Page 20 of Puck Struck
All of it adds up to the fact that I want to know more. I really hate admitting that. And dammit, I hate like hell that I feel a spark of something that confuses me and entices me at the same time, but I do.
I lace up my sneakers, knotting them tighter as each thought punctures my brain.
The hotel room is spotless by the time I’m done. No sign I was ever here. The only thing left is the ghost of Cam’s presence, seeping in through the cracks in my armor, knocking me off balance.
I look at his note one more time.
Try not to miss me.
There’s no try about it. I’m not missing him. But fuck my life, I crave him.
With a deep breath, I grab my bag and walk out the door to board the team bus to our waiting charter at the airfield. The only things that stay behind are a crumpled scrap of paper and the echo of his taunting voice.
The pain starts mid-flight on our way to Arizona for our game against theScorpions.
It’s not a stab. Nothing sharp or sudden. Just a slow, spreading dull ache that slithers up from deep in the joint then settles into my shoulder like it’s taken up residence. Like it fucking owns me.
I stretch my arm out discreetly, rotating it just enough to crack something back into place without drawing attention to myself. Doesn’t help, though. It hasn’t helped in weeks, and that panics me because it means one thing. Surgery.
And if I give in to the pain, if I get the diagnosis and the corrective surgery, it might take me out of the game for good.
The loud thrum of the Raptors’ charter keeps me awake. I grip the armrests on either side of me, pissed as hell I can’t escape my thoughts with a little shut eye. Reality will be back to bite me as soon as we step off the plane, so a little reprieve would be welcome.
A quick glance around me confirms that a few of the guys are dozing. Lucky bastards. Some are watching game footage. Across the aisle, Carter’s got one earbud in and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand. He stares at his iPad screen, nodding like he’s dissecting a hostage negotiation instead of a power play. His boyfriend, Jack Larson, is asleep in the seat next to him.
Behind me, two rows back, I can feel Cam’s presence like heat on my neck. Haven’t looked yet and I won’t. But he’s there. Probably awake. And I know he saw what happened on the ice last night.
He saw the way I winced, the way Ihesitated.
But he passed the puck anyway. Threw the old dog a bone. The pity fucking pass. Dammit, that scene has replayed over and over in my mind since it happened.
But the shocker was that he didn’t make a single comment about it. I didn’t see one of his famous smirks, didn’t get scalded by a sarcastic, cocky-ass comment he’s so famous forcracking. He didn’t say a damn thing. And somehow, that silence has been louder than anything that could have come out of his mouth.
“Hey, Grandpa,” Tate murmurs beside me, kicking my foot lightly with his own. “Need help filling out your AARP forms before we land?”
I snort. “Keep talking and I’ll lace your skates together tomorrow before the game.”
“Violence against the young and agile. Noted.”
He smirks, folds his arms behind his head, and grins like he’s in on a joke no one else is. But there’s respect underneath his words, behind all the shit-talk.
The younger guys don’t give it out easy.
They wait. They watch.
They only hand it over when you’ve bled enough to earn it.
“You having fun babysitting the rookie?” Tate says in a low voice.
“I’m doing my job as his mentor,” I say tightly. “Trying not to put him through a wall.”
“He really put Keating in his place the other night at dinner.” Tate winks, elbowing me. “I know it was past your bedtime, though, Pops.”
I look at him, brows furrowed. “How so?” I ask, ignoring his asshole comment about my bedtime.
Tate shrugs. “You know Keating is threatened by Cam. Thinks he’s gonna lose his spot to the kid, which he might because he’s been playing like shit this season. He made a few cracks and Cam took off after him, knocked him off the pedestal he wants everyone to think he sits on. Told him to stop tearing people down because of his own insecurities. Or whatever. You know, Keating is all over the newbies. He’s like the fucking hazing king. And Cam stood up for them and called his ass out. It was brilliant, bro.”
Interesting. I’ve never known Cam to look out for anyone but himself…at least until the game yesterday. But this adds a new dimension to him. It’s another layer to peel back.
