Page 18 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

FIFTEEN

logan

The taste of betrayal is bitter and cold, lodged in the back of my throat as I drive away from Cam's apartment, my knuckles white against the steering wheel.

Escort. Blackmail. Secrets.

I should be disgusted. In a rage. I should also be calling Coach right now to get ahead of this shit storm.

Instead, I head toward the Columbia Hotel, the place Cam said James was staying, my truck like a damn missile.

James, the man who’s demanding that Cam go back to New York with him. The guy who’s threatening to expose not just Cam’s past but our…whatever the hell this is between us.

The hotel sign appears in the distance, casting a red glow across my windshield. Fury pumps through my veins like lava.

But as I pull up to the intersection across from the hotel, something stops me cold. I ease off the gas, then yank the wheel right and pull into a deserted gas station.

What the fuck am I doing?

I don't know this James prick or what he's capable of. If I go in there ready to rip his throat out, what the hell might that trigger? The only thing I know for sure is that I have a sister and nephew at home who depend on me. They’ve already lost enough.

And Cam? Would charging in there like some knight in dented armor help him? Or make everything worse? I barely know him. Barely understand what's happening.

"Fuck," I slam my palm against the steering wheel, the sting doing nothing to calm me down.

My phone buzzes in the console. I pull it out to see a text from Cam.

Where did you go? Please tell me you didn’t go to the hotel.

I stare at the screen and finally type a response.

Needed to clear my head.

Three dots appear then disappear.

Can we talk?

Something twists in my chest as I stab my response onto the screen.

Give me some time. I'll call you tomorrow.

Okay.

The single word speaks volumes. He expects me to walk away. To never speak to him again. And why not? Everyone else probably has. At least, that’s the impression I got.

With a heaving sigh, I pull back onto the road, away from the hotel. Away from a confrontation I'm not prepared for. Away from a mess that isn’t mine, but one I want to help clean up.

I call Carter. If anyone can give level-headed advice without needing all the details, it's him.

He answers on the fourth ring, voice thick with sleep. "Shaw? It's fucking late."

"Sorry," I say. "But I need some advice."

A pause. "This better be good."

"Hypothetically, if someone was being blackmailed, what would you do? "

"Jesus, Logan." I hear rustling like he's sitting up in bed. A muffled voice in the background. Probably Jack. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not me. A...friend."

"Right." The skepticism in his voice is clear. "Why is this friend being blackmailed?"

"Past stuff. Shit they can't change."

Carter sighs. "And you're calling me because..?"

"Because I want to help handle it, but I don't know how."

"By handle it, you mean what, exactly? Because if you're thinking about doing something stupid?—"

"I'm not," I cut in, though that's exactly what I was about to do. "Just looking for options."

A long pause. "If this is serious, your friend needs to go to the police. Blackmail's a crime."

"I don’t know if he can. It's complicated."

"It always is." Carter's voice drops. "Look, I don't know what kind of shit your friend is involved with, but charging in without a plan usually makes things worse. Trust me on that."

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "So what do you suggest?"

"Get all the facts first. Understand exactly what you're dealing with. Then make a plan that doesn't involve you ending up in jail or the hospital. Because neither of those is going to help anyone."

It's solid advice. The kind I'd give if the situation were reversed.

"Thanks," I say finally.

"And Logan? Whatever this is, be careful. The team needs you. Especially now."

The drive home is a blur, my mind racing with half-formed plans and worst-case scenarios.

The house is dark and quiet when I pull into the garage. Tessa and Ethan are already asleep. I drop onto the living room couch and pull out my phone, searching “blackmail laws California" and "recording consent state laws."

One article after another confirms what Carter hinted at. This is legal territory. There are protocols. Procedures. Ways to handle this that don't involve storming a hotel room like a psycho in the middle of the night.

California is a one-party consent state. If I record a conversation I'm part of, it's admissible. That's something.

I'm still scrolling through articles when a light flicks on in the hallway. Tessa stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her faded Raptors T-shirt.

"What are you doing up?" she says, voice low. "Is it your shoulder?"

"Research."

"On what?"

I hesitate. "Legal stuff."

She moves into the room, sinking onto the couch beside me. "Your legal stuff?"

“No.”

“Then whose? Cam’s?” she asks with a pointed look.

My head jerks up. "What?"

"The rookie who has your boxer briefs in a twist." She raises an eyebrow. "Is he the reason why you’re doing legal research at this hour?"

I close the browser tab. "It's complicated."

"It always is with you." She leans back, sinking into the cushion. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Shocking." Her tone is dry. "Let me guess. He's in trouble, and you've appointed yourself his personal savior?"

I glare at her. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it? You've got that look."

"What look? "

"The one where you're about to do something stupid and risky to protect someone, then refuse to let anyone help you with the fallout." She sighs. "You've been doing it since we were kids, Lo."

I don't answer. I can't, really, because she's not wrong.

"Listen," Tessa's voice softens. "You can't control everything. You can't protect everyone. Sometimes trying to fix things just makes them worse."

"So I'm supposed to do nothing?"

"You're supposed to think first. Act second." She reaches for my phone, scanning the browser history I didn't close. "Blackmail? Recording consent? What the hell are you mixed up in?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Right. Because we're not family or anything."

The sarcasm in her voice makes me wince.

"I'm handling it."

"Obviously." She stands, heading back toward the hallway. "I’m going back to bed. Just remember, you've got people who depend on you. People who need you in one piece, not in jail."

Guilt gnaws at my insides. "How's Ethan doing?"

She shrugs. "He was better today. But his energy's still low. The doctor emailed. She wants to run more tests."

"When?"

"Friday. So whatever crusade you're on, please wrap it up by then?"

When she's gone, I hunch over, catching my head in my hands. This thing with Cam, with James, it's a distraction I can't afford. Not with Ethan's health in question. Not with my shoulder one bad hit away from ending my career.

Tessa’s right. As fucking always.

But I can't just walk away, either.

I send Cam a text before I can overthink it.

We need to talk. Tomorrow after practice. My place .

The response comes instantly, like he's been waiting.Something tells me he’s been hoping for a lot more than I can give him right now.

Okay. Address?

I send the address with another message.

Don't do anything about James until then.

Wasn't planning to.

I'm not sure I believe him. But it's the best I can do for now.

Morning comes too quickly. I'm stiff from falling asleep on the couch, my shoulder barking when I reach for my phone. Two missed calls from an unknown number and a text flash across my screen.

You're harder to find than I expected, Shaw. Let's talk about Connor. You have something I want. I have something you don't want anyone to see.

My blood runs cold. Fuck my life.

James. It has to be him. But how ?

I block the number without responding, but it doesn't ease the knot in my gut. He's getting bolder, taking chances. And now he's dragging me further into whatever sick game he's playing with Cam.

I go through the motions at practice in a fog, my thoughts on an endless loop. I keep my distance from Cam, avoiding the curious looks from my teammates. Carter pulls me aside as we're leaving the ice.

"Hey, everything okay with your friend?"

"Fine," I say quickly.

"You sure? Because you don’t look even remotely close to fine."

"Thanks."

He sighs. "Whatever it is, don't do it alone."

"I'm handling it."

"Right." He claps a hand on my good shoulder. "Good talk."

After practice, I loiter in the locker room, waiting until most of the guys have left for the sudden team meeting Coach Enver called. Cam's still at his stall, taking his time packing up his gear, stealing sidelong looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I am. Always.

I walk over, keeping my voice low. "We still on for today?"

He nods. "Four o'clock?"

"Make it three."

"Okay."

It's stilted, awkward. Everything between us feels charged with something I can't pinpoint. Or maybe I just don't want to.

"Did James contact you again?" I ask.

Cam hesitates. "No."

It's a lie. I can see it in the way he averts his eyes, the tension stiffening his shoulders. But I don't call him on it. Not here.

"He contacted me," I say instead. "This morning. Trying to make it my problem."

Cam's head jerks up. "What did he say?"

"Nothing specific. Just making threats. I blocked him."

"Logan—"

"Not here," I cut him off. "We'll talk at my place."

I head out, the weight of everything pressing down on me with each step toward the conference room.

But before I make it all the way there, I duck into an empty room, close the door, and pull out my phone to search for a name I haven't used in years.

Mike Torres. A buddy from college who went into law enforcement.

If anyone can give me solid advice without judgment, it's him .

He picks up on the third ring. "Shaw? No fucking way, man. It's been years."

"Hey, Mike. Got a minute?" I keep my voice low so that nobody passing by can hear me.

"For you? Always." There's genuine concern in his voice. "What's up? You okay?"

"Hypothetically, if someone was being blackmailed, what would you recommend they do?"

A pause. "Hypothetically, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, hypothetically , I'd tell them to gather evidence. Record calls, save texts, document everything. California's a one-party consent state, so they can legally record any conversation they're part of."

Okay, so my research was right. "What about meeting the blackmailer?"

"Bad idea unless they're wearing a wire and have backup." His voice turns serious. "Logan, are you in trouble?"

"Not me," I say. "A friend."

"Sure." I can hear the skepticism. "This friend should really talk to the police. But if they're not ready for that, they need to at least be smart. No lone wolf cowboy shit."

"Got it."

"And Logan? Be careful. Blackmailers are desperate people. Desperate people do desperate things."

I hang up and pull open the door to head to the meeting. I’ll have about two hours to decide what I'm going to tell Cam, how much I'm going to reveal. How far I'm willing to go to help him fight this battle.

Because that's what it's becoming. A battle. And battles have casualties.

My phone buzzes again. A new unknown number. A text with an image attachment .

I open it, heart jumping into my throat.

It's a photo of our kiss. Me and Cam, in the empty rink, his body pressed against mine. The text beneath it chills my fucking blood.

I warned Connor what would happen if he didn't cooperate. Now I'm warning you. Back off, or this goes public. You have more to lose than he does.

My first instinct is to block this number too. But I save it, instead. Evidence, like Mike said. Then I forward the text to my email, take a screenshot, document everything.

This isn't over. Not by a long shot. But now I have a plan, or at least the beginnings of one.

When Cam arrives, I'll lay it all out. The threat to me. The threat to him. The threat to my career and his. And how we're going to face it together, because there's no other option now.

James has made sure of that.