Page 35 of Puck Struck
Fuck, I tried to fool myself into thinking it’d be betterwatching him from a distance and wondering how his lips would have felt pressed against mine. How I’d feel safer. I was wrong. It’s worse. So much worse.
Because he didn’t want to know what it felt like. And that rejection stings worse than a hive full of angry wasps. It dredges up all the toxic memories I have of my past life, the fear of abandonment that I constantly carry with me.
I’ve spent my whole life surviving. And Logan…if he turned his back on me, it would be the end.
I rip off my hoodie and head to the bathroom, splashing water on my face, trying to cool down my flushed skin. It’s not just heat, though. It’s fear. And cold water can’t rinse that away. My stomach’s still twisted from seeing that smug bastard Keating touch my stick again. I can feel his eyes on me even when he’s not there, like he knows how close I am to snapping.
And Logan. Fuck. The way he stares at me. He doesn’t know anything, not really, but he’s getting close. His questions sting now. They’re not just jabs. They’re hooks, tugging at a truth I’ve buried too deep to pull out without bleeding out.
I dry my face with a towel, then head into the living room and grab my phone. Notifications fill the screen, and for a second, I think about not opening them.
But I do.
A chill ripples through me.
And there it is.
Another message.
Connor, Connor… still playing pretend? Can’t wait to see you fall on your perfect little face.
My throat tightens. This one came with a photo of me, years younger, sitting on the edge of a hotel bed in a tux, with a drink in my hand, and my lips curved into a smile I practiced in the mirror until it didn’t look fake anymore.
But it was fake.
All of it was.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I shut off the phone and toss it onto the couch. My hands are shaking as they scrape a path down the front of my face.
My lungs are so tight, I can barely suck in a breath.
Not because someone found that picture.
But because I knew this would happen, knew my past would catch up to me. I knew he would eventually find me.
I just didn’t expect it now when things are finally starting to feel…right. When I’m skating my ass off, winning games, being part of a team that actually gives a shit. When I feel like I might actually belong.
When Logan looks at me like I’m not broken.
And now it’s all slipping out of my control again.
Two hours later, I’m in a Raptors-issued polo and jeans, sitting in the back of a luxury SUV with Jaren and Colby, headed to some fan meet-and-greet at a downtown sports bar. The league organized it for publicity. It’s called the “Rising Stars” event or some bullshit.
“You good?” Jaren asks. “You look a little worn down.”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
Colby grins. “That stick fight with Keating was something else. You looked like you were gonna throw down right on the ice. I was hoping you’d take a shot, can’t lie.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter, forcing a smirk. “I’d end his whole career with one swing.”
“Jealousy’s a hell of a drug,” Jaren says with a chuckle. “Fucking asshole that he is.”
They laugh, and I fake it with them.
Because what else am I supposed to do?
