Page 100 of Puck Struck
My stomach drops into my sneakers.
What the hell is happening? Did James really back off or…?
I keep my head down and slip in through the back entrance to avoid the throngs of people. The locker room is loud as I pull open the door and all conversation screeches to a stop the second I walk in. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at me.
No. No, no, fucking no.
James didn’t leave. He fucking sent all of the evidence to the press, just like he promised he would. My skin pebbles with sweat as panicked thoughts loop through my brain.
"There he is," Keating says, not bothering to lower his voice. "Wonder if golden boy knows what he's cost us."
Cue the record scratch sound effect.
What?
"Shut the fuck up, Keating," Carter grunts.
"No, I'm serious. Fifteen-year veteran, team leader, and suddenly he's retiring before the playoffs? Right after he starts playing house with the rookie?" Keating's eyes on me are cold and calculating. "That's some coincidence."
My shoulders relax. This is about Logan. Not me. Not James.
Thank fuck.
“What the hell are you even talking about?” I say, storming toward him. I throw my gear onto the bench and get right in his face. This motherfucker won’t break me. He has no ideawhat I’ve been through and how I wouldn’t let any of it drag me down. He’s got no idea who he’s dealing with.
"Shaw's been solid as a rock for fifteen years. Never missed time for injury, never caused drama. Then you show up with your pretty face and your sob story, and suddenly everything's falling apart," Keating growls.
I can feel the color drain from my face, my heart plummeting into my sneakers. "You don't know what you're talking about, asshole. So you should stop running your goddamn mouth.” I step closer to him. “Before someone permanently shuts it for you.”
"And by someone, you mean you?" He steps closer, the stench of stale coffee on his breath making my gut roil. "Please, rookie. You don’t scare me. I know Shaw's been distracted for weeks. I know he's been making mistakes on the ice, fucking up assignments. And I know he's been sneaking around with you instead of focusing on the team."
"Shut the fuck up, Keating.” Logan's voice cuts in. I flip around to see him in the doorway, still in street clothes. Dark circles stain the skin under his eyes, his hair is a mess, and his jaw is tight with stress.
"Logan," I say, but he doesn't look at me. The guys scatter, getting their gear ready for practice.
Coach Enver walks into the room and claps his hands together. "Team meeting in five minutes," he says to us. Then he looks at Logan and gives him a quick nod.
The locker room clears out quickly, leaving just me and Logan. I wait for him to say something, to acknowledge what happened between us last night, but he just grabs his gear and starts to change.
"How's Ethan?" I ask cautiously.
"Better. The new meds are helping. Tessa said he had a good night." His voice is flat,emotionless.
"And you? How are you holding up?"
"Fine." He pulls on his practice jersey with sharp, angry movements. "Just fine."
"Logan—"
"Not now, Cam." He doesn't look at me. "I've got a team to talk to."
He stalks out, leaving me standing there like an idiot. I change quickly and follow him to the meeting room where the guys are already gathered, waiting for the bomb to officially drop. Logan stands at the front next to Coach Enver, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the veteran leader.
“Logan asked me to pull this meeting together,” Coach says. “I’m gonna turn it over to him now.”
"Thanks, Coach. I'm sure you've all heard the rumors," Logan says. "So I'll make this quick. Yes, I'm retiring at the end of this season. Yes, it's earlier than planned. No, it's not because of anything that happened on the ice or with any members of the team."
The room falls silent. The guys all exchange concerned and confused looks but nobody says a word.
