Page 109 of Puck Struck
"And you knew about this?" I look at Ryan, who's been silent this whole time. My temples throb, blood bubbling with pent-up fury. Red bleeds into my line of sight. "About your father’s plan to destroy me for your career? How many other obstacles has Daddy cleared for you, Keating?"
Ryan's face flushes, but he doesn't say a word to deny any of it. "I just want what I've earned."
"You think you've earned this? Having your father blackmail people is earning your spot on the team?"
"That's enough," William cuts in. "Ryan's a good kid. Talented, hardworking. He deserves every opportunity I can provide."
"And by opportunity, you mean the destruction of innocent people."
"I mean removing road blocks. You've had your moment in the spotlight, Foster. Time to step aside and let someone more deserving take center stage."
The casual cruelty in his voice reminds me of every powerful man who ever looked at me like I was nothing but a commodity to be used and abused. But fuck him. I'm not that scared kid anymore.
"No," I say.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said no. I'm not disappearing. I'm not requesting a trade. And I'm sure as hell not giving up what I've worked for just because some fucking entitled asshole wants to buy his son a better spot."
William's pleasant expression morphs into something dark and dangerous. "You're making a mistake, Foster."
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make." I walk toward the door and grab the handle. Before I twist it, I slant them a look over my shoulder. "And just so we're clear, I earned my spot on this team. Your son lost his because he wasn’t good enough tokeep it. That’s not my problem. That’s on him. And if you dare touch my equipment again, Keating, you won’t like where it ends up."
Ryan’s eyes drop, his cheeks flaming with color. Asshole. I knew it was him.
"You have until game time tomorrow," William says in a tight voice, ignoring my last comment. "Your future, your choice."
I stalk out of the room, the door slamming shut behind me. But as I walk down the hallway, my hands shaking, muscles tensing with each step, I know this isn't over. Far from it. William Keating isn’t the type to make empty threats. And unlike James, who was clearly unhinged and had plenty to lose, William has the connections and the credibility to follow through.
In the locker room, I sink onto the bench and pull out my phone. I scroll through my contacts until I find the number I need.
Carter will know what to do. He’s the team captain, a leader, and a friend to Logan.
Need to talk. It's urgent. About threats to the team.
He responds right away.
Everything okay?
I scrape a hand down the front of my face.
No. But it will be. Can you meet me before practice?
Of course.
Thanks. And Carter? This stays between us for now.
Understood.
I tuck the phone into my pocket and take in deep breaths to settle the angst consuming me.
If William Keating wants a fight, he'll get one.
But first, I need to figure out how to protect Logan's final game without destroying my own future in theprocess. Because unlike James, who was operating alone, William has the entire NHL network at his disposal.
And that makes him infinitely more dangerous.
Twenty-four hours until game time.
