Page 43 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

I stop, turning to face him. "Ryan, I really need to go."

"Please." His voice pleads with me. "Just give me a minute."

I look at him, really look at him, and see something I've never seen before. Genuine remorse.

"I've been such an asshole to you. To Jaren and Colby too. Making your lives hell because I was jealous, because I felt like you didn't deserve what I couldn't have."

"Ryan—"

"No, let me finish. I let my father poison me against you guys.

I knew he was up to something, but I didn't want to know the details.

I told myself it was just business, just hockey politics.

" He scrapes a hand down the front of his face.

"I should have stood up to him sooner. I should have been a better teammate. A better person."

I stare at him, my jaw dropping, and I’m not sure what to say.

"I've spent so much time being angry that I wasn't the star that I forgot how to just be decent to the rookies trying to make it, just like I did once.

" A shuddering sigh escapes his lips. "I treated you like shit because it was easier than admitting my father might be wrong.

Easier than accepting that maybe you earned your spot and I needed to work harder for mine.

Because picking on the new guys made me feel better about my own failures. "

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because what's happening in there?" He flicks his thumb toward the conference room. "This isn't hockey. This isn't competition. This is manipulation. Fucking slander. And I won't be part of it anymore."

Before I can respond, he turns and walks back toward the conference room.

I watch him go, then head for the elevator. I need to call Rex and figure out how to handle the mess that I may have just made even worse.

The elevator sails down to the parking garage and dings when it reaches my level. I dial Rex’s number. Maybe he’ll be pulling in now and I can catch him before we head back up to face the music with Marshall.

The doors slide open, and I step out into the empty garage. A chill slithers over my prickled skin. There are just a few scattered cars under the harsh fluorescent lights on this level but something feels off.

"Connor."

I stop, my phone frozen to my ear.

I know that voice.

I drop my hand and turn slowly. James stands about ten feet away, next to a black sedan. He looks different than he did the last time I saw him at the coffee shop. Thinner. Wild-eyed. Desperate. In a t-shirt and ripped jeans instead of his signature Armani suit.

His hand dangles next to him. Something glints under the overhead light.

A knife.

"James," I croak, my eyes glued to the weapon clutched in his hand. "What are you doing here? "

"I want you to stop pretending you don't know exactly what you've done to me." His voice is shaking with rage, his face nearly purple as he edges closer. "Do you have any idea what my life has been like since you ruined everything?"

"I didn't ruin anything. You did that yourself."

"I loved you!" The words echo off the concrete walls, reverberating between my ears. "I gave you everything, and you threw it back in my face. You filed that restraining order, destroyed my reputation, cost me my job. I lost everything, you ungrateful bastard."

"You stalked me. You threatened me. You wouldn't leave me alone." I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. “I had no choice.”

"Because you belonged to me!" Pure madness glares back at me as he creeps toward me. "You were mine, Connor. And then you disappeared, changed your name, became this...this hockey star. Living the life you should have been living with me."

I hold out my hands and try to take a step back, but my legs are engulfed in a puddle of imaginary tar. "James, put the knife down. This isn't going to solve anything."

He laughs, a sharp, piercing sound, high and manic. "William Keating thought he could use me, then throw me away when I became inconvenient. Just like you did. Just like everyone does."

"William used you?" I rub the stress knot lodged at the back of my skull.

"Oh, didn't you know? He hired me to provide information about your past. Promised me it would be discreet.

Professional. But then he decided I was too much of a liability.

Cut me off, told me to disappear." James's grip tightens on the knife.

"But I'm not disappearing. Not until I get what I'm owed. "

"What do you think you're owed?" Keep him talking. That’s good. Hopefully someone will show up and scare this crackerjack off. Rex, security, fucking anyone.

"You. You’re coming back to New York with me. Living the life we should have had together. And if I can't have that, then no one can have you."

He lunges suddenly with the knife. I dodge sideways, but I’m a second too slow. The steel blade catches my shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh. Pain explodes through my arm as I stumble backward into a car.

The alarm blares out. My temples throb.

"James, stop," I rasp, holding out a hand. As if that’s going to stop this psychopath.

"You ruined everything!" He comes at me again, the knife flashing under the lights. "Everything!"

I stagger to my feet and roll to my side, pushing off the car, but he's faster, more desperate. The blade catches me again, this time in my side, and I crash down hard on the concrete. Blood pools beneath me as I dig my fingertips into the ground and try to crawl away.

"Stop fighting it, Connor," James says, standing over me. "This is how it was always going to end."

He raises the knife again. I stare up at him, my vision blurring, head thick with cobwebs. Darkness flirts with the edges of my sight, and I close my eyes, bracing for the final blow.

Before I feel the blade slice into me again, Ryan's voice cuts through the air.

"Get the fuck away from him!"

My eyes open a crack, my head dropping on my ear. Ryan Keating barrels toward us from the elevator.

"Ryan," I gasp, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "Get out of here. Call security."

But Ryan doesn't listen. He doesn’t stop. He leaps over me and tackles James around the waist. Both of them crash into another parked car, the knife skittering across the concrete as they struggle on the ground.

I blink fast, struggling to maintain consciousness. James's elbow catches Ryan in the face. Blood streams from his nose, but Ryan doesn't let go. Doesn't back down.

"Call 911," Ryan yells at me through gritted teeth as he wrestles with James. It’s muffled, like I’m submerged in water. "Now!"

With shaking hands, I fumble for my phone. I barely get it out before my fingers stop working and it crashes to the concrete next to me.

Another alarm sounds, followed by sirens in the distance. Ryan’s voice drags me out of my fog. He covers me with a jacket, pressing it hard against me.

"Stay with me, Cam," Ryan says, his voice shaking. "Come on, stay awake."

But the world is getting darker and darker. The lights fade, sounds fizzle out. And the pain fades into a strange numbness that scares me more than the agony did.

"Why?" I whisper. "Why did you help me?"

Ryan's face is bruised and bloody, but his eyes are clear. "Because it was the right thing to do. Because I should have stopped this a long time ago."

Sirens get louder. Screeching tires peel around the corner and stop. Paramedics push Ryan aside and lean over me.

In the depths of my mind, I hear words like "significant blood loss" and "possible internal bleeding" and "we need to get him to surgery immediately."

"Patient's losing consciousness," one of them says to another, urgency in his voice. "Blood pressure's dropping fast."

My vision starts to fade, blackness coloring my line of sight .

But before I drift off, Logan’s face flashes in front of me. I hope he knows I never meant to hurt him. I hope he finds his purpose and his future. I’d wished it was with me. But we can’t always get what we want.

At least now he'll know the truth about everything I was trying to protect him from. With one final breath, I finally let go, and the world goes black.