Page 19 of Puck Struck
When we’re finally able to dip out of the group of people looking for photo ops, we head up to the room. The elevator ride is quiet and I can bite through the tension cloaking the air around us. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I step inside. I almost ignore it, but a flare of panic makes me grab it. A notification from Instagram pops up on the screen. My finger hovers over it for a hair of a second before I stab it and open the app.
Connor. Did you forget? Because I didn’t.
My heart jumps into my throat, a hiss of air slipping from my lips. I delete the message before I can think, before I can breathe. The fake user account doesn’t tell me shit about who’s sending these messages, how they found me…or what they plan to do now that theyhavefound me.
I’m not Connor anymore. Haven’t been for years. I left that all behind, locked away in a vault of my deepest, darkest secrets.
I sneak a glance at Logan where he stands on the balcony, his gaze fixed, watching every move Imake. It’s like he’s waiting for something, maybe even the whole fucking story. But it’s not a story I’ll ever be ready to tell.
He gives his head a shake then looks back toward the city, and I let out a shuddering breath. I’m alone in this, and I hate that it scares me less than the idea of him getting close. I shouldn’t want him to get close. He treats me like I’m no better than dirt on the bottom of his shoe, and I’m not dealing with that shit any more. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been at the bottom for most of my life and I clawed my way to the top.
There’s no way he’s gonna send me back.
But then a jarring thought niggles my brain.
Like recognizes like.
And maybe I’m not the only one who’s hiding something.
SEVEN
logan
The hotel roomis quiet when I wake up. I sit up in bed and look around the place. Cam’s gone. His side of the room is empty. But the scent of his cologne still lingers like a scab I can’t help but pick.
On the pillow, there’s a scrap of paper. I snatch it up, already grinding my teeth at the words that are written there…the message he’s trying to send.
“Wanted to get in an early skate. See you at the airfield. Try not to miss me.”
That dick.
I crush it in my fist, picturing his grin, the cocky tilt of his eyebrows as his voice reads the words. But before I can convince myself to chuck the paper in the trash, I flatten it out again, smoothing the wrinkles. I set it on the nightstand, perfectly aligned with the edge.
One stupid note, and he’s in my head.
I pound my fist on the top of the dresser. Not like this is the first time. Not like he’s ever really left.
I brew a pot of coffee with the cheap hotel machine because I don’t feel like seeing or talking to anyone down inthe lobby. The strong smell cuts through the stubborn cologne scent that reminds me of him. Fuck, it lingers forever, clinging to everything until it’s all I can breathe.
Screw it. I take my mug to the bathroom to escape him, but the steam can’t fill the space, can’t crowd out the reminder of Cam’s little smirk and the way he walked onto the ice yesterday like he owned it. Like he owned me.
And he did. He could have made that game-winning shot but he gave it to me. Out of fucking pity. He saw through me, saw through all the things I’ve been trying to hide, what nobody else has seen. What nobody else has cared enough to look for. But Cam, my arch-enemy, did.
Every time I think I’ve got a read on Cam Foster, he shocks the shit out of me. Just like that first night we roomed together, then again last night on the bus ride back to the hotel. He gives a glimpse of his vulnerability, something I didn’t think the cocky asshole had so much as a shred of.
But we all have secrets, don’t we? Maybe Cam’s are just buried really fucking deep.
I drink my coffee while I fold the towels he left in a heap, my fingers smoothing out every crease until they’re perfect rectangles. Then I pack my gear bag. Jersey, socks, tape, everything precise, everything in its place.
It’s not OCD. It’s survival.
If everything has a place, nothing falls apart. I learned to live that way a long time ago…about the time when my mother decided that being the sole caregiver for her son and daughter was just too much effort and walked out on our life together. It hadn’t been easy when my father walked out a few years earlier, but I thought she was getting better, pulling herself out of depression.
Turns out, she’d been fooling me and Tessa. Luckily, I was old enough at that point to be Tessa’s guardian. I suspect mymother waited until that time for just that reason. And after she took off, it was up to me to keep things as stable as possible for my younger sister. Jesus, she was only twelve and completely abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love her more than life.
I shove my toiletries into the bag next to my skates, biting back the memories of last night, how I ended up here in the first place.
Maybe there’s more to Cam Foster than I imagined. His cryptic questions and half-answers over the past couple of days tell me there might be more to him than meets the eye. Although, I’ve got a feeling that he doesn’t like that. Maybe that’s why he hides behind the glitz and glamour.
