Page 30 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

"I'm a match." He keeps talking, like I haven't spoken. "I got tested last year. Tessa wasn't, though. Her blood type is incompatible. The doctors mentioned some other factors, too. Bottom line is, I’m the guy. So if he needs the transplant, I'm doing it. But it’s not an easy surgery.” His shoulders slump as he turns to look at me. “Recovery for a living liver donor, including the ability to return to most normal activities, usually takesthree to six months.But with the condition my shoulder is in, three to six months may turn into the end of the game for me. Literally. I’m barely hanging in there now. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to continue. "

Logan's entire identity is wrapped up in hockey, in being strong, in being the provider for his family. The thought of losing all of that for Ethan's sake should terrify him.

Instead, he just looks resigned.

Silence stretches between us, the machine percolating. The rich scent of brewing coffee permeates the air.

"You'd do that without question," I say. Because it's not a question. I already know he’d give his life for Ethan and Tessa, no questions asked.

"Of course. He's my family. My responsibility."

"He's lucky to have you."

"I'm not sure about that." Logan's voice cracks slightly. "I couldn't save Tyler. I can't fix Ethan's liver except with being a donor. I can't even protect you from James and his threats."

"Stop." I cross the room in two strides, backing him against the counter. "You can't save everyone, Logan. But that doesn't mean you stop trying."

His eyes are bright with unshed tears, and seeing him this vulnerable breaks something open in my chest. All the fear and stress and guilt I've been carrying bubbles up and over.

"I can't lose him," he whispers.

"You won't. "

"You don't know?—"

I silence him with a kiss, my lips crashing into his, desperate and hungry. He grabs the sides of my head, holding me close. His hands fist my shirt, tugging me against him. We're both drowning, both spiraling, and this is the only anchor we have.

"Upstairs," I breathe against his mouth, taking his bottom lip between my teeth. “Now.”

We make it to his bedroom without breaking apart, a frenzied tangle of grasping hands and desperate mouths. Once we’re inside his room, I push him onto the bed, straddling his hips, needing to take control of something, anything.

"Cam—" he starts, but I lean down and silence him again with my mouth, my hands already working his belt. I yank his pants and boxer briefs to his ankles and pull them off one at a time before stripping out of my own clothes. But he doesn’t let me.

He sits up and tears open my shirt. Buttons pop off the fabric, clattering onto the hardwood floor. I kick off my own pants and climb on top of him, his thick cock stiff and glistening with precum.

I take it between my lips, teasing his slit before taking him deep.

The tang of his precum dances on my tongue.

I stroke him hard, licking the underside of his shaft before swallowing him down.

The tip hits the back of my throat and he groans, fisting my hair and forcing me to take him farther into my mouth.

Then he pulls me off his cock and stares at me, his eyes half-hooded. A thin stream of drool creeps out of the corners of my mouth. He slides off the bed and wraps his arms around my waist. Then he guides me off the bed and swings me around so my palms hit the wall next to the bed.

He grasps my cock with one hand, the other hand snaked tight around my waist. His low growl sends heat straight to my cock.

His mouth is everywhere—on my neck, my collarbone, down my spine.

I arch my back, thrusting my ass against his cock, desperate for more contact.

His hand moves slow at first then picks up speed as I fuck his fingers.

Precum leaks from my dick, his hand slick as it tugs and taunts.

This isn't gentle. It's not sweet or romantic. It's raw need, the kind that burns through you and leaves you hollowed out. I need him, need this, need to feel something other than the crushing weight of James's threats and Ethan's illness and all the ways this thing between us could go wrong.

"I need you," I gasp when his teeth graze my ear. "Logan, please."

He doesn't make me wait. Doesn't tease or draw it out. He just presses his cock into me, stretching me, filling me, and I let out a moan at the delicious burn of his assault. He fucks me like he’s trying to cling to a lifeline. It’s hard and fast and desperate.

His balls slap against my ass as our bodies rock together.

My skin tingles, prickled with sweat. I squeeze my eyes shut, my head falling back as he jerks my cock.

I slide one hand over his ass, digging my fingers into the muscled globe.

He holds me tight and I let him take me apart, let him use me as an outlet for all the fear and frustration he can't voice.

His body trembles against me. White light explodes behind my eyelids and I swallow the scream tangled in the back of my throat in case Tessa is nearby.

When I come, it's with his name on my lips and his hand wrapped around my cock.

He follows seconds later, burying his face in my neck as he shudders through his release.

Logan falls against me, his breaths shallow and stilted. Just like mine. He holds me, trailing kisses down the slope of my neck, aftershocks rippling through me. When he pulls out, I immediately feel the loss of him and it makes my chest ache .

Because I don’t want to be apart from this man. It would destroy me.

The afternoon sun streams through his windows, casting long shadows across the floor. For a few minutes, the world feels manageable again.

I follow him into the bathroom and we clean ourselves up. It’s then that my fucking idiot mouth decides to pop the post-coital bliss bubble.

"James wants money," I blurt out, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

Logan tosses the washcloth into the hamper and looks at me with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"A quarter million. He says it's an investment in his business deal." I take a deep breath and stare at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't have it, Logan. My entry-level contract is paid out over three years. I won’t even make that over one season after taxes.”

He's quiet for a long moment, processing. "When does he want the money?"

"In one week."

"And if you don't pay?"

I swallow hard. "He releases everything. To the team, the media, everyone. It’ll be over. He won’t stop until he ruins me. And you. It’s revenge."

"So you're just going to pay him?"

"I can't pay him. I just told you I don't have the money."

"I do."

The words hit me like a wet glove to the face. "What?"

"I said I have the money. I can cover it."

"Absolutely fucking not." I stalk out of the bathroom and grab my boxer briefs before pulling them on, my dick completely deflated at this point. "I'm not letting you pay my blackmailer."

"Why not? If it keeps you safe?—"

"It won't," I interrupt, holding up a hand. "Guys like James don't stop at one payment. They keep coming back. I won't let you enable that shit."

"Then what's your plan?"

I don't have one. That's the problem. I'm trapped between a past I can't escape and a future I'm too afraid to reach for.

My phone buzzes with another message, and both of us freeze as we stare at the screen.

Just saw you at the hospital today. Such a caring boyfriend. It would be a shame if something happened to such a loving family.

This time, there's a photo attached. Me and Logan walking into the medical center, Ethan in Logan's arms. Someone was there. Watching. Close enough to hurt the people I care about.

"Fuck" I whisper, scraping a hand down the front of my face.

Logan’s face morphs into stone with the kind of deadly calm that scares me more than his anger. "That's it. We're calling Mike. We're ending this."

But as I stare at the photo of us, looking like a family, like people who belong together, I can't shake the feeling that it's already too late.

James isn't just threatening my career anymore.

He's threatening the only real thing I've ever had.

And the one thing I’m petrified to lose.