Page 45 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

I grind the toe of my sneaker into a crack in the floor tile.

"He’d come to my house, said he needed to tell me something important.

But I was falling apart, dealing with Ethan's surgery, my shoulder, the end of my career.

And I just...I lost it and told him he was one more complication I couldn't deal with. "

"Fuck," Ryan breathes, dropping into the chair next to me. "So he handled it alone. He dealt with my father's threats by himself because you told him he was too much trouble."

I tilt my head up to glare at him but the words slice into my heart like the jagged edge of a dagger fileting it. "Yeah. That's exactly what I did."

Ryan leans forward, his head in his hands. "When I found him in the parking garage, that psycho was about to finish him off. But Cam, even bleeding out, he told me to run. To get help. He was more worried about my safety than his own."

My throat tightens, a knot of tears lodging there. "That sounds like him."

"I've been such an asshole to him. Cam earned his spot, and I spent all season trying to tear him down because I was jealous."

I turn to look at Ryan. "Why did you help him? In the garage?"

"Because it was the right thing to do. And because I finally realized what my father had turned me into. I don’t want to be that asshole guy." He looks at me. "I told my dad that I’m done. Done with his games, done being his puppet. Done letting him destroy good people for my career."

"How'd that go?"

"He pretty much disowned me. Said I was throwing away everything he'd worked for." Ryan shrugs. "Fuck it, though. It was the best conversation we've ever had."

Just then, a doctor in scrubs appears in the doorway, a surgical mask covering his face. My skin prickles as he slowly pulls down the mask. "Family of Cameron Foster?"

I stand up so fast the chair nearly tips over. "How is he?"

"Are you family?"

"I'm his..." I bite down on my lip. "I'm Logan Shaw. I'm his emergency contact."

The doctor nods. "Okay. The surgery went well. We repaired the damage to his abdomen and stopped the internal bleeding. He lost a significant amount of blood, but he's stable now."

Relief floods me so fast it makes me dizzy. "Is he awake?"

"Not yet. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but his vital signs are strong. He's young and healthy, which worked in his favor." He pauses. "He's going to need time to recover, both physically and emotionally. This was a traumatic attack."

"Can I see him?"

"He's being moved to ICU now. Once he's settled, family can visit briefly. One person at a time."

When she leaves, I sink back into the chair, my shoulder slumping as relief and gratitude consume me.

"He's going to be okay," Ryan says, a smile lifting his lips.

"Yeah." But even as I say it, I know that physically okay and actually okay are two different things. Cam's been through hell, and the last thing he heard from me was that he was too much trouble to deal with.

My phone buzzes. I grab it and look at the screen, then click on the text from Tessa.

Saw the news. Are you okay? Is Cam okay?

I shoot off a quick response.

He's stable. Surgery went well. I'll call you later .

Good. And Logan? Whatever happened between you two, fix it.

I stuff the phone into my pocket and look at Ryan. "When he wakes up, I need to talk to him. Alone."

"Yeah, of course." Ryan looks down at the floor and back up at me. "For what it's worth, I think he really cares about you. The way he talked about you, even when he was bleeding..."

"What did he say?"

"He said he was sorry. For bringing trouble into your life." Ryan's voice is quiet. “He was mumbling while the EMTs worked on him, before he lost consciousness.”

Fuck. Cam was lying there, stabbed and bleeding, worried about me forgiving him. While I was convinced that he was the problem.

"I'm the one who needs forgiveness," I growl.

"Then tell him that. When he wakes up."

After what feels like hours, a nurse approaches. She calls over to me from the doorway. "Mr. Shaw? Cam’s awake. You can see him now, but just for a few minutes."

I follow her through the ICU doors, my heart thrashing violently once we walk into his room. Cam is in a bed surrounded by bleeping machines and monitors, his face pale against the white pillowcase. But his eyes are open a crack, and when he sees me, something flickers in the depths.

Surprise. Pain. Maybe hope.

"Hey," I say, walking over to the bed. I reach down and smooth the hair away from his face.

"Hey." His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You came."

"Of course I came." I lean forward, careful not to disturb any of the wires connecting him to the machines. "Cam, I'm so fucking sorry."

"You don't have to?—"

"Yes, I do." I carefully take his hand. His fingers weakly curl around mine and I squeeze gently. "I told you I couldn't handle any more problems. And the whole time, you were trying to protect me from this mess."

His eyes mist over. "I didn't want you to get hurt because of my past."

"Your past? Cam, none of this is your fault. You were being stalked by a psychopath and blackmailed by that piece of shit Keating. And instead of being there for you, I made you handle it alone."

"You had enough to deal with. Ethan, your shoulder, your career?—"

"There are no excuses for what I did.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. "You're the best thing that's happened to me in years, and I almost lost you because I was too scared to admit I need you."

"Logan..." His voice is scratchy and thick.

"I love you," I whisper, bringing his hand to my lips, my chest swelling with emotion. I can’t believe I almost didn't get the chance to tell him. "I'm in love with you, and I'm so sorry it took you almost dying for me to get my head out of my ass."

"You love me?" His voice breaks on the words.

"Yeah. I do. And if you'll let me, I want to make this right. All of it. Whatever comes next, we face it together."

"Together," he murmurs. "I'd like that."

I lean down and press my lips to his forehead, breathing in the scent of him, grateful beyond words that he's alive, that he's here, that I get another chance to love him the right way.

"Rest," I say. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I swear."

As he drifts back to sleep, I settle into the chair beside his bed, his hand still clasped in mine. The monitors beep steadily, a reassuring rhythm that says he's alive, he's safe, and he's mine.

Tomorrow, we'll deal with the media circus. We'll figure out how to move forward, how to face the fallout from William Keating's schemes and James's attack. I'll tell him about the surgery consultation, about Dr. Patel's concerns, about how scared I am that I might not be able to save Ethan.

But tonight, I just hold his hand and listen to him breathe, grateful for second chances I didn't deserve and promises I plan to keep.