Page 31 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

TWENTY-THREE

logan

My alarm goes off at six-thirty the next morning, not that I needed it.

I've been awake for hours, lying here in my bed, replaying yesterday’s events over and over in my head.

The doctor's appointment. James's texts.

The way Cam looked when that photo came through.

It was like someone had punched him in the fucking gut.

The photo of my house.

My house, where Ethan sleeps. Where Tessa tries to pretend everything's normal for her kid's sake.

I roll out of bed, every muscle pulled tight. My shoulder feels like someone's grinding glass between the joints, but that's nothing new. I pop three Advil, which don’t really do shit at this point, and head downstairs to the kitchen.

The strong scent of coffee wafts under my nose, and I know Tessa's up, too. She probably didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. When I walk into the kitchen, she stares out the back window, wrapped in her fuzzy pink robe nursing a mug of steaming coffee.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I ask, grabbing my own mug from the cabinet .

She shakes her head, still gazing into the backyard. "Ethan was restless. His fever came back around three."

My stomach drops. "Is he?—?"

"He's okay. For now." She turns to look at me, and I can see the exhaustion etched into every line of her face. "Dr. Patel called last night after you went to bed. The bloodwork came back."

I put down the mug, suddenly not trusting my hands to hold it when she tells me the results. "And?"

"His numbers are worse. Not critical yet, but..." She trails off, biting down on her lip. "She wants to see him again next week. She mentioned that we might need to start thinking about moving the transplant timeline up."

The words hit me like a brick to the chest. We'd talked about the transplant possibly taking place at the end of next season. Not now. Not when everything with Cam and James has completely consumed me.

"How much sooner?" I manage to ask.

"She didn't say exactly. But the way she was talking..." Tessa's voice cracks slightly and tears spring to her eyes. "It would be a couple of months, not a year."

I run a hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around what this would mean for me.

I knew my hockey shelf life was close to expiration because of my shoulder.

I just figured I could get a little more time…

to finish out my legacy, to figure out what the hell to do with my life, what it even looks like after hockey.

The transplant alone wouldn’t be a problem for my career if my shoulder wasn’t fucking shredded to shit. I never expected to be facing retirement at thirty-six, but here we fucking are.

"There's something else," Tessa says with a quiet sigh. "She asked about your health, you know, as the donor. She needs to know if there are any changes to your health status before we move forward."

My shoulder throbs like it understood what Tessa just said. "What kind of changes?"

"Recent injuries. Surgeries. Anything that might affect your ability to donate." She watches me carefully, and I know she’ll see right through my bullshit. She always does. "Logan, your shoulder?—"

"Is fine."

"Don't lie to me." Her voice is sharp as a knife and just as cutting. It’s the tone she used when we were kids and I'd try to cover for our dad's latest fuck-up to protect her. "I've watched you play in the NHL for fourteen years. I know what you look like when you're hurt."

I’m tempted to keep lying, to keep pretending I have everything under control. But looking at her face, I can see how scared she is, how desperate she is to hold everything together for Ethan's sake. It makes my gut clench and I can’t lie to her. Not anymore.

"It's bad," I finally say. "Like, career-ending bad."

She nods like she already knew. Because she did. "How long have you been playing on it in that condition?"

"Since the beginning of the season. Maybe longer."

"Jesus, Logan." She sets her mug down hard on the counter. Coffee sloshing over the rim of the Raptors mug. "Do you have any idea what you're risking? If you damage it permanently?—"

"Then what? My career ends a few months early?" I shrug, trying to act like it doesn't bother me, but my voice betrays me. "It doesn’t matter. I’ll be done after this season. And I can still help the team make playoffs first."

Tessa stares at me for a long minute. "So you'll retire after this season either way. "

"Yeah."

Tessa’s quiet for a minute. "Well, Ethan’s on the transplant list. It’s possible we could still find a donor. But what if he needs it sooner."

"Then I'll retire sooner and I’ll do the surgery. I know I’m not the only option, but if push comes to shove, I always told you I’d do it without a question. Fuck the rest of the season." The words come out steady, but my chest feels tight. "It's not a choice, Tess. It's Ethan."

Tears slip out of the corners of her eyes, a quiet sob quaking her shoulders. I pull her close, hugging her tight.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice quivering. "I'm so sorry you have to make this choice."

"Hey." I back away the slightest bit to look at her. "This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

"But your career is?—"

"It’s just hockey, Tess. Ethan's family." I wipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. "Besides, do you think I could live with myself if I chose hockey over my nephew's life?"

She struggles to smile. "Mom always said you had too much conscience for your own good."

"Mom said a lot of things." I roll my eyes.

We stand there in silence for a moment, the reality and influence of our childhood hanging over us like a dark cloud. My mind trips back to the woman who left us to clean up Dad's messes and raise ourselves, about the choices we've had to make since then because of the shit hand we were dealt.

"Is there anything else I should know about?" Tessa asks finally, sniffling. "Any other secrets you're sitting on?"

I think about Cam. About the growing feelings I can barely admit to myself, let alone to my sister. About James and his threats and the way everything in my carefully ordered life is spinning out of control .

"No." I almost choke on the lie. "Nothing else."

My phone buzzes on the counter where I left it. I pick it up to find a text from Cam.

Morning practice at ten. You okay after yesterday?

Fine. See you there.

But I'm not fine. I'm fucking drowning, and I don't know how to tell him that.

"You should get going soon," Tessa says, noticing the time. "And by the way, I know there’s something else going on with you.” She holds up a hand, expecting me to protest. “And please don't try to tell me it's nothing because I know you better than that.

Just remember you don't have to handle everything alone. "

I want to tell her she's wrong. That I've been handling things alone for most of my life, that it's what I do. But looking at her face, at the trust and concern there, I just nod.

"I have a meeting set up to discuss the timeline with Dr. Patel."

"Good. Now do yourself a favor and talk to Cam since he’s been making you check your phone every five minutes. If he’s important enough to make you smile like that, he’s important enough to know what's going on with you." She lifts an eyebrow, her lips lifting.

Heat creeps up the sides of my neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." She grins. "Just think about it. I want to see you happy. You deserve it."

I'm saved from acknowledging her comment by the sound of small feet on the stairs. Ethan appears in the doorway, dragging his stuffed triceratops. I peer closely at him. He looks pale but alert. Thank God.

"Uncle Lo!" He runs to me, and I scoop him up, a shot of pain lancing my shoulder. "Are you going to practice? Can I come watch?"

"Not today, bud. Stay here and rest. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. And my tummy hurts." He rests his head against my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating from his small body. "Are you going to see Cam today?"

"Yes, he’ll be there," I say, glancing at Tessa, whose smile seems permanently stretched across her face at the mention of him.

"He's smart," Ethan says. "And he's nice. I like him."

"Yeah? What do you like about him?"

Ethan taps a finger against his chin. "He listens. And he doesn't talk to me like I'm stupid. And he looks at you the way you look at chocolate chip cookies."

Tessa nearly spits out her coffee, stifling a laugh. Heat creeps into my face.

"What does that mean?" I ask, although I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.

"Like you really, really want one but you're not sure if you're allowed to have it."

Fucking A. Out of the mouths of babes.

"I think Uncle Logan needs to get to practice," Tessa says, rescuing me from anymore six-year-old relationship insights.

I put Ethan down and ruffle his hair. "Take it easy today, and I’ll see you later."

"I will. Tell Cam I said hi."

I smile. "Okay."

The drive to the rink is quiet other than the deafening noise clanging between my ears. So much angst assaults my chest as my current reality loops through my brain. Ethan's condition. The transplant timeline. James's threats.

The way I felt when I realized I'd do anything to protect Cam .

I wrap my fingers tight around the steering wheel.

The parking lot at the practice facility is half full when I maneuver my truck into a spot.

Some of the guys are already on the ice when I get there, running through drills to get loose.

I spot Cam near the boards, skating backward while juggling a puck.

Something in my chest eases slightly. He looks like his old self for a minute.

The showy, smirky kid who knows he’s a star.

I let out a shaky breath and it clouds in front of me.

He's here. He's safe. For now.

In the locker room, I drop onto the bench and lace up my skates. Carter walks around to sit next to me.

"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he says.

I wince at the shoulder reference. I wonder if he dropped that in deliberately. He’s always been suspicious about it but never confronted me directly. I grit my teeth, making a mental note to be even more careful in the time I have left.

Fuck. It sounds so final.

"Life is complicated,” I say, tightening my laces. “Some days are easier than others.”

“This isn’t something that I just noticed. You’ve been off for weeks. What’s going on? Something at home with your family? Or is it something else?” He nods his head toward Cam’s locker, a knowing look on his face.

I glance around the room. Most of the guys are already dressed and heading for the ice, but Keating is still here, dicking around with his equipment. I don’t like the looks he keeps shooting me, and if Carter wasn’t here, I’d be seriously tempted to get up and smack that shit off his face.

"It’s nothing I can't handle," I say.

He leans closer, dropping his voice. "Is it Foster? Because it’s obvious there’s some pretty crazy tension between you guys.”

"Nope,” I shake my head. “There’s nothing.”

Carter lifts an eyebrow. “You’re full of crap.”

Before I can even open my mouth to spew another lie, my phone buzzes with a text. I stare at the screen, my breath hitching when I see the number…and the message.

Good morning, Logan. I trust you slept well. I'm looking forward to our conversation today. Don't keep me waiting.

My insides plunge into a deep freeze. Our conversation? What the fuck is he talking about?

"Logan?" Carter's voice drifts over to my ears, muffled like my head is trapped in a bubble. "You okay?"

I shoot up from the bench, wincing at the sudden jolt to my shoulder. "I’ve got to make a call."

I head to the ice, jerking my head back and forth while I look for Cam. He's down at the far end with Tate working on some kind of passing drill. I need to talk to him now.

I pull off my skate guards and jump onto the ice. The blades dig deep into the fresh ice, my leg muscles tensing as I make my way around the boards. Coach Enver gives me a strange look but I don’t bother to acknowledge it.

Cam’s smile fades when I close in on him.

"What's wrong?" he asks, following me over to the boards.

"James just texted me. He wants to meet. Says we have a conversation scheduled."

He grips his stick against him. "Fuck. When?"

"He didn't give any details.”

"God, I'm so sorry, Logan. This is all my fault." He presses a hand to his forehead. “I have to fix this. I’ll meet him and get you out of this.”

"It's not your fault, and you know that won’t fly.

" I say the words to calm him but I’m spinning out of control.

James has completely invaded my life. The fucker knows where I live.

He's been watching us, documenting us, and now he's making contact directly. He’s got fucking balls, that’s for sure.

And I want to cut them off and stuff them down his damn throat so he chokes on them.

"Okay, so what do we do? Just let him keep calling the shots?" Cam asks.

I think about Ethan at home with a fever. About Tessa trying so hard to hold everything together. About the transplant timeline getting moved up and my career ending either way.

And I think about the fact that I'm falling in love with a man whose past is threatening to destroy everything I've built.

I know what to do. I know how to take back the control slipping through my fingers…at least where James is concerned.

"We end this," I say through clenched teeth. "Today. Whatever he wants, whatever game he's playing, we have to stop it.”

"Logan, just let me?—"

"Stop,” I cut him off. “I'm done watching you carry this alone. Let’s get a time and place, and then we finish it. We finish him. ”

"Together?"

The word hangs between us, loaded with more meaning than just the James situation. Together through all of his threats. Together through whatever comes next. Together through everything I'm too scared to say out loud.

And yeah, I’m fucking petrified about all of it.

"Yeah.” I nod, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. “Together."

But even as I say it, I can't shake the feeling that “together” might not be enough to protect everything I love from falling apart.