Page 29 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

TWENTY-TWO

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The flight back to Oakland the next morning feels endless.

We caught an early flight out together so Logan could make it to Ethan’s appointment on time.

He sits next to me, his jaw clenched, fingers drumming against the armrest in the way that tells me he feels like things are spinning out and he’s afraid he won’t be able to catch them before the crash.

He obsessively checks his phone throughout the flight, scrolling through texts from Tessa, reading the same updates over and over.

"His fever broke around midnight," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "But it came back this morning."

I want to say something reassuring, but what the fuck do I know about sick kids? About family? About any of this? Instead, I just nod and resist the urge to reach for his hand.

The guilt that sits in my gut feels like a cement block. Logan's got enough to worry about without my shit adding to the pile. James, the threats, the photos…it's all because of me. Because I couldn't stay away from him, couldn't keep away like I should have.

When we land, Logan's already on his feet before the seatbelt sign turns off. He grabs his bag from the overhead compartment, his face etched with frustration and impatience.

"I can drive you," I offer as we run through the terminal. “Leave your car. We’ll get it later.”

He glances at me. "You don't have to?—"

"I want to."

Something in my voice must convince him because he nods. "Thanks."

The drive to the medical center is quiet except for the GPS directions and Logan's occasional phone calls to Tessa. His shoulders are tense and stiff, and it’s clear that every muscle in his body is coiled tight with worry.

I keep stealing sidelong looks at him, his tight-lipped expression, the white-knuckled grip on his phone.

"He's going to be okay," I finally say, because I can't stand the silence anymore.

Logan's laugh is sharp and bitter. "You don't know that."

"No," I say, sweeping a hand through my hair. "But I know he's got you looking out for him. And that means everything."

He doesn't respond, but I see him swallow hard. I want to reassure him, to erase the panic and fear. But I know I can’t. I have zero power to help him. Zero power to help anyone. And shit, I’ve never felt so useless in my entire life.

Logan knows exactly where to go once we get to the hospital, his familiarity with the place hitting me like a junk punch.

How many times has he been here? How many worried walks down these hallways has he taken?

Tessa and Ethan wait for us in the lobby.

Ethan's curled up against his mother's side, his skin more yellow than it was last time. He’s listless, too, a glaring contrast to the energetic kid I'd met a short time ago.

Logan's face crumbles for just a second before he pulls it together and crosses the room in only a few quick strides .

"Hey, bud," he says, kneeling beside Ethan's chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Ethan mumbles, leaning into Logan's touch when he feels his forehead. "My tummy hurts."

"We're gonna get that fixed, okay?"

Tessa looks up at me, surprise flickering across her features. "Cam. I didn't expect you to be here."

"He insisted on driving when we got to the airport," Logan explains. "Said he wanted to be here."

The furrowed-brow look she gives me is curious, like she's trying to figure out what our deal is. I guess she thinks it’s weird that I’m here. Maybe it is, but I want to be supportive for Logan. So I hang back, not wanting to intrude on their business. Ethan gives me a small smile and a weak wave.

“Hi, Cam,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, bud,” I say in a quiet voice. “I brought a puck back for you from our game.”

“Thanks.” He sighs, his eyes drooping closed.

"Ethan Reynolds?" A nurse appears with a clipboard. "Dr. Patel will see you now."

We follow her down a hallway lined with cheerful, bold-colored murals that feel obscenely bright. Logan carries Ethan, who's content to bury his face in his uncle's shoulder.

“Listen, I’ll just hang out here,” I say to Logan before they get to the exam room.

He looks at me. “Come inside. I…I want you there.”

I need you there.

He didn’t say the words but my heart swells at the thought anyway.

I nod and move into the room behind them. The nurse checks Ethan’s vitals and asks a lot of questions before standing up with a pleasant smile on her face, her iPad in hand. “The doctor will be in shortly. ”

Dr. Patel is a small woman with kind eyes and gray-streaked hair. She examines Ethan while asking more questions about his symptoms, his energy levels, and his appetite. Logan and Tessa take turns answering them and the anxiety and fear in their voices makes my gut wrench.

"We'll need to run some more bloodwork," Dr. Patel says after wrapping up the exam. "But based on his symptoms and the progression we've been tracking, I'm concerned about his liver function."

"What does that mean?" Tessa asks, though her tone suggests she already knows.

"Well, as you know, Ethan has Alagille syndrome," Dr. Patel explains, glancing at me like she's including me in the family circle. "Which we know is a genetic disorder that affects the bile ducts in the liver. Over time, the lack of proper bile drainage can lead to progressive liver damage and cirrhosis. We’ve spoken about this potential in the past, but the risk levels are elevated to the point where we need to discuss other treatments.”

Shit. I've heard Logan mention Ethan's liver condition, but hearing the specifics makes it real in a way that knots my stomach.

"His latest tests show elevated bilirubin levels and decreased protein synthesis," the doctor continues. "The fever and fatigue suggest his liver is struggling more than usual. We're not at a crisis point yet, but we're approaching a stage where more aggressive intervention might be necessary."

"Intervention?" Logan's voice is carefully controlled. My heart aches for him. He’s trying so hard to keep it together but I can tell from the emotions swirling in his eyes that he’s damn close to cracking.

"Potentially a liver transplant. I know that's not what you want to hear, but we need to start considering all options. "

The room falls silent except for the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights and Ethan's soft breathing. He dozed off during the examination, exhausted by the effort of just lying on the exam table.

"How long do we have?" Tessa asks.

"It's hard to say. Could be months, could be longer, if we’re lucky. We'll know more after today's bloodwork. For now, we continue monitoring and managing his symptoms."

Twenty minutes later, we're back in the lobby. Tessa is with Ethan getting his blood drawn, and Logan is pacing the small space like a caged animal ready to pounce. I want to help, to fix this somehow, but there's nothing I can do except be here.

Maybe that’s enough. For now, anyway.

My phone buzzes with a message, and I suck in a breath, my insides plunged into an ice bath when I see the sender.

Hope your boyfriend's family is doing well. Heard there was a medical emergency.

I press a hand to my forehead, my heart jumping into my throat, nearly choking me. How the fuck does he know about this? How does he know about Ethan?

Another message follows.

Turns out this business deal needs an upfront investment. And since you put me in this position, I think it should come from you. Show me you're as invested in my future as I am in yours. $250,000. Consider it compensation for lost opportunities.

My hands shake as I read the words. A quarter-of-a-million dollars. Is he fucking kidding me? Where does this end?

You have one week to transfer the funds. Instructions to follow. Don't disappoint me, Connor.

"Cam?" Logan's voice cuts through my panic. "You okay?"

I lock my phone quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Fine."

But I'm not fine. I'm drowning without a lifeline.

A couple of hours later, we pick up Logan’s car at the airport and I follow him home. Ethan's bloodwork showed elevated liver enzymes, but nothing requiring immediate hospitalization. Dr. Patel wants to see him again in two weeks, and they've adjusted his medications in the meantime.

"Thank you for coming," he says quietly. "That was... above and beyond."

"I wanted to be there."

He glances at me, something unreadable in his expression. "Why?"

"Because he matters to you. And you matter to me."

The words hang between us, landing heavier than I intended. Logan doesn’t say anything. Tessa takes Ethan upstairs for a nap. The kid barely stirred when Logan carried him in from Tessa’s car. That seems to rattle Logan more than any test result.

"You want some coffee?" Logan asks as he walks into the kitchen.

"Sure."

I watch him go through the motions of measuring grounds, adding water, and setting the machine to brew. His movements are mechanical, precise, like he's holding onto routine to keep from falling apart. And we both know he’s on the brink of unraveling.

"He's going to need a transplant," he says suddenly to the empty mugs he set out on the counter, not looking at me.

"You don't know that."

"I do. I've been reading about it for months to prepare. His progression, the symptoms…” He shakes his head. “We're running out of time. It’s the only option now. He’s been on a transplant list for months, but because he was never an emergency case, he hasn’t been called yet with a donor. He might not get one in time.”

"Logan, slow down?— "