleton drills with whoever's healthy enough to skate." She stood, then paused, looking down at Camille with something that might have been hope. "Think about what I said. About Lou. About all of it."
"I will."
"And Camille?" Elise reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "For what it's worth—I think you two are worth fighting for. I think Lou thinks so too, even if she's too scared to admit it. Don't give up on her yet."
Then she was gone, the coffee shop purple door swinging shut behind her, leaving Camille alone with two cold lattes and the weight of everything she'd lost.
She sat there for a long time after Elise left. Let the afternoon shadows lengthen across the floor. Let the tears dry and the ache settle into something almost bearable. The coffee shop filled and emptied around her—customers coming and going, the barista calling orders, the ordinary rhythm of a world that kept spinning regardless of Camille's grief.
Lou had quit. Not just the relationship—the captaincy too. Had burned down everything she'd built because she was too afraid to face what was growing between them. Had taken the coward's path, hiding in her house with the lights on and the door closed, refusing to answer calls or open up to the people who loved her.
But Camille had done the same thing, hadn't she? Had crawled into her apartment and pulled the blinds and let the darkness swallow her whole. Had accepted Lou's dismissal without fighting, without pushing back, without doing any of the things she would have done if she were the woman she claimed to be.
And Camille had let her. Had let both of them. Had accepted that text message without fighting, without demanding a real conversation, without doing anything except crawling into a hole and licking her wounds.
Maybe Elise was right. Maybe this was the part where she stopped calculating and started feeling.
Maybe this was the part where she fought.
Camille pulled out her phone, stared at the screen for a long moment, then opened her contacts. Not Lou's name—not yet. There was something she needed to do first.
She found Astoria Shepry's number and pressed call before she could second-guess herself.
"Camille." Astoria's voice was crisp, professional, but not unkind. "I've been wondering when I'd hear from you."
"I need to meet with you. You and Mara both." Camille's voice came out steadier than she expected. "Tomorrow, if possible. There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."
A pause on the other end of the line. Then: "Mara's office, nine AM sharp. We'll be there."
"Thank you." The words were inadequate for what she was feeling, but they would have to do.
Camille hung up and stared at her phone for another long moment. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat, her palms slick with sweat, every instinct she'd developed over years of strategic image management screaming at her to reconsider. What was shedoing? She'd spent her entire career controlling narratives, managing appearances, making sure every public statement was calculated for maximum benefit. And now she was about to blow all of that up.
For Lou.
For herself.
For the chance at something real, even if it cost her everything she'd built.
But Elise was right. She was done playing. Done calculating. Done hiding in shadows while the woman she loved destroyed herself with fear.
Tomorrow, she would tell the truth. Would stand in front of Astoria and Mara and say the words she'd been too scared to say: I'm in love with Lou Calder. I'm gay, or bisexual, or whatever word fits. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise.
And then she would go find Lou. Would knock on that door until Lou opened it, would say whatever needed saying to break through the walls Lou had built around herself. Would fight for what they'd started to build, because some things were worth fighting for.
For the first time in weeks, Camille felt something besides despair.
It was hope. Small and fragile and terrifying, flickering like a candle in a dark room, but present. Alive.
And she was going to hold onto it with everything she had left.
21
