Let them see. Let them all see.
This was love. This was victory. This was everything she'd ever wanted.
And it was only the beginning.
26
The press conference room buzzed with the particular energy of a story breaking.
The space was too small for the crowd that had gathered—folding chairs crammed against the walls, reporters standing in the aisles, camera crews jostling for position near the back. The air conditioning struggled against the heat of too many bodies, and the fluorescent lights hummed overhead like a swarm of impatient bees. The smell of coffee and nervous sweat permeated everything.
Camille sat at the long table, microphones clustered before her like eager flowers, camera flashes popping from every corner of the room. The media turnout was unprecedented—not just the usual sports reporters, but news anchors and entertainment journalists and representatives from outlets that had never covered women's hockey before. Word had gotten out. Something was happening, and they all wanted to be there when it broke.
Lou sat beside her, their shoulders almost touching, a solid presence in the chaos. The rest of the team filled seatsbehind them—Rowan still flushed with victory, Elise in a team hoodie, the whole roster arrayed like an honor guard. Mara stood to the side, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes bright with something that might have been pride.
Astoria had handled the logistics with her usual efficiency. The press conference was being streamed live to three different networks. Sponsors had been notified in advance—some would stay, some would go, but Astoria had assured Camille that Phoenix Ridge would stand behind her regardless.
Now came the hard part. The moment that would change everything.
"We'll take questions," Astoria announced from the podium, her voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority, and the room erupted.
The first dozen questions were about the game. How did it feel to score the winning goal? What was going through her mind in those final minutes? How had the team overcome the loss of Frankie in the second period?
"The goal belonged to the whole team," Camille said, the words practiced and smooth. "Lou made that incredible sacrifice play to create the opening. Rowan's been stepping up all season. And our defense—even without Frankie—held strong when it mattered most."
More questions. Statistics and strategy and the technical details of plays she'd rehearsed a thousand times. Camille answered on autopilot, her media training kicking in, the words flowing smoothly while her heart hammered against her ribs.
She was waiting. They all were. For the question that everyone wanted to ask but most were too nervous to voice.
"Camille." A reporter in the third row—young, hungry, clearly hoping this would make her career. "There havebeen rumors circulating about your personal life. Specifically, about your relationship with your teammate Lou Calder. Care to comment?"
The room went silent. Every camera lens focused on Camille's face, every microphone straining to catch her response. This was it. The moment she'd been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
Camille glanced at Lou. Those green eyes met hers across the space between their chairs, steady and certain, filled with the same love that had carried them through the past weeks of chaos and uncertainty and growth. Lou gave the slightest nod—permission, encouragement, partnership in whatever came next.
Camille turned back to the reporter and took a breath.
"Yes," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the microphones. "I'd like to comment on that."
The silence deepened. Pens hovered over notebooks. Camera operators leaned in, adjusting focus.
"I've spent my entire career managing my image. Controlling what people see, what they know about me, what story they tell themselves about who Camille Laurent-Dubois is." She paused, letting the words settle. "I came to Phoenix Ridge expecting to play hockey for a season and move on. What I found instead was a team that became a family, and a woman who became everything."
She looked at Lou again, and this time she didn't look away. The whole room could see it—the tenderness in her expression, the connection that crackled between them like electricity. Let them see. Let them write their stories and draw their conclusions. None of it mattered compared to the truth.
"Lou Calder is my partner. Not just on the ice—in every part of my life that matters." Camille's voice grew strongerwith each word, the fear transforming into something that tasted like freedom. "I love her. I'm proud to love her. And I'm done pretending otherwise."
The room exploded. Questions shouted over questions, camera flashes creating a strobe effect, reporters practically climbing over each other to get their followups heard. Camille sat still through all of it, her hand finding Lou's beneath the table, their fingers intertwining in the shelter of the tablecloth.
"Camille—when did this relationship begin?"
"Have you been hiding this the entire season?"
"What does this mean for your endorsements?"
"Lou, did you know this was coming?"
Astoria stepped to the podium, raising a hand for quiet. "Let's take questions one at a time, please."
