Page 15 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

THIRTEEN

logan

I can’t sleep.

I lie in bed, one arm thrown over my eyes, the other aching like hell.

The pain in my shoulder is a dull throb that shoots down to my fingertips, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in my chest every time I think about Cam’s face last night.

I’ve taken hits to the ribs, face, and back that hurt less.

He said it was better that I hadn’t kissed him.

That was total bullshit. I could see it in the way his lips parted, the way he stopped breathing when I got close, the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes afterward. Like he wanted me close and hated that he did.

Fuck me, I wanted it too.

I still do.

But I kept my distance, far enough from temptation. Because I know that once I let myself fall for Cam, the crash will come hard and fast.

He’s chaos wrapped in sunshine and glitter.

He’s reckless, with an addictive charm that hides scars so deep, I can feel them like phantom bruises on my skin.

He hides behind his bright smiles and pretends like nothing touches him, like he floats above all the noise, but I see how hard he works just to keep that facade in place.

He’s at risk for being sucked into something dark and deep, I’m sure of it.

And not knowing what is fucking killing me.

I get to the training facility by six the next morning. The lights still flicker on as I enter the physical therapy wing, empty except for the soft hum of the whirlpool tanks and the thump of my sneakers on the tile floor.

“Morning, Shaw,” Jimmy, the head athletic trainer, says as I drop onto the padded table.

“Morning.”

He starts rolling my shoulder, gently at first, then deeper. I grimace, biting back the pain.

“That tight, huh?”

“Tighter than a duck’s ass.”

Jimmy chuckles. “So... bad.”

He grabs the resistance bands and loops one around my wrist. “Three sets. Slow, controlled. You know the drill.”

“I’m not new to this,” I grumble.

“No, you’re just stubborn.”

With a deep sigh, I go through the motions doing sets of lateral raises and pulldowns to help stabilize the torn muscles in my shoulder. The pain isn’t sharp. It’s deep, throbbing, and nagging. Like something that never fully healed and never will.

Jimmy doesn’t comment at my facial expressions as I do the exercises. He just tapes me up once I’m finished and says, “You know, you can keep carrying this shit alone, but eventually, it’s gonna drop. You’re not indestructible.”

“Sure feels like I am.”

“Yeah?” He gives me a look. “Tell that to your shoulder.”

By the time I hit the ice for practice, my shoulder’s already screaming.

I pop a couple of Advil in the locker room before warm-ups, biting down the urge to groan when I roll it in its socket. It’ll relieve the pain temporarily, but career-ending pain never goes away for too long. It’s like a reminder that I’m on a clock, and I can only hit snooze for so long.

The rest of the team filters out onto the rink, blades cutting clean lines into the ice. I spot Cam immediately at the far boards, shooting the shit with Tate and Colby, tossing the puck back and forth between his blade and Colby’s like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I furrow my brow.

I see it.

The twitch in his shoulders.

The way his eyes flick toward the stands.

The way he glances down at his phone in between drills like he’s waiting for something, or someone, to find him.

He’s not his normal dickhead self today. He’s on edge and distracted.

“Shaw! Foster! Pair up,” Coach yells. “Breakout drill, two-on-two.”

Of course.

Cam skates over and tosses the puck between us. “Try not to hold me back, old man.”

“You gonna pass this time?” I say, circling him like a shark, kicking up snow as I do.

“Only if you’re fast enough to keep up.”

I bite down hard on my mouth guard and drop into a crouch as Coach blows the whistle.

Cam explodes forward, fast as hell, weaving between cones and slicing through defenders. I push harder, shoulder burning, trying to stay in sync. We reach the crease, Cam pivots, fakes left, then drops the puck back to me?—

Only I’m late.

Half a second too slow .

The puck grazes the heel of my blade and glides away.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

Cam spins, eyebrows raised. “That was yours.”

“I had it,” I say.

He doesn’t press. But the look he gives me says everything.

The second time around, we click. Pass, pass, fake, shoot. It’s fluid. No words needed. Just instinct.

Even Coach nods from the bench.

“You two finally learning to play nice?” Carter calls from the sideline.

Cam grins. “Don’t get used to it.”

The drill resets. We repeat. Three more run-throughs. Every time, we fall into rhythm like we’ve been doing this for years.

But underneath it, something else bubbles up. Every time Cam brushes my arm, every casual look he throws over his shoulder, every smirk that lingers a second too long…it’s carnally infused static, and I can’t ignore it anymore.

I want him.

And not just on the ice.

During the water break, I skate over to Coach where he stands near the boards.

“Hey, Coach, you seeing it too?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even.

“Foster?”

“Yeah.”

Coach nods. “Hell of a player. But he’s off today.”

“Off how?”

He shrugs. “Not sure yet. Something’s in his head. And it’s not hockey.”

I glance over my shoulder. Cam’s talking to Tate, laughing at something, but there’s tension in his jaw. A stiffness in his shoulders that no one else on the team seems to notice .

Except me.

Because I’ve been there, wanting to hide my own shit.

“Keep an eye on him,” Coach says. “The mentorship’s working. Don’t let it fall apart now.”

I nod, throat tight.

But something in me is already unraveling.

When I get home hours later, my body exhausted and near the breaking point, I walk in to a house filled with the scent of tomato and garlic. Ethan’s on the couch watching cartoons with a blanket over his lap.

“You’re late,” Tessa calls out.

“Practice ran longer than I expected.” I drop my bag by the front door.

“You look like hell,” she says when I walk into the kitchen.

I grunt. “Add it to the list.”

She ladles soup into two bowls and puts one on the table in front of me. “Sit. Eat. Pretend you’re a functioning adult.”

Ethan walks into the kitchen. “Did Cam beat you again?”

Tessa smirks.

I groan. “He’s not that good.”

“Sure he’s not,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Want to try that again without gritting your teeth?”

My phone buzzes on the table. I glance down at the message on the screen. It’s from Carter.

Play It Forward needs extra hands to help clean up after an event tonight at the practice facility. Cam already said yes. You in?

Tessa sees me hesitate.

“Go,” she says. “You need a break.”

“I was gonna stay?—”

She gives me a look. “Logan. You’ve been angry and restless for days. Go. Do something that doesn’t make you feel like the world is closing in.”

I want to argue .

But I don’t.

Because she knows as well as I do where I really want to be.

The rink is mostly empty by the time I get back there. The event’s over, most of the kids and volunteers gone. But the hum of the Zamboni echoes across the empty sheet of ice. It’s dark and peaceful.

I scan the space and spot Cam sitting on the bench, arms draped over the back, head tilted like he’s listening to something far away.

“You planning on a sleepover or something?”

He jerks his head toward me, surprised. His face relaxes into a smile when he sees me. “Nah, too cold for me.”

I chuckle.

He stands, stretching his arms over his head. “I thought everyone left.”

“Carter said they needed help cleaning up.”

He rolls his eyes. “Bullshit. They didn’t need anyone. Everything was done by the time I got here.”

I don’t answer. Fucking Carter. Does everyone see what’s happening between me and Cam?

He gets up and walks past me toward the far end of the rink.

“I used to hate ice rinks,” he says, his voice echoing. “I thought they smelled like real pain feels. Like crushing pressure.”

“Then why’d you choose hockey as a profession?”

“Because it’s the only place I’ve ever felt like I mattered.”

The way he says it is so honest and raw. I want to dig deeper but his tone begs me not to.

“That night outside the bar.” I follow behind him. “Why did you tell me it was better that I didn’t kiss you at the gala?”

He stops and turns, his green eyes darkening. “Because things would get too complicated. ”

I close the space between us, the scent of his cologne teasing my nostrils. “What if I said that I didn’t care about making things complicated? What if I said I just wanted to kiss you, fuck the consequences?”

The heat in his stare warms me despite the frigid air around us. “Then don’t let me stop you again.”

And this time, I don’t.

I grab his face and crush my lips against his, fierce, demanding, and voracious.

The kiss is rough and clumsy and so perfect.

I dip my tongue into his mouth and it coils with his—hot, hungry, and intense.

His fingers dig into my arms like he doesn’t want to let go.

We stumble backward into the boards, the cool glass hard against my back.

My hands are everywhere—his waist, his jaw, his hair.

He moans into my mouth, and it undoes me.

We break apart only when we’re breathless. He’s flushed, his lips red, his eyes half-hooded.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I wanted that for so long.”

“I know.”

Cam swallows hard. “But I can’t?—”

“You can,” I say. “You just did.”

His smile fades. “You don’t get it. It was a mistake for us to do that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He shakes his head and steps away. “I can’t let myself have this. Have you.”

“Tell me what you mean, Cam. Make me understand why this can’t happen.”

“You don’t want to know the truth, Logan,” he says. “Not really.”

“Yes, I do.”

He’s halfway to the exit sign when he turns back, a pained expression etched into his features. “You’re better off not seeing what’s underneath. I’m not who you think I am.”

I step forward, but he’s already backing away, already retreating into that armor he wears so well. It covers him like he’s Iron Man, for fuck’s sake.

When the door slams shut behind him, my heart free falls into my shoes.

He kissed me like he meant it.

Then walked away like he didn’t.

Now I’m left standing in the dark with nothing but his taste on my lips and a truth I’m not ready to admit…

That I’m already falling for him.

And I don’t know how to stop.