"I know," Camille said again. "But I've been carrying a heavier one. Pretending to be someone I'm not. Dating men for PR while my heart wanted something else. Building a life on a foundation of lies." Her voice steadied with conviction. "I'm done with that. Whatever comes next—the sponsors, the media, the public scrutiny—at least it will be real. At least it will be me."
Mara leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. "What do you need from us?"
"Your support. When I go public, when the questions come, I need to know that Phoenix Ridge has my back." Camille looked between them. "And I need to know you'll help me bring Lou back. Not just as captain—as herself. As the woman I love."
Another exchanged glance between Mara and Astoria. Something passed between them—a decision reached, a calculation completed.
"You have our full support," Astoria said. "Phoenix Ridge values authenticity. We believe in our players as whole people, not just athletes. When you're ready to make a statement, our PR team will help you craft the messaging."
"And Lou?" Camille asked.
Mara's expression turned thoughtful. "Lou has to makeher own choice about coming back. We can't force that. But if you can reach her—if you can break through whatever walls she's built around herself—we'll welcome her home with open arms."
"The captaincy will be waiting for her," Astoria added. "If she wants it back."
Relief flooded through Camille, loosening the knot that had lived in her chest for days. She hadn't expected this to be easy—had prepared for resistance, for complications, for the careful corporate calculations that usually governed these conversations. But Mara and Astoria were offering something she hadn't dared hope for: unconditional support.
"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Both of you. I didn't know if?—"
"Camille." Mara cut her off gently. "I gave you a hard time about distractions because I was worried about the team. But I never wanted you to hide who you are. And I never wanted Lou to sacrifice her happiness for the game. The best version of this team includes both of you, whole and honest. That's what I want. That's what we're all fighting for."
Camille wiped her eyes with the back of her hand—a gesture that would have mortified her a month ago but barely registered now. There were more important things than appearances. More important things than image management and strategic positioning.
Things like love. Like truth. Like the woman waiting somewhere across town, alone in her house with the lights on and the door closed.
"I should go," Camille said, reaching for her crutches. "There's someone I need to see."
"Go get her." Mara's smile was small but genuine. "And tell her we miss her. The whole team does."
Camille made it to the door before Astoria's voice stopped her.
"For what it's worth—I think you're very brave. Both of you. The world needs more people willing to be honest about who they love."
The words stayed with her as she made her way back down the corridor, through the arena's lobby, out into the parking lot where the morning sun was already warming the asphalt. The heat hit her the moment she pushed through the doors—that particular Phoenix Ridge intensity that turned the air itself into something thick and heavy. Her car waited where she'd left it—a practical sedan that she drove herself because she'd never liked chauffeurs—and she slid behind the wheel with her knee protesting every movement. The steering wheel was hot beneath her palms. The air conditioning groaned to life, filling the car with a blast of warm air that slowly cooled as she sat there, gathering the courage for what came next.
Lou's house was twenty minutes away near the mountains. Twenty minutes of surface streets and traffic lights and the particular geography of Phoenix Ridge that Camille had started to learn during her time here.
Lou was hiding, retreating, convinced that her love was a liability instead of a gift. That her presence was a burden rather than a blessing.
Camille gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles ached. She could still turn around. Could still drive back to her apartment, climb into bed, let the grief and the distance and the impossibility of it all swallow her whole. That's what the old Camille would have done—the strategic,calculated version of herself who'd spent years building walls around her heart.
But she wasn't that woman anymore. Lou had changed her, had cracked open something that had been sealed shut for so long Camille had forgotten it existed.
She was going to change Lou's mind.
The neighborhood was quiet when she arrived—a modest collection of homes with well-tended lawns and basketball hoops in driveways, the kind of place where families raised children and neighbors borrowed cups of sugar. A woman walking a golden retriever glanced at Camille's car but didn't slow down, absorbed in whatever podcast or music played through her earbuds. Ordinary life, happening all around while Camille prepared to tear down the last walls standing between her and the woman she loved.
Lou's house sat near the end of the street, its small yard slightly overgrown, the porch light dark despite the morning hour. The house itself was modest—a single-story ranch with faded blue siding and shutters that had once been white. This was where Lou had built her life, this quiet corner of Phoenix Ridge. This was home.
Camille parked at the curb and sat there for a moment, gathering her courage. Through the living room window, she could see movement—a shadow passing behind the curtains, the flicker of a television screen. Lou was home. Lou was alive and present and probably aware of the unfamiliar car in front of her house.
Time to stop hiding.
Camille grabbed her crutches and made her way up the walk, each step deliberate despite the dull ache in her knee. The concrete was cracked in places, weathered by Phoenix Ridge summers and winter rains. A ceramic planter sat bythe door, empty and sun-bleached, waiting for flowers that nobody had planted.
She knocked. Three sharp raps against the wood, loud enough to echo in the morning stillness.
Silence. The shadow behind the curtain went still—frozen, like an animal sensing a predator. Camille's pulse thundered so hard she could feel it in her throat. A bird sang somewhere nearby, oblivious to the drama unfolding on this quiet porch.
