Page 69 of Puck Struck
"Sure." Keating heaves his bag over his shoulder. "Oh, and your friend James sends his regards. Says he'll see you soon.”
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me rooted to the spot, clutching the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles go white.
Logan walks over to me. "What did he say?"
"Nothing."
"Cam." His voice has that edge that says he's not buying my bullshit.
I sigh, dropping my voice. "James has been talking to him. Keating knows about the two-week deadline."
"Fuck." Logan runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. Let's just get the hell out of here.”
We walk to the parking lot together, the victory buzz already fading. It’s already been replaced by the roiling of my stomach and the rush of anxiety that have become constants in my life.
"Follow me home," he says. "We need to make a plan."
"We've got two weeks," I remind him. "Maybe we should just focus on the win for tonight."
The look he gives me is unreadable. "Two weeks isn't as long as you think. We need to be prepared."
I swallow hard past the lump lodged in my throat. He's right. Tonight's win is just a distraction from everything else in our reality. The tiniest flicker of light in a sea of darkness and uncertainty.
James is still out there, waiting. The clock is ticking.
But as I follow Logan's truck through the quiet streets of Oakland, I cling to that feeling of victory, the roar of the crowd, the red goal light flashing, Logan's arms around me.
For a few precious hours, I was just Cam Foster, hockeyplayer. Not Connor, not anyone's victim, not a walking time bomb of secrets and shame and desperate fucking choices.
And I'm not ready to let that go.
Not yet.
NINETEEN
logan
I toldhim we needed to make a plan. And we do. But the thought of him sitting alone in his apartment, panicked and spiraling, twisted my gut. I didn’t want him slipping into the darkness of his fears and memories, and having battled that state of mind myself, I just couldn’t turn my back and walk away.
The look of relief on his face told me he needs this as much as I do.
Tessa’s right. I guess I do have a little bit of a savior complex, and Cam needs a lot of fixing based on the few things I know. He hasn’t said much, just dropped a few hints that his childhood wasn’t all sunshine and roses. I get the feeling he has nobody else to turn to, which makes me very fucking sad. Maybe I try to fix people because I feel like in some way, I’m fixing myself.
My shitbag father is out of the picture, but I’m surrounded by the people I love. I have Tessa and Ethan. And even though I’m not great at sharing my feelings, they’re great at knowing when I need a smile and a hug, and we support each other. Always.
The fact that Cam doesn’t have that in his life is just wrong.
I may not be able to put him back together, but I’m gonna try my best to make him feel safe, to let him know that someone does care about him.
Because I do, even though feelings like that scare the shit out of me.
I turn the truck into my driveway, Cam’s headlights flashing as he pulls in behind me. After shutting off the ignition, I push open the door and step onto the pavement. Cam slowly rounds his car, stopping when he’s on the sidewalk. He sweeps a hand through his still-damp hair, the moonlight catching the top of his head. His eyes glitter, questions swirling in the depths of those green pools as his gaze rests on my face.
I nod toward the front door. “Don’t be scared. I don’t bite.”
The corners of his lips lift. “You’re assuming that would be a problem for me.”
“And you think that shocks me, rookie?” I say, trying to keep my tone light. But fuck if my cock doesn’t jerk at his innuendo.
