The walk to Mara's office felt like walking to an execution.
Camille's knee was feeling better but the crutches were digging into her armpits as she made her way down the arena's administrative corridor. The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in that particular institutional glow—too bright, too flat, stripping away shadows and secrets alike. Her reflection flickered in the glass of the trophy cases lining the wall, distorted and unfamiliar, a woman on crutches who barely recognized herself anymore. The hallway was empty at 8:55 AM—most of the staff didn't arrive until nine, and the players wouldn't filter in for practice today until later in the morning. The silence amplified every sound: the squeak of rubber tips on linoleum, the distant hum of climate control, the rapid drumbeat of Camille's heart against her ribs.
She'd spent the entire night rehearsing what she was going to say. Had practiced in front of her bathroom mirror until the words started to sound hollow, had written notes that she'd torn up and rewritten three times before finallygiving up on the script entirely. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, her hands trembling slightly from too much coffee and not enough food. The words still felt inadequate—too big, too small, too much and not enough all at once.
But she was done waiting for the perfect moment. Done hiding behind strategic planning and image management and all the careful calculations that had defined her career. Elise's words echoed through her mind:a life lived safe is a life lived small.Today, she was going to be honest. Whatever that cost her.
Mara's office door was closed, a strip of light visible beneath the frame. Camille paused outside, adjusting her grip on the crutches, forcing her breathing to slow. She could hear muffled voices inside—Mara and Astoria, already deep in conversation about whatever crisis the team faced today.
She knocked.
"Come in."
Mara's office was exactly as Camille remembered—whiteboard covered in play diagrams, desk stacked with scouting reports, the faint smell of coffee and dry-erase markers permeating the small space. A half-eaten protein bar sat abandoned near the phone, evidence of a coach who'd already been working for hours. Mara sat behind the desk, her greying hair pulled back in its usual practical ponytail, reading glasses perched on her nose, her expression guarded but curious. Astoria stood by the window, silhouetted against the Phoenix Ridge morning sun, her tailored suit perfect as always despite the early hour. A gold watch caught the light as she turned, and Camille was struck by the contrast—their composed professionalism against the ragged edges of her own desperation.
Both women turned as Camille entered. Their faces heldthe particular wariness of people who'd been expecting bad news and weren't sure what form it would take.
"Have a seat," Mara said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.
Camille sat, her injured leg stretched carefully in front of her. The crutches leaned against the desk, and for a moment she just looked at the two women who held so much power over her career—and, by extension, over her future with Lou.
"Thank you for seeing me," she started.
"You said there was something you needed to tell us." Astoria's voice was crisp, businesslike. "Given everything that's happened this week, I have some guesses about what that might be."
"I'm sure you do." Camille's hands were sweating. She wiped them on her thighs, a gesture she would never have made in a formal meeting before. But this wasn't a formal meeting. This was something else entirely. "I'm done guessing. I'm done hiding. So I'm just going to say it."
She took a deep breath.
"I'm in love with Lou Calder."
The words landed in the room, solid and undeniable. Camille had expected them to feel like an ending—the final collapse of the careful image she'd spent years constructing. Instead, they felt like freedom. Like stepping out of a costume she'd been wearing so long she'd forgotten it wasn't skin.
Mara and Astoria exchanged a glance that was impossible to read.
"We know," Mara said finally. "I've known since the flight back from New York."
"And I've known since I saw the two of you on the ice together," Astoria added. "The way you play together—thechemistry—it's not something teammates have. It's something lovers have."
Camille stared at them both, her carefully rehearsed speech dissolving into confusion. All those nights of panic, all those stolen moments weighted with guilt—and they'd seen through her anyway. "You knew. This whole time, you both knew."
"We gave you space to figure it out yourselves." Mara leaned back in her chair, her expression softening slightly. She removed her reading glasses and set them on the desk—a gesture that somehow made her seem more human, more approachable. "It wasn't our place to force the conversation. But yes, we knew."
"Then you also know what happened." Camille's voice caught. "Lou ended things. Stepped down as captain. Shut herself away because she thinks she's protecting everyone by disappearing. And the team is falling apart without her."
"All true." Astoria moved from the window to the chair beside Camille, lowering herself with the controlled grace of someone who was used to commanding rooms. "Which is why we're glad you came to us. We were debating how to handle this situation when you called."
"Handle it how?"
"Lou is the heart of this team," Mara said. "Has been for nine years. Losing her as captain—losing her focus and presence—is devastating, regardless of what happens with qualification. We need her back."
"I know." Camille's throat tightened. "That's why I'm here. I want to bring her back. I want to—" She paused, searching for the right words. "I want to come out. Publicly. Tell the truth about who I am and how I feel about Lou. Because I think that's the only way to show her that this is real. That I'm not ashamed. That I'm willing to fight for us."
Astoria studied her for a long moment. "You understand what that would mean for your career? The endorsements, the media scrutiny, the public narrative—all of it would change."
"I know."
"Some sponsors will drop you. Others will embrace you. You'll become a symbol whether you want to be or not—for the LGBTQ community, for women's sports, for authenticity in athletics." Astoria's dark eyes were sharp but not unkind. "That's a heavy weight to carry."
