The reporter who'd asked the initial question got the first followup. "Camille, why now? Why choose to come out at this particular moment?"
"Because I'm tired of being afraid." Camille's voice was steady now, the initial terror fading into relief. "Because for the first time in my life, I've found someone worth being honest for. And because if there's one thing this team taught me, it's that you can't win if you're playing scared."
She looked out at the sea of faces, some sympathetic, some calculating, all hungry for whatever piece of her story they could capture and share.
"I know this will change things. I know some people will be disappointed, some will be angry, some will say I should have kept this private. But I spent most of my life building an image that looked perfect from the outside while I was lonely on the inside. Lou changed that. She made me want to be brave. And I owe her—I owe myself—the courage to tell the truth."
Another reporter, this one from a major network. "Lou, do you have anything to add?"
Lou leaned toward her microphone, and Camille held her breath. They hadn't scripted this part—hadn't planned what Lou would say if given the chance. The room seemed to hold its breath along with her.
But Lou's voice, when it came, was steady as stone.
"I've been playing semi- professional hockey for twelve years. In all that time, I've never talked publicly about my personal life. Not because I was ashamed, but because it never seemed like anyone's business." She paused, her jaw set with the same determination she wore on the ice. "I grew up in a world that told me who I was supposed to be, who I was supposed to love. I spent a long time believing I had to choose between being myself and having a career in this sport."
Lou's voice softened, and Camille's heart ached with love.
"Camille showed me I didn't have to choose. She's my business now. Our relationship is my business. And I'm proud to stand beside her—on the ice and off it. Today, tomorrow, and every day after."
The questions continued for another twenty minutes—logistics and timeline and the inevitable probing for drama or conflict. Camille answered what she could and deflected what she couldn't, always aware of Lou's hand in hers beneath the table, always drawing strength from that simple contact.
When Astoria finally called an end to the questions, the reporters dispersed slowly, still hungry for more but satisfied with what they'd gotten. The story would run tonight on every network, would trend on every social media platform,would become the biggest sports news of the week—possibly the year.
But Camille barely noticed. Because Lou was standing beside her, her expression soft despite the crowd, reaching for Camille's hand as they moved toward the exit.
"How are you doing?" Lou's voice was low, meant only for her.
"Terrified. Relieved. Exhausted." Camille laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "How about you?"
"Same. Except add hungry. I could eat an entire buffalo right now."
"We'll get food." Camille squeezed Lou's hand. "But first?—"
Astoria intercepted them near the door, her phone already lighting up with notifications. "The team's official photographer needs a few shots for the press release. Both of you, if you're willing."
Camille looked at Lou. Lou nodded.
They followed the photographer to a backdrop the team had set up—the Valkyries logo behind them, soft lighting arranged to make them look professional rather than ambushed. The space was quieter here, away from the main traffic of the arena, and Camille's racing heart began to slow.
The photographer was efficient and kind, a woman in her fifties with graying hair and laugh lines around her eyes. She positioned them naturally, giving gentle direction about angles and sight lines, treating them not as subjects but as people who deserved to have their moment captured with care.
"Can you move a little closer? That's it. Now Lou, if you could put your arm around—perfect."
Lou's arm settled across Camille's shoulders, warm andsolid and exactly where it belonged. Camille leaned into the touch, her body naturally curving against Lou's side. This close, she could smell the mix of soap and exertion that clung to Lou's skin, could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing.
"One more. Lou, can you take Camille's hand? Just naturally, like you're about to walk somewhere together."
Lou's fingers found Camille's and intertwined, her grip firm but gentle. She squeezed once, a silent communication that saidI'm here, I've got you, we're in this together.
The camera clicked. The flash popped. And for the first time in her life, Camille was photographed with someone she actually loved.
"Beautiful," the photographer said, lowering the camera. "You two look really good together."
"We are good together," Lou said simply, and Camille's heart swelled.
They emerged from the press area into the arena's back corridor, the relative quiet a relief after the chaos of the conference room. Camille's ears were ringing, her body still vibrating with adrenaline from the confession she'd just made to the world.
But the rest of the team was waiting. They'd watched the press conference on a monitor in the adjacent room, and their faces told Camille everything she needed to know—tear-streaked cheeks and proud smiles and the particular joy of people who'd been rooting for this outcome since they'd first noticed the sparks between their captain and their star forward.
