Page 13 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

ELEVEN

logan

Tessa’s voice drifts into the kitchen, cheerful in that forced, I’m-not-worried way she’s perfected since Ethan’s diagnosis. “Bloodwork came back. No red flags.”

I glance up from my mug of coffee, still halfway lost in the steam. “Okay…” I feel like there’s more to say that she just isn’t, like there’s a shoe over my head that’s about to drop. Hard.

She sets the printed test results on the counter, but her eyes are on me. “The plan is to keep monitoring him, though. Just in case.”

My fingers curl around my coffee mug, the heat barely sinking into skin that’s been numb for weeks. Months. Maybe longer.

“That’s good,” I finally say, even though I don’t trust it. Good news never stays that way. It’s just a delay in the inevitable.

“It’s not what I want to hear, but it’s better than the alternative.”

My stomach tightens. It always does when we talk about Ethan like he’s a medical file and not the reason I’m still holding my shit together. “ Right.”

She leans against the counter across from me, arms folded. “So. You look like hell.”

“Thanks, sis. You really know how to pump up a guy’s ego.”

Tessa rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Did something happen with anyone on the team? Who’s the reason for all this?” she asks, waving her hand around me.

My eyebrows fly upward. “All what?”

“Someone has you in a twist,” she says with a knowing grin. “Because this particular level of tortured brooding only shows up when you’re spiraling.”

I scoff. “I’m not spiraling.”

“You didn’t sleep. Again. And you haven’t said more than five words since you came home last night. That’s classic spiral behavior.”

I expel a sharp breath. “Nothing is wrong.”

“You lie worse than Ethan,” Tessa says, brushing past me to pour her own cup of coffee. “And he once told me he saw a unicorn at hockey camp, so... high bar.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Coach paired me with Foster. I’m his mentor, for drills, watching game film. We’re partnered for events and press conferences. Shit like that.”

Her brows lift, amused now. “Oh, yes. The golden boy.”

“He’s cocky,” I mutter. “Arrogant. Flashy. The media loves him. Walks into the room like he owns it. Coach says I need to help him…adjust.”

She studies me. “And?”

“And nothing.” I lean against the counter. “He’s a pain in the ass.”

“But?”

“But what?”

She sips her coffee like she has all the time in the world. “But you don’t hate him. ”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She walks over, pokes my chest with one finger. “You’re deflecting, by the way. Again.”

“The only people I have room in my life for are you and Ethan.”

She leans her head on my arm. “And that’s a sweet sentiment…if you’re eighty. But you’re not. You’re thirty-six. You’re lonely. And I’m not saying jump into anything, but maybe stop pushing people away before they even get close because you never know what can happen. You deserve to be happy.”

“I’m not pushing anyone away,” I say.

Tessa holds up her hands in surrender, but her smile is wicked. “I’m just saying. He’s got skill, swagger, and a smile that melts cameras. Reminds me of someone.”

“I am nothing like him.”

“No,” she says. “You’re not. But you used to be.”

Shit. She’s right. I was Cam Foster fourteen years ago. I was blazing through games, flashing that grin, shoulder unscarred, my dreams unbroken.

But that was before the injury. Before the accident. Before everything fell apart.

Tessa sighs. “Look, Lo. You’re an amazing brother and we love you so much. You’ve sacrificed everything for me and Ethan. But it can’t always be about us. Sometimes it has to be about you. When are you going to drop your walls and give someone else a chance to see how truly amazing you are?”

“I can’t afford to be selfish.”

“It’s not selfish to want something for yourself, Logan.

Jesus. You spend your days breaking your body for a game that’s trying to spit you out, and your nights trying to hold together a family you didn’t ask for but chose anyway.

” Her voice softens. “You’re allowed to want more than just survival. ”

The words cut deeper than I expect. Maybe because a part of me does want more. Wants something, or someone, I’m not allowed to have.

Tyler lost his life in that accident, in a car I’d been driving. Sacrificing for my family is the least I can do for what I took away from them.

I check the time. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Go,” she says. “But stop pretending you're made of stone. You’re not.”

I grab my keys and head for the door, still feeling the weight of her stare behind me.

My mind is plagued by splintered memories as I weave in and out of traffic on my way to the arena. The sound of screeching tires and crushing metal. The noxious smell of burning rubber and thick smoke. The scrape of glass shards against my skin.

I suffered a shoulder injury, one that’s taunted me since the accident, one that serves as a daily reminder of what I lost, what we all lost. It torments me every day, my own karma, I guess.

How the hell can I just forget all of that and find my own happiness? Deep down, I know that’s the reason I walked away from Cam on the balcony. I don’t deserve to feel whole, and Cam doesn’t deserve to be pulled into my spiral, as Tessa calls it.

The arena is frigid. But it’s my home away from everything I keep bottled up.

Cam’s already out there on the ice, stretching near the boards, his earbuds in. He looks up when I step out, and for a second, something shifts in his expression. But it’s gone too fast for me to read.

I nod toward him. “You ready for these drills Coach wants us to run?”

He shrugs, peeling off his warm-up jacket. “Always.”

There’s tension in his movements. They’re tight and coiled, like he didn’t sleep either. I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’t care.

But I do.

We run drills for a while. Passing, shooting, defensive recovery. He’s quick. I’m clean. I can feel the eyes of coaches, players, and staff on us. Watching. Always watching.

We’re completely in sync when we’re not trying so hard to hate each other.

Coach calls a break and hurries over, clipboard in hand.

“You two,” he says, tapping his pen on the board. “Whatever’s happening between you, keep it up. Team’s tighter, faster, and more fluid. I feel positive about our direction.”

Cam arches a brow. “You saying we’re good for each other?”

Coach chuckles. “I’m saying the team hasn’t lost a game since I paired you two up for this mentorship program. Don’t screw it up. We’re so close, boys.”

He walks off. Cam turns to me, smug.

“You hear that? We’re a match made in playoff heaven.”

“Try not to let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he says, smirking. “But I’m already insufferable, so how much worse can it make me?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not a question with a good answer.”

He laughs, and it’s real. Not polished. Not practiced. For a second, it makes my chest ache.

We finish the last round of drills just as Ryan Keating saunters onto the ice, late as usual.

Cam stiffens the second he sees him .

Keating skates by, slapping Cam’s stick hard enough to make it thrum.

“Hope you’re not using that thing tomorrow. Would hate for it to splinter under pressure,” he says with a wicked grin.

Cam clenches his gloved hands around the stick, his voice low and tight. “You mess with my gear again and I’ll shove a skate blade so far up your ass, you’ll taste steel for a week.”

Ryan doesn’t flinch. He just sneers and skates off like it’s a joke. But there’s only rage in Cam’s normally laughing eyes.

After practice, I catch up to him in the locker room. “Did you catch him doing something?”

“Nah.” Cam yanks off his pads with more force than necessary. “Just Keating being Keating.”

“It didn’t sound like he was messing around.”

“You’re right,” Cam says, jaw clenched. “He’s not. And even though I didn’t catch him last time, I’m watching now.”

“You should report him.”

Cam scoffs. “And give him what he wants? Make myself look like a weak fucking crybaby? Hell no.”

I frown. “It wouldn’t be weak. You’d be protecting yourself.”

Cam pauses and looks at me. “You ever had to fight just to keep the ice under your feet?”

I don’t answer but once again, I see the guy with a secret, the past he won’t give me a glimpse into for some reason. His cryptic comments have my brain working overtime, and a shocking realization hits me. I want him to trust me with his truth.

There’s something I’m not seeing. Not yet. But it’s there, just beneath the surface, waiting to crack wide open.

“Didn’t think so.” Cam lets out a deep sigh and sweeps a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have followed me out onto that balcony the other night. ”

I recoil. “What?”

“At the gala,” he says. “You shouldn’t have come to find me.”

“Yeah,” I say, heart knocking in my chest. “Well, you shouldn’t have looked like that in a tux.”

“You almost kissed me,” he says quietly.

“You said if I did, you’d let me.”

“Exactly. But…” He turns away and drops his eyes to his bag on the bench. “It’s better this way.”

My lungs tighten, the space between us compressing like all the air is being sucked out of it, bringing us together by some force that neither one of us is ready to give in to.

Without another look at me, he picks up his gear and storms out, leaving me there staring after him.

Later, as I’m packing up, Carter claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good work today. You and Cam are really starting to gel. The rookies look up to you. And Cam, well, he needs someone who can ground him.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak as I look down at my gloves. At the way my fingers tremble.

The team is climbing the ranks. Cam is skyrocketing.

And all I can think about is how much I stand to lose as we get closer to the playoffs, and as I keep getting thrown together with Cam.

It won’t just be a risk to my career. It’ll be a risk to my heart.

Because whatever this thing is between us…it’s not simple. And it sure as hell isn’t safe.