Page 28 of Puck Struck
“Don’t start.”
“Right. Totally not interested. Just observing intently.”
I roll my eyes and skate off, trying to push the image of Cam out of my head. I can’t help but watch out of the corner of my eye when I start working with a different group of kids. His presence is that magnetic, it finds me and pulls me close like a moth to a flame.
Cam grins when a little girl scores her firstgoal on the opposite side of the rink. He throws his hands up and says, “Heck yeah, sniper!”
I stand frozen near the benches and watch him like I’ve never seen him before.
Because I haven’t.
Not really.
And then he does something during a break that makes my heart damn near burst.
He lowers himself to the ice next to a kid who just burst into tears after missing a shot. Everyone’s watching. The room’s too loud and the kid’s panicking.
But Cam crouches low and whispers something to him. The tears stop flowing. And the corners of the kid’s lips curl upward.
Cam grins, taps his helmet, and says, “Let’s try again. You’ve got this, buddy. You own that puck. Now rip it, okay? Take the shot.”
The kid nods and skates back to the line, shoulders straighter.
The words hit me like a cinderblock to the chest because the look on Cam’s face tells me he’s said that to himself before. Like he’s had to give himself that very pep talk.
Or that someone once told him the same thing.
After running some more drills with my group, I head to the water table, trying to shake the weird emotions curling in my throat. My shoulder throbs and I wish I had some Advil on me.
Cam walks by and nods at me, his expression completely unreadable.
I almost stop him to say something…about last night, about the balcony, about how I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t pulled away.
But I don’t.
Because there’s something in his eyes that says not now.
Maybe not ever.
When we’re done, the kids gather near the bleachers for a group picture. Cam flops down on the floor next to them, arms thrown over two of the bigger boys like he belongs there.
Jack comes up behind me and hands me a clipboard. He follows my gaze. “He’s not what I expected either.”
“He’s a good player.”
“He’s a good guy,” Jack corrects.
I don’t say anything because I already knew that. But it would be so much easier if he really was the cocky asshole I chalked him up to be when he signed. I could ignore him and his bullshit and not worry about him throwing my life into upheaval.
Ethan’s asleep when I get home, curled up under his Raptors blanket, one arm clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur, named after me, of course. I stand in the doorway for a long time, just watching him breathe.
Christ, I’d do anything for him.
Because I know I’d give anything…everything…for Ethan. No question. No hesitation.
He’s part of my plan and always will be. Just like Tessa.
But the way Cam’s starting to matter to me, the way he gets past my walls without even trying, that’s the part that threatens everything I’ve kept locked down.
