Page 115 of Puck Struck
"Ryan," William says in a taut, guarded voice, "let’s discuss this privately?—"
"No." Ryan turns to Bob. "Mr. Marshall, my father hired a private investigator to dig up dirt on Cam Foster. Not because of character concerns, but because he wants me to have more ice time. This whole thing is about getting Cam off the team so I can take his spot."
William's face pales then flushes a deep red. "Ryan, you have no idea what you're saying?—"
"I know exactly what I'm saying." Ryan's voice cracks slightly. "And I'm ashamed that I let it go on this long."
Bob's expression hardens as he looks at William. "Mr. Keating, is this true?"
A vein throbs on the side of William’s forehead. His glare focuses on me and I can practically see smoke pouring out of his ears. “You are a disgrace to the league,” he bites out.
“And you’re a controlling, manipulative asshole,” I say through gritted teeth. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about my past. And you will never hold any power over me.”
I back toward the door. I need to get out of here before this gets any worse.
"I have to go," I mutter, twisting around.
"Foster," Marshall calls out. "We're not done here?—"
But my head spins like a top at what I just witnessed. Sweat prickles on the back of my neck. Everything is hanging by a thread and a giant scissor is looming over me, getting closer and closer to snipping that damn string.
Ryan follows me out into the hallway.
"Cam, wait," he says, catching up to me. "I need to say something."
I stop, turning to face him. "Ryan, I really need to go."
"Please." His voice pleads with me. "Just give me a minute."
I look at him, really look at him, and see something I've never seen before. Genuine remorse.
"I've been such an asshole to you. To Jaren and Colby too. Making your lives hell because I was jealous, because I felt like you didn't deserve what I couldn't have."
"Ryan—"
"No, let me finish. I let my father poison me against you guys. I knew he was up to something, but I didn't want to know the details. I told myself it was just business, just hockey politics." He scrapes a hand down the front of his face. "I should have stood up to him sooner. I should have been a better teammate. A better person."
I stare at him, my jaw dropping, and I’m not sure what to say.
"I've spent so much time being angry that I wasn't the star that I forgot how to just be decent to the rookies trying to make it, just like I did once." A shuddering sigh escapes his lips. "I treated you like shit because it was easier than admitting my father might be wrong. Easier than accepting that maybe you earned your spot and I needed to work harder for mine.Because picking on the new guys made me feel better about my own failures."
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because what's happening in there?" He flicks his thumb toward the conference room. "This isn't hockey. This isn't competition. This is manipulation. Fucking slander. And I won't be part of it anymore."
Before I can respond, he turns and walks back toward the conference room.
I watch him go, then head for the elevator. I need to call Rex and figure out how to handle the mess that I may have just made even worse.
The elevator sails down to the parking garage and dings when it reaches my level. I dial Rex’s number. Maybe he’ll be pulling in now and I can catch him before we head back up to face the music with Marshall.
The doors slide open, and I step out into the empty garage. A chill slithers over my prickled skin. There are just a few scattered cars under the harsh fluorescent lights on this level but something feels off.
"Connor."
I stop, my phone frozen to my ear.
I know that voice.
