Page 15 of Puck Struck
“Then stop trying so hard to make me look,” I say.
For a second, he’s quiet. So quiet I can hear the roar of blood in my ears, the steady, taunting beat of my heart. I can hear him breathing, I can see the flicker of pain in his expression, and it stops me dead in my tracks.
But not for long. He pushes past me, not bothering to hide the frustration, the anger, the raw ache I’ve clearly left him with.
Part of me wants to let out a sigh of relief that I was finally able to get to him.
The rest of me winces at the look on his face.
It doesn’t last long, though. He grabs his duffel, dumps his stuff inside and zips it up. When he walks out, he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t look at me at all.
I should feel like I won, but my small victory’s hollow. The slam of the locker room door isn’t enough to shut out the doubt and anger and his parting words that ricochet between my temples. He wanted me to see him, dammit. He wanted me to look.
And I didn’t just look. I couldn’t stop staring.
Carter catches him storming out and raises an eyebrow. I pretend I don’t see it, pretend it’s not the most awkward thing that’s happened all season.
“You good?” he asks, the disbelief heavy in his voice. “That looked intense.”
I shrug. “We’re fine.”
“That’s why he practically tore the door off?” Carter crosses his arms, the familiar set of his jaw telling me this won’t be a casual conversation. “What’s going on, Shaw?”
“Nothing,” I snap, sounding more defensive than I mean to. I’ve been at war with my pride for weeks now, and every battle’s bleeding into the next.
“Pretty sure that’s not how Cam sees it.” He’s giving me the “you’re-not-fooling-anyone” look, the one that makes me want to slam a stick against something, anything. My head, probably. “What’d you say to him?”
“Nothing he didn’t need to hear.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost it, and maybe I have. Lost it. Lost my damn mind. “I’m all for tough love, but this isn’t mentoring. It looks more like sabotage.”
My hands fist at my sides, raw and shaky. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain any of it. “He’s not here to be mentored, Carter. He’s here to be the center of attention, the trophy, the hockey god everyone believes he is. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”
And then Carter does the one thing I didn’t see coming. He laughs. He fucking laughs, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Stop being so defensive, Shaw. I know how your mind works. This isn’t about pitting you against the new kid. He’s not your enemy. You are.”
It hits somewhere deep, shaking things loose, things I don’t want to face.
Carter walks out, leaving me alone with his words and the sharp sting of the truth. I stare at the far exit, the one Cam disappeared through. He looked hurt when he left. Not just mad. And it twists my gut.
The locker room echoes with emptiness, the air heavy with everything that just went down. My fingers tightenaround the edge of the bench, white-knuckled, a fight for control.
Somehow, Cam’s already managed to burrow under my skin. But what’s worse is that I’m not sure how to pry him out...or if I really want to.
And at that moment, I know it’s more than my career on the line.
That scares me more than the possibility of losing hockey forever.
SIX
cam
I closemy eyes in the back of my Uber, trying to drown myself in the music blasting through my earbuds. I avoided the team bus like the plague after practice, rushing to the far side of the arena so I could ride back to the hotel in peace. But it’s not the roar of the guitar that fills my ears. It’s Logan. His voice loops like a broken record.
“You don’t care who bleeds.”
I hate how those words stick, jagged in my mind.
He’s wrong. Isn’t he?
