Page 48 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

THIRTY-THREE

logan

I can’t believe it’s only been two weeks.

Two weeks since Cam almost died in a parking garage. Two weeks since he faced the world and owned his story like the fucking warrior he is. Two weeks since James got hauled away in handcuffs and William Keating watched his career implode.

And tomorrow, I donate part of my liver to save my nephew's life.

The past days have been a blur of medical appointments, pre-surgical prep, and meetings with Dr. Raja that left my head spinning.

The orthopedic specialist laid it out pretty clearly.

My shoulder is fucked six ways from Sunday, and the liver donation surgery is going to make it worse before it gets better.

But Ethan's liver function has been declining faster than expected, so there is no alternative. No choice. Not that there ever was. I love the kid like he’s my own. So here we are. Ready or not.

The media circus finally died down. Cam's press conference was a masterpiece. He turned what could have been a career-ending scandal into a story about survival and determination. The response was mostly positive, with a few predictable assholes trying to make it into something dirty and sordid.

Sports Illustrated ran a feature called "The Cost of Dreams" about young athletes who overcome poverty to make it to the pros. Cam was on the cover, looking fierce and unbroken. Then ESPN did a segment on how his honesty was changing conversations about athlete backgrounds and adversity.

According to the news outlets, clients of William Keating have been dropping like flies in the past week.

The NHL ethics investigation is ongoing, but it doesn’t matter.

His reputation is destroyed. Ryan’s been checking on Cam every day, still carrying guilt about his family's role in everything. Without his dad hanging over his shoulder, he’s not a bad guy.

And I hear from Carter that he’s changed his attitude in a big way, no longer the dickhead everybody loved to hate.

James is sitting in county lockup awaiting trial on attempted murder charges. Mike says the DA is confident about conviction, given the evidence and Ryan's testimony. James isn't getting out anytime soon. I hope he fucking rots in prison.

Which brings me to now. Monday night. Surgery at six AM tomorrow.

Cam is here with me. Ever since he was released from the hospital, he’s been staying with us. Since his mobility was an issue early on, I wanted to make sure he had someone to care for him. Namely, me.

He carefully eases onto my bed, wincing slightly. "You should be resting," I say to him.

"I am resting. Here. With you." He settles against my good side, his head on my shoulder. "How are you feeling? Really?"

I consider lying, giving him some bullshit line about being fine. But we're past that now. We don’t hide things from each other anymore.

"Terrified," I say, heaving a deep sigh. "Not about the surgery itself, but about the recovery. Dr. Raja was pretty clear that this is going to suck. Months of limited mobility, pain management complications, the risk of my shoulder never healing properly."

"And?"

"And what if I can't be there for Ethan while he's recovering? What if I'm so fucked up from my own surgery that I can't help him when he needs me?"

Cam carefully shifts, propping himself up on his elbow to look at me. "Logan, you're giving him part of your liver. You're literally giving him life. That's being there for him."

"But after?—"

"After, you'll heal. Both of you will heal. And I'll be there to help with whatever you need."

He sounds so certain. It makes my chest tight. "You don't know what you're signing up for. Weeks of me being useless, cranky, in pain?—"

"I’ve already experienced you being a cranky bastard. I survived it." His lips quirk up. "Besides, someone's got to make sure you don't drive yourself insane trying to control your recovery from a hospital bed."

I roll my eyes. "I don't try to control everything."

"Logan, you arranged your sock drawer by color and fabric weight yesterday. While on pain medication."

"That's just efficient."

"That's obsessive." He leans down and brushes his soft lips against mine. "It's also one of the things I love about you."

My hands find his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Two weeks ago, I thought I'd lost him. Now he's here, choosing to stay, choosing me.

Choosing us .

"I love you," I say, because it's true and because tomorrow is going to be hell and I need him to know.

"I love you too." His voice drops to a whisper. "And I want to show you how much before you're stuck in a hospital bed for the next week."

"Cam, you're still healing?—"

"I'm fine. Sore, but fine. And I need this." His hand slides down my chest, fingertips grazing my stomach. "Need to feel close to you before everything gets crazy."

I take in a sharp breath at his touch, my skin on fire as he drags his fingers tauntingly down the sides of my torso. It's been awhile since we've been together like this, two weeks of careful hugs and light kisses while he healed. But the need and want in his eyes tells me he's ready for more.

"You sure?" I ask.

"I'm sure." He slowly pushes his boxer briefs to his ankles and I pull them off one leg at a time. Then he climbs on top of me, straddling my hips carefully. "Let me take care of you tonight. It’s your turn to rest and relax.”

I reach for him, my hands sliding under the hem of his shirt. I carefully remove it and drop it onto the floor next to the bed. My hands caress his smooth skin, his warmth radiating into my palms. I trace a path around the scars over his abdomen, thin pink lines where James's knife cut deep.

"Don't look at those," he murmurs. "They're ugly."

"No. They're proof you survived. Proof you're strong enough to fight for what matters." I lean up and kiss one of the scars. "They're beautiful because you're here."

His breath hitches, eyes drooping closed. "Logan..."

"You're here," I repeat, my voice rough, thick with emotion. "You could have run after William Keating started his smear campaign. You could have requested a trade, disappeared, did what you needed to protect yourself. But you stayed. You fought. You chose us."

"I chose you," he corrects, dipping his head toward me. He cups the sides of my face, his green eyes fierce, a flicker of hunger gleaming in the depths. "I'll always choose you."

I grab the lube on my nightstand and coat my fingers before circling his tight hole.

When I press into him, he gasps. Then he leans closer, crushing his lips against mine, deep and desperate.

I lose myself in the minty-fresh taste of him.

We move together slowly, carefully, aware of both our injuries, but unable and unwilling to resist the magnetic pull between us.

His mouth on my skin, my hands in his hair, the soft sounds he makes when I take his earlobe between my teeth and then nip the sensitive spot on the side of his neck.

I slide my fingers out of him and grasp his thick cock, stroking him hard.

When he sinks down onto me, when I'm buried deep inside him, the rest of the world disappears.

There's no surgery tomorrow, no recovery, no panic or fear.

Just us, connected, moving together like we're trying to memorize every detail about each other.

"I love you," he breathes against my neck as we rock together. "God, I love you so much."

"Show me," I gasp, my hands gripping his hips. "Show me how much."

And he does. With his body, his voice, the way he looks at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted.

He clamps down on my cock, pulling me deep.

Each thrust makes him tremble. He digs his fingers into my sides as I drive into him, hitting his spot.

Sparks in my groin fire, shooting to the tips of my toes and the ends of my hair.

My balls tighten as he draws the orgasm from me, his ass so tight around me.

Ropes of his cum spurt across my chest and spill over the sides of my hand, and I finally let go, filling him with everything I have.

When he falls against my chest, panting hard, I hold him tight and try to memorize this moment.

This feeling of being whole.

I’ve never felt it before Cam. And I never want to forget it.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," I murmur against his ear, "this was worth it. You're worth it. And I can’t be without you."

"Hey, nothing's going to happen tomorrow except you’re going to save Ethan's life and I’ll be right next to you when you wake up," he says, bringing his face close to mine. "And then we start figuring out what comes next."

"Which is?"

"Your recovery, my career, our life together. All of it." He presses a kiss to my lips. "I'm not going anywhere, Logan. You’re it for me."

I fall asleep with his arm around me, his breathing steady against my chest, his promise echoing in my head.

The alarm goes off at four o’clock in the morning and my heart immediately takes off on a fast gallop.

Surgery prep starts at five, then the procedure is scheduled for six.

Cam drives us to the hospital in my truck.

I’m in the passenger seat, and Ethan curled up in the back with Tessa, still half-asleep, his skin and eyes a disturbing shade of yellow.

"You nervous, Uncle Lo?" Ethan asks in a groggy voice as we pull into the hospital parking garage.

"A little," I admit. "But excited too. We're going to fix you up, buddy."

"And then you'll be tired for a while?"

I turn to look at him. "Yeah. For a while. But Cam's going to help take care of both of us."

Ethan nods. "Cam's good at taking care of people. "

I grin at Cam and give his hand a squeeze where it grips the gear shift. "Yeah. He is."

My stomach roils as the elevator creeps up to the surgical wing. Pre-surgical prep is a blur of paperwork, IV lines, and medical explanations. Dr. Patel goes over the details of the procedure one more time.

Tessa and Cam take turns sitting with me and Ethan as we wait. My nephew is braver than I am, cracking jokes with the nurses and asking detailed questions about the surgery that make the medical staff chuckle.

"You sure you're only six?" one of the nurses asks him.

"Six and three-quarters," Ethan corrects her. "I read a lot about liver stuff on the Internet."

"Of course you do," I say. "Just like your uncle. I think maybe the control freak gene skipped over Tessa and hit E."

When they come to take us to the operating room, my chest aches. I didn’t think the goodbyes would be this hard. Tears slip from Tessa’s eyes and she chokes out a sob.

My own eyes sting with tears when she leans down. “Thank you so much for saving him. I love you, Lo.”

“I love you too,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Don’t worry. We’re going to be fine.”

She nods and wipes her eyes. “Okay, I trust you.”

“Love you, Uncle Lo,” Ethan says, flashing a smile as the nurses maneuver his gurney out into the hallway.

“I love you, kid. See you soon.” My voice cracks. Fuck, I love him so much.

Cam leans down and kisses me on the lips.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he promises. "When both of you wake up."

"Take care of them," I tell him, nodding toward Tessa.

"I will. You just focus on coming back to us. "

And then the nurses wheel me toward the operating room. I shiver in the stark cold of the space.

“I know it’s a little cold,” one of the nurses says. “But in a few seconds, you won’t feel a thing.”

The anesthesiologist introduces himself and hooks my IV up to some hanging plastic bags.

“Count backwards from ten,” he instructs.

Ten…nine…eight…

The last thing that floats into view is Cam's face, steady and sure, promising me a future worth waking up for.

When I open my eyes later, my head still heavy from the fog of anesthesia, I see him sleeping in the chair next to me. Just like he promised. His hand rests on the edge of my mattress like he was holding mine when he dozed off.

"Cam," I whisper, my throat raw and dry.

His eyes snap open immediately and he shoots out of the chair to lean over me. "Hey. How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." Every breath sends fire through my insides. "How’s Ethan?"

"Perfect. Surgery went exactly as planned. He's sleeping off the anesthesia, but Dr. Patel says everything looks great."

"He's okay?" I mumble, fatigue washing over me. The pain medication makes everything fuzzy around the edges.

"He's going to be more than okay. You saved his life, Logan." Cam's thumb brushes over my knuckles. "Now go back to sleep. Doctor's orders. You need your strength."

"Stay?" My tongue feels swollen, like I got stung by a bee.

"I'm not going anywhere."

I let my eyes drift closed again, the meds pulling me back under. But even as consciousness fades, I can feel Cam’s hand holding mine. It’s solid and real and promises me that whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

I don’t know what the future holds for me. My hockey career is over. My shoulder may never fully heal. The recovery ahead is going to be brutal.

But Ethan is going to live. Cam is by my side. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, that feels like enough.

More than enough.

It feels like everything.