Page 81 of Puck Struck
"My career and my family are already at risk," I point out. "The photos are out there. James knows who we are, where we live. Pushing me away doesn't change that. It just takes away my ability to control what happens next."
Cam stares at me, his gaze heavy with conflict. Before he can respond, Tate pokes his head around the corner.
"There you two are. Coach is looking for you. We gotta get back out there."
We follow him back to the bench, silent.
As we take the ice for the second period, I catch Cam's eye. "We'll figure this out," I mutter against his ear. "But right now, let's win this fucking game."
He nods, a thin smile on his lips.
The second period is better. Not perfect, but better. We finally connect on plays and find our rhythm again. Every shift is a battle against my ragged body. Each time I take a hit along the boards, white-hot fire lances through my shoulder. But I keep going. We score once, and the gap closes.
By the third period, Cam and I are back on track. Kind of. It’s not the dream team effort we’ve shown for recent games but it may be enough for us to clinch the win. Maybe it’s because this time it’s not just the game at stake.
With five minutes left, we tie the game on a power play goal. With forty-three seconds left, Cam threads a pass to me through the smallest gap in the St. Louis defensive line. I bury it in the net, the red light flashing, the arena erupting into collective boos. The only ones cheering are our teammates, and that’s good enough for us.
Trudging back to the locker room, my heart weighs heavy in my chest. The win should feel incredible. Instead, it feels like we’re just on borrowed time.
Because as much as I tried to sweep it aside for the game today, we have to find a way to take James out of the picture. He’s too much of a threat, and while I have security all over my family now, I can’t just let Cam walk away with him. If he’d hurt my family, I can’t imagine what the sick fuck might do to Cam. A pro hockey career isn’t worth giving up his life for.
So James has to fucking go. I just need to figure out the “how.”
The locker room is loud and boisterous. But my head is in another place entirely.
My phone buzzes with another text from Tessa.
Ethan's school called. He's not feeling well. I'm picking him up now. Nothing serious, just tired and a little feverish.
My heart rate spikes immediately. With Ethan's condition, even a mild fever could be a warning sign.
I don't hesitate, hitting the call button right away. Tessa answers on the second ring.
"Lo? Everything okay?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing," I say, stepping into a quieter corner of the locker room. "What's going on with Ethan?"
"The school nurse called. He was complaining of being tired and had a low-grade fever of 99.8, nothing too alarming. I picked him up early from school and he’s been resting."
"Did you call the doctor?"
"Yes, left a message. Her office said it could just be a virus, but they want to see him tomorrow to be safe."
I run a hand through my damp hair. "They weren’t alarmed?"
"Not without more testing," Tessa says, and I can hear the strain beneath her calm.
"I'll be home tomorrow. First flight back. I’m coming with you."
"Logan, don't worry. Just focus on?—"
"I'll call you back once I'm at the hotel," I cut her off. "Give Ethan a hug from me."
I end the call, anxiety churning in my gut. When I turn around, Cam is standing a few feet away and it’s clear by the expression on his face that he heard everything.
"Ethan?" he asks.
I nod. "He's running a fever. Tessa picked him up early from school."
