Page 113 of Puck Struck
Tomorrow, I'll figure out where the hell to go from here. There’s a lot to do over the next couple of weeks…surgery prep, media requests, and the slow process of accepting that the only life I've ever known is over.
Tonight, I just want to go home and hold my nephew andpretend that everything in my life isn’t falling apart at the seams.
Even though it is.
I don't know how to fix any of it.
And the one person I want…need…to help me through all this is the same person I forced out of my life.
The irony would be funny if it didn't hurt so much.
THIRTY
cam
I’m not preparedfor the attack when it comes early the next morning.
My eyes are barely open when my phone starts buzzing. Text after text, call after call. I grab it and squint at the screen, expecting maybe team stuff or news about Logan.
Instead, I find a voice message from Rex Ashton.
Shit…
"Cam, call me immediately. There's a situation developing. Don't talk to anyone until we speak."
My stomach roils. I quickly scroll through my missed calls. Rex. Rex again. Carter. Tate. Even Coach Enver.
Then I see the email notification. A link to a sports journalism article with a headline that makes me shoot up in my bed.
"Questions Raised About Oakland Raptors Rookie's Character and Background"
I hover a trembling finger over the link, suck in a breath, and click.
Sources close to the Oakland Raptors organization have raised concerns about rookie forward Cam Foster's background andcharacter, citing potential undisclosed issues that may impact team dynamics and league integrity. While details remain confidential pending further investigation, multiple sources suggest Foster may have misrepresented aspects of his personal history during the draft process...
The article is carefully written, full of implications without direct accusations. But the message is clear. There are questions about my character, my honesty, and my worthiness to play in the NHL.
William Keating's deadline passed. Game time came and went yesterday, and I didn't disappear. I didn't request a trade or fade quietly into the night like he wanted.
So the bastard delivered on his promise.
My phone rings. Rex’s name flashes across the screen and I click to answer the call.
"I just saw the article," I say, my voice hoarse. "How bad is it?"
"Bad. And getting worse. Three more news outlets have picked up the story. Eli has the whole PR department in full crisis mode. Bob Marshall wants a meeting in an hour."
Bob Marshall. The GM. The man who can end my career with a phone call.
"What do they know?" I fist the sheet, my knuckles turning white, fingernails digging into my palm.
"Nothing specific yet. But they're digging. Hard. Whatever this is about, Cam, we need to get ahead of it. Fast. I need the full story if I’m going to do my job here. Let’s talk before Bob shows up, just to get our story straight. I’ll meet you at the team facility and text you the conference room number once I get it."
“Okay.” I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning my head back against the headboard. "I'll be there."
I end the call and drop the phone next to me, my shouldersslumping. There’s no way to get ahead of this. William gave the vultures just enough to start pecking away at my hidden and shameful past. It’s only a matter of time before they uncover the sordid stories and accompanying photos and videos.
My career is over. My life will be in shambles faster than I can say Stanley Cup, which I will never, ever get to play for if William Keating has anything to say about it.
