Page 46 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

THIRTY-TWO

cam

Sharp, shooting pain. That’s the first thing I feel when I crack open my eyes.

Then the warmth of Logan’s hand clasping mine soothes the jagged edges, calming me.

For a fleeting second, the pain dissipates and everything feels perfect.

But reality doesn’t take a breather for long.

It crashes back in, memories of the past day flying toward me like bullets I can’t dodge…

the stabbing, the surgery, the media shit storm that's probably waiting for me outside these walls.

"Hey," Logan says softly, squeezing my fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got stabbed by a psychopath," I say, trying for humor that falls flat.

"Too soon for jokes." But his lips quirk up slightly. "The doctor says you can probably go home in a couple of days if you keep improving."

Home. The word should make me feel better, but all I can think about is what's waiting for me out there, what I’ll be left to deal with once I make it out of the safety of these walls. "How bad is it? The press coverage?"

Logan's eyebrows knit together and he lets out a deep sigh. " It's...a lot. The stabbing is front page news, but William Keating's character assassination campaign is still making rounds too. People love fucking drama."

I close my eyes, my head sinking deeper into the pillow. "So I'm either a victim or a fraud, depending on which article you read."

"You're neither."

I open my eyes to see him standing over me. He leans forward, his voice deep and fierce. "You're a survivor who got targeted by assholes with agendas."

A knock on the door interrupts us. Rex Ashton walks in, followed by Bob Marshall and Eli Hartnet. My stomach drops. Having the GM and PR director show up in your hospital room is never good news. Maybe they’re here to tell me they’re going to pull my contract because of the news.

Fuck. I’m nothing without hockey. I sacrificed so much to get here, I can’t lose it now.

Logan doesn’t let go of my hand, and it feels like a lifeline right now, one I desperately need.

"Cam," Bob says, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicker briefly at our hands before he looks back at me. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better but making progress." I press my other hand to the mattress, struggling to pull myself up. Logan props up the pillows behind me and helps me settle back against them. "I'm guessing this isn't a social visit."

"We need to discuss the situation," Eli says, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a notebook in his lap. "The media attention, the questions about your background, the stabbing…it's all spiraling. We need to get ahead of this before it gets worse."

"Worse how?"

Rex clears his throat. "Three more news outlets picked up the character story overnight. They're digging deeper, asking questions about your background, trying to create controversy where there shouldn't be any."

"What kind of questions?"

"Whether there are any undisclosed issues that might affect your standing with the team," Bob says, his expression stoic. "Cam, I need you to understand that this isn't about hockey ability. This is about media perception and sponsor concerns. Some people are trying to create a scandal."

I look at Logan, then back at Bob. The moment of truth. The choice between protecting my secret and protecting my career.

"Yes," I say quietly. "There are things."

The bleeping monitors echo in the tense silence.

"What kind of things?" Eli asks, pen poised over the notebook.

I swallow hard, wringing the bedsheet in my fingers.

"When I was about nineteen and in the juniors, I was poor. Really poor. It’s how I grew up.

Hockey equipment, training, ice time…it all cost money I didn't have.

So I..." I swallow hard. "I worked as an escort.

Back in New York. To pay for everything I needed to make it to the draft. "

The color drips from Rex’s face. Eli scribbles notes frantically. Bob just stares at me, his icy blue eyes chilling my bones.

"For how long?" Bob asks.

"About a year and a half. I went by my real name back then and tried to keep that part of my life separate from hockey.

But some of my clients kept records. Photos.

Videos." The words taste like shit on my tongue.

"That's what William Keating used to blackmail me.

And James Harmon was one of those clients.

He became obsessed with me, wouldn't let it go. I’d gotten a restraining order years ago to keep him away from me.

But he found me anyway, even under the name Cam Foster. "

"Jesus Christ," Eli mutters.

"The question now," Rex says, "is how do we handle this? Because if we don't control the narrative, someone else will. And that will be dangerous for you, Cam."

"What are you suggesting?" Logan asks, his voice tight.

"We get ahead of it," Eli says. "Press conference. Full disclosure. Frame it as an overcoming adversity story before anyone can position it as a scandal."

"A press conference?" My stomach lurches. "You want me to tell the world that I used to..."

"You want to tell the world that you survived," Bob interjects. "That you did what you had to do to chase your dream. That some sick bastards tried to use your past against you and you refused to be intimidated."

I stare at him. "Wait, so…you're not cutting me from the team?"

"For what? Being poor? Being desperate enough to work for your dream?" Bob shakes his head. "Cam, what you did has nothing to do with hockey. It doesn't affect your ability to play or your character as a teammate. I'm not punishing a player for surviving difficult circumstances."

My body goes limp with the surge of relief channeling through me. "So the press conference..."

"We’ll hold it on the day of your release from the hospital. I’ll set it up once you know when that is," Eli says. "We'll prep you and craft the message. The key is owning your story before someone else tries to twist it."

"And if people still have a problem with it?"

"Then that's their problem, not yours," Bob says firmly. "You're a hockey player, and a damn talented one. That's what matters to this organization."

After they leave, I lean back against the mattress, exhausted. “Jesus, I’m really doing this. I can’t believe it’s staring me in the face after I’ve tried so hard to keep it all buried.”

"You okay with the plan?" Logan asks.

"Hell no," I say. "I’m fucking terrified. But I'm also tired of hiding. Tired of being afraid that someone's going to expose me. If I tell my own story, on my own terms..."

"Then no one can use it against you anymore. You hold the power then."

"Exactly." I look at him. "Will you be there? At the press conference?"

He grins. "Try and stop me. Remember what I said, we handle it all together. It’s only us from now on."

A couple of days later, Logan and one of my nurses, Holly, help me dress for the press conference. Trying to maneuver myself into a dress shirt and suit isn’t easy and it takes a damn village.

Once I’ve signed the discharge papers, I take a minute to myself and straighten my tie in the bathroom mirror. With a deep breath, I walk out of the small space and look at Logan.

“You’ve got this,” he says. “And you look sexy as fuck. It’s going to be hard for anyone to pay attention to what you’re saying.”

A small smile lifts my lips. “Thanks. I guess it’s time to go, huh?”

Logan nods. “Yeah. You ready?”

“As I’ll never be.”

A few minutes later, he pulls his truck around the front of the hospital where an orderly leads me to the curb in a wheelchair.

We drive to the facility in silence, but the noise between my ears is deafening.

Memories of a couple of days earlier claw at my brain and I press my fingertips to my temples to block them out. Looking back can’t help me.

I need to focus on the future, on what will happen after I leave the facility today.

Logan squeezes my hand and my lips tug upward.

We’re going to have an amazing future.

Once we’re inside, Rex pulls me into a conference room where I spend an hour with him and Eli, going over key talking points and preparing for likely questions. My stomach churns with every scenario we discuss, but Logan sits next to me, his presence steady and reassuring.

"Remember," Eli says, "you're not apologizing for surviving. You're explaining that you did what you had to do, and you're proud of how far you've come."

"And if someone tries to make it sound shameful?" I run my finger along the wood grain of the tabletop.

"You redirect," Rex says. "You talk about determination, about refusing to let circumstances define you. You own your story."

I blow out a shaky breath. "You know, I keep thinking about that scared eighteen-year-old," I say quietly, staring at the table. "The one who thought he had no other choice. Part of me wants to protect him, keep his secrets."

"And the other part?" Logan asks.

I slowly raise my eyes. "The other part knows that keeping secrets gave people like William Keating and James power over me. If I tell the truth, on my terms, they can't hurt me anymore."

"Exactly." Logan's voice is firm. "You're not that scared kid anymore, Cam. You're a professional athlete who survived and thrived despite everything thrown at you."

I take a deep breath then knock on the table. "Okay. Let's do this. "

The press room is packed. Cameras, reporters, team staff, my teammates.

Tate gives me a thumbs up from the back as we file into the room.

Carter nods at me. Jaren and Colby are there.

Ryan Keating sits with them, his face still bruised from the fight with James, but his presence here means everything.

Logan sits in the front row, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Thank you all for coming." I speak into the microphone in front of me, my voice steadier than I expected. "I want to address the recent events and set the record straight about my background."