Page 49 of Puck Struck (Dirty Puck #3)

THIRTY-FOUR

logan

Three weeks post-surgery, and I've discovered that being sidelined is its own special kind of hell.

I can't lift my left arm above shoulder height. I can't drive. I can't shower without help. I can't even put on a fucking t-shirt without Cam or Tessa’s help. The liver incision is healing well, according to Dr. Patel, but my shoulder feels like someone takes a sledgehammer to it on a daily basis.

But more important, Ethan is thriving.

That's the only thing that matters. That's what I keep telling myself when the frustration of my limitations threatens to drive me over the brink of insanity.

"Uncle Lo, look!" Ethan rushes into the living room, faster than I've seen him move in months. His color is back, his skin a healthy tone instead of the sallow yellow that haunted us for so long. "I can touch my toes again!"

He hinges at the hip and bends over. Awhile back, he could barely get out of bed without help a lot of mornings.

"That's amazing, bud." I smile from my spot on the couch, where my ass has pretty much molded to the leather. "How do you feel? "

"Like I could run a marathon. Dr. Patel says my new liver is working perfectly." He plops down next to me, careful not to knock into my bad side. "She even said I can go back to school next week."

"That's great news."

"And she says you're healing really good, too, even though you're grumpy about it."

I lift an eyebrow. "I'm not grumpy."

"You told Cam yesterday that the physical therapist was 'an overpaid sadist with questionable credentials.'"

"She is." Jesus, he’s a whip.

Ethan giggles. "Mom says you're just frustrated because you can't control how fast you heal."

Smart kid. Smart family.

The front door opens and Cam walks in carrying grocery bags and the rich scent of something wafts under my nose, making my mouth water. Even three weeks into my recovery, seeing him still makes my heart swell with gratitude and something deeper.

He stayed. Through the surgery, the cranky recovery period, my daily battles…he stayed through all of it.

"How are my favorite recovering patients today?" he asks, stopping in the doorway of the living room. A bright smile lifts his lips as he looks from me to Ethan.

"I'm not a patient anymore," Ethan protests. "I'm recovered. Dr. Patel told me so."

"Okay, so how's my favorite recoveree and my favorite grumpy patient?"

"Still not grumpy," I mutter but I can’t help the smile from stretching my lips.

Cam disappears with the bags. I can hear the rustle of the plastic being set down in the kitchen.

Seconds later, he’s back and sits carefully on the arm of the couch.

He reaches a hand around the back of my head, stroking my neck in a way that instantly relaxes me.

It's become one of his habits over the past weeks. It’s the small, casual touches of his that remind me I'm not alone in this.

"Physical therapy go okay this morning?" he asks.

"Define okay." I lean into his touch. "Sarah says I'm making progress, but it doesn't feel like it."

"Your range of motion is better than last week," Cam says. "I can see the difference."

"How can you see a difference? I still can't lift my arm past here." I demonstrate the limited range, wincing slightly at the biting pain that follows.

"Because last week you couldn't do that without your face turning white from pain." His thumb traces my temple. "You're healing, Logan. It's just slow."

Slow. That's the apropos word for almost everything in my life right now. Slow healing, slow adjustment to life without hockey, slow acceptance that my body might never be what it was.

"You know, even though the season is over, I thought I’d miss hockey more.

I’d be in training now, doing workouts, conditioning for next season.

The schedule became second nature. But it’s weird, but I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. Even thinking about game prep, the practices, the pressure, the schedule…I don’t miss any of it. "

"What do you miss?"

I lean my head back. "The guys. The team dynamic. Being part of something bigger than myself." I look at Ethan, who's sprawled on the floor drawing in his sketchpad, a habit he picked up from Cam. "But I've got that here too. Different, but maybe better."

Cam's hand stills in my hair. "Better? "

"This matters more. You, Ethan, Tess. That’s what’s real. Hockey was just what I did. This is who I am."

Tessa walks in from the kitchen, overhearing the last part. "Look at you being all philosophical and emotionally mature."

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late." She falls into the armchair across from us. "So, I have news. The insurance company approved the final claim for Ethan's surgery. We're officially debt-free from all the medical expenses."

A weight I didn't realize I was carrying lifts from my shoulders. The financial stress of Ethan's condition has been constant background noise for years.

"That's huge, Tess."

"It is. And it means I can finally start thinking about getting our own place again. Give you two some space." She nods at us, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

"What?" The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because you're building something with Cam. You need privacy and space to be a couple. And Ethan and I can't live here forever."

I look at Cam, who's watching this exchange with an unreadable expression. "What do you think?"

"I think," he says slowly, "that this is your family home. If anyone should be thinking about moving out, it's me."

"No. Absolutely no way. This is your home too. You’re all staying."

"Logan, it’s fine. You don’t have to take care of us for the rest of your life. We will be fine, especially knowing you’re finally getting the happiness and life you deserve," Tessa says.

"You guys are part of that happiness. And I’m glad you’ll be fine, but I won’t be if you leave.

I'm serious. This house is too big for one person anyway.

Ethan loves it here. You've got your office space, he's got his room set up exactly how he likes it.

And Cam..." I turn to look at him, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips for a kiss.

"I want you here. Permanently. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. I want us to be a family."

Cam's eyes widen slightly. “Are you asking me to?—?”

I grin. “Relax. I’m not proposing. And I know it's fast. I know we're still figuring things out. But I've never been surer of anything." My heart pounds as I say the words I've been thinking for weeks. "Move in with me. Officially. Make this our home."

Ethan’s pencil moving furiously over the sketchpad is the only sounds in the room right now. He doesn’t look up from his work, but I know the kid is listening. He always is.

"Are you sure?" Cam finally asks. "Like, really sure? Because once I move my stuff in, I might never leave."

"That's the idea."

His smile blinds me. "Okay. Yes. I want that too."

"Good." I reach for his hand with my working arm. "Because I already cleaned out half my closet for your clothes."

"You reorganized closet space before asking me to move in?"

"I like to be prepared."

Tessa snorts. "You reorganized closet space while on pain medication and under doctor's orders to rest."

"Details."

"You're ridiculous," Cam says, but he's glowing, excitement glittering in his heated gaze. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Ethan looks up from his drawing. "Does this mean Cam's going to be here all the time now?"

"If that's okay with you," Cam says.

"That would be great. We can play dinosaurs together. You can help me with my homework, too. And maybe you can teach me to draw hockey players!"

"Deal," Cam laughs. “Sounds like a great plan.”

A couple of hours later, after Tessa puts Ethan to bed and disappears into her room to give us privacy, Cam and I sit alone on the couch in the dim light of the room. My head is in his lap while he reads on his phone, his free hand running through my hair in that way that makes my belly flutter.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, looking up at him.

"Always."

"Do you ever regret it? Giving up your anonymity? Doing the press conference and telling your story changed everything for you."

He’s silent for a minute, his expression pensive.

"Sometimes I miss how simple things were before, like when my biggest worry was whether I'd make the starting lineup.

" He drops his gaze down to me. "But no, I don't regret it.

Secrets have power only if you let them. And besides, it all led to this."

"This?"

"You. Us. This life we're building. You made me not want to run and hide." His fingers trace my jawline. "I'd make the same choice a hundred times over if it meant ending up here."

"Even though I'm a grumpy recovering patient who can't shower alone?"

"Especially because you're a grumpy recovering patient who reorganizes closets on pain medication." He leans down and kisses me softly on the tip of my nose. "You're mine, Logan Shaw. Shoulder injury, control issues, and all."

"Complications?"

"The best kind of complications. "

I sit up carefully, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder, and cup his chin with my good hand. "I need you to know something."

"What?"

"Before you, I thought love meant sacrifice. Giving up pieces of yourself to take care of other people. And I was okay with that because it gave me purpose." I brush my thumb over his jaw line. "But with you, love feels like addition. Like you make me more than I was alone. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," he whispers.

"I don't know what comes next for me career-wise. I don't know how long this shoulder will take to heal, or if it ever will completely. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself now that hockey's over."

"And?"

"And none of that scares me as much as it should. Because whatever comes next, we'll figure it out." I wink at him. “Because we’re a team.”

"I like the sound of that."

I kiss him then, slow and deep and full of promises I fully intend to keep. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

"So," he says. "Any thoughts on what you might want to do? Post-hockey?"

"I've been thinking about that, actually." I settle back against the couch cushions. "Dr. Raja mentioned that the hospital is looking for someone to run their new sports medicine outreach program. Working with young athletes, educating them about injury prevention, that kind of thing."

"That sounds perfect for you."

"Maybe. It would mean going back to school, getting a master’s degree in sports medicine and physical therapy. Probably two years of classes. "

"Do you want to do it?"

"Yeah, I think I do. It would be a way to stay connected to sports without the pressure. Help kids avoid the mistakes I made."

"What mistakes?"

"Playing through injuries. Prioritizing short-term performance over long-term health. All the shit that led to this." I gesture to my shoulder. "If I can help even one kid make better choices, it’ll be worth it."

"That's not a second career," Cam says. "That's a calling."

"Maybe." The idea feels right in a way I didn't expect. "It would mean going back to my student days. Never thought I’d end up in a classroom again. But it’ll be a lot of work, and you’re still setting the groundwork for your NHL career. We’d be spending a lot of time apart. Are you okay with that?"

"Logan, are you seriously asking if I'm okay with you doing something that makes you happy?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds stupid." I chuckle.

"It is stupid. Of course I'm okay with it. I'm proud of you for even considering it. Besides, I think Professor Shaw has a nice ring to it."

I laugh. "I'd just be a graduate student. Not looking to become a PhD."

"Student Shaw, then. Still sexy."

"You think everything about me is sexy."

"Because everything about you is sexy. Even your color-coded sock drawer."

"That's just efficient organization."

"That's obsessive-compulsive behavior that somehow makes you more attractive." He kisses my temple.

"I know, I'm weird."

"You're perfect."

We sit in silence for a while longer, Cam's hand lost in my hair, my body finally calm for the first time in weeks. The future feels uncertain but not scary. Not anymore.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mike.

James pled guilty to all charges. Got fifteen years. Thought you'd want to know.

I feel the surge of relief soak into every cell. "It's really over," I tell Cam, showing him the message.

"All of it?" My heart melts at the hopeful look on his face.

"All of it. James is going away for a long time. William Keating's career is finished. The media has moved on to other stories. We can just be normal now."

"Normal is overrated," Cam says with a smirk. "But peaceful sounds really good about now."

"Peaceful sounds fucking perfect."

I let my eyes drift closed, imagining the future we’re building. Morning coffee together. Cam's hockey schedule. My graduate classes. Ethan's school events. Tessa's work. Family dinners and quiet evenings and all the beautiful, mundane details of a shared life.

A charmed life.

For someone who spent fourteen years living for the adrenaline rush of professional sports, the idea of ordinary happiness should feel boring.

Instead, it feels like the best possible prize.