Page 20 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

When she's gone, Logan leads me to the living room.

I scan the space, taking in the photos on the mantel.

Logan in a Raptors jersey, arm around a younger Tessa.

A little boy, maybe around five or six, holding up a trophy, missing his front teeth in a wide grin.

Logan and a dark-haired guy his age who looks like an older version of the little boy.

The boy, Tessa, and the dark-haired guy in another photo.

"That's Ethan," Logan says, following my gaze. "My nephew.”

Nephew. Not son. Another piece of the puzzle slides into place.

“What about this guy?” I ask, pointing to him in the photo where he’s posing with Logan.

“That’s Tyler, my best friend." Logan’s voice thickens. “He was Tessa’s husband and Ethan’s dad.”

“Was?”

The pained expression on Logan’s face makes my heart clench. “He died in a car accident a few years ago. I was with him.”

“Holy shit,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry.”

Logan gives a stiff nod. “Thanks.”

"So now you live with your sister and nephew?"

He nods, moving to the kitchen. I follow behind him.

"I promised Ty I’d always take care of them. After he died, Tessa had a really hard time so I moved them in to help.” His hand stills on the refrigerator handle. “Want a beer?"

"Sure."

He grabs two bottles from the fridge, hands me one, then leans against the counter. "Ethan was three when they moved in."

The admission hangs in the air between us. It's more than Logan's shared with me since I've known him, and I'm not sure what to do with it.

"I'm really sorry," I say again.

Logan shrugs, a dismissive motion that doesn't match the pain that flashes in his eyes. "Wasn't your fault."

"Still." I pick at the edge of the beer label. "That's rough."

"Ethan's got a serious liver condition," Logan continues, like he needs to get it all out at once. "It’s congenital. We've been managing it for years, but his latest labs came back yesterday. The doctor's worried. So are we."

“Shit.” I blink, caught off guard by the revelation. "Is he going to be okay?"

"They're running more tests." His voice is tight, like he’s struggling for control that is slipping through his fingers. "But they're talking transplant now."

The weight of those words hangs between us.

Logan takes a long pull from his beer. "That's why I was late to the meeting today. Tessa and I took a call from his doctor. "

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"No." He sets the bottle down on the granite countertop with a thud. "It's about James."

"What about him?"

"He sent me something after you left last night." Logan pulls out his phone, scrolls through it, then holds it out to me.

The text contains one sentence.

You shouldn't have done that, Shaw. Now we both have something to lose.

Attached is a new photo of us kissing in the empty rink.

Cold dread pools in my stomach.

"He's trying to drag me into this." Logan's voice is deadly calm, but I can see the rage building behind his eyes.

"Logan, I?—"

"Don't apologize," he cuts me off. "This isn't your fault."

"But—"

"It's not your fault," he repeats, fiercer this time. "It's his. And he's going to regret it."

The cold determination in his voice sends a chill skittering down my spine. "What are you going to do?"

"First, I'm going to tell you everything." He pushes away from the counter. "So there are no more surprises."

"Everything?" I echo.

"About Ethan. About my shoulder. About why I can't let this go." He meets my gaze, his thick eyebrows knitted together. "Because if we're doing this, if we're taking on James together, I need you to understand what's at stake."

Together. The word shouldn't make my heart skip like that, especially not under these circumstances.

"Okay," I say. "I'm listening."

He takes a deep breath, and for the first time since I've known him, Logan Shaw looks vulnerable.

"My shoulder's been torn since last season. The rotator cuff, ligaments…it’s all a fucking mess," he says, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"The car accident fucked it up and then I just kept playing, not getting the proper treatment.

I need surgery. But if I get it, I'm done. No more hockey, not professionally. I’ve gone to my own doctors to keep records private. "

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because I can't afford to be sidelined. " His voice hardens. "Not with Ethan's medical bills. Not with his condition. I'm all they've got. And besides that, I’ve worked too damn hard to go out because of this injury. If I retire, it’s gonna be on my terms. But it gets harder and harder to play through the pain. And without hockey, I don’t know who I’d be. I think that’s why I had such a hard time dealing with you,” he says gruffly.

“You reminded me of the guy I used to be years ago and I felt it slipping away even faster. Everyone sees it, everyone knows my career is hanging by a thread. Management, fans, the team.”

The admission sits heavy between us.

"Jesus, that’s a lot to carry around. And it’s why you're still playing through the pain," I say slowly.

He nods once, a sharp motion.

"Now James is threatening your career," I shake my head. "Fuck."

"Yeah." Logan's jaw clenches. "Fuck is right."

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, almost choking when I see the text notification. This time, it’s a text from an unknown number.

Meet me tonight at the old pier at 7. Come alone or everyone sees everything. Last chance, Connor. No more games. Time to come back to New York with me.

I stare at the screen, my mouth falling open. One look at Logan and my decision is made.

"James wants to meet tonight. Seven o'clock at the pier." I swallow hard. "He's still demanding I go back to New York with him."

Logan's eyes narrow. "You're not going."

"If I don't?—"

"We'll handle it another way."

"What way?" I demand, frustration edging my words. "He's not bluffing, Logan. He'll release everything. I can stop it."

"We'll deal with it if he does." Logan's voice is firm. "But you're not meeting him alone."

His face is stony and hard, his eyes fiery. He's not backing down.

Oddly, neither am I.

For the first time since James reappeared in my life, I don't feel the urge to run. Because running would put Logan's career in danger. His family in danger.

And somehow, that's quickly become a line I won't cross.

"Okay," I say finally. "So what's the plan?"

Logan's expression shifts, surprise flickering across his face. "You're agreeing with me? Just like that?"

"Don't get used to it." I try for a smile and fail pretty miserably. "But yeah. You're right. We need a better plan than me walking into an obvious trap."

Something unspoken passes between us. It’s not trust, not yet, but almost a tentative alliance. We both have big things to lose, and neither of us is willing to forfeit the game.

The front door opens, jarring me. A child's voice fills the air, cracking the tension. "Uncle Lo! I got an A on my dinosaur project!"

Before either of us can respond, a boy bursts into the kitchen, bright blue backpack still on, waving a paper covered in crayon drawings.

He skids to a stop when he sees me, his big blue eyes widening.

I notice his skin looks a little bit yellowish, which is odd. But maybe it’s just his complexion .

"You're Cam Foster," he whispers, awe in his voice. "The rookie sensation."

"Ethan," Logan says, "this is my teammate Cam. Cam, this is my nephew Ethan."

The boy grins, showing off a missing front tooth. "I have your rookie card. Can you sign it? It's worth a lot, you know."

"Sure," I say, surprised by how easily the smile lifts my lips. "I'd be happy to."

Tessa appears in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt. Ethan, homework first, then hockey cards."

"But, Mom?—"

"No buts. Go."

With a dramatic sigh, Ethan stomps out of the kitchen behind Tessa, but not before giving me a conspiratorial wink. "I'll be back with the card."

When he disappears up the stairs, Logan’s hand grazes my arm. "We need to record James. Get evidence of the blackmail."

I nod, mind still on the kid who just left. The kid who's sick. The kid Logan's sacrificing everything for.

"I'll text him back," I say. "Tell him I need more time."

"And then?"

My phone buzzes again before I can answer. Another text from James.

Tick tock, Connor. I'm tired of waiting. It’s decision time.

I grab onto the wall, all the air sucked from my chest when I open that one single photo.

It's Logan's house. Taken from across the street. Today.

James isn't just watching me anymore.

He's watching all of us.