Page 48 of Puck Struck
"Thenexplainit to me," he says, frustration edging his words. "Stop fucking running."
A bitter laugh slips through my lips. "That's rich, coming from the king of emotional distance."
His eyes flash. "You don't know the first thing about me."
"And you don't know the first thing about me," I throw back. "That's the point."
"So tell me."
Suddenly, I'm tired. So tired of running. Of hiding. Of being afraid.
"You want the truth?" My voice rises, hands balling into fists at my sides. "Fine. I used to be an escort, Logan. Okay? I sold myself to pay for hockey. To survive. And now the past I tried to bury is coming back to destroy everything I've built. That's who you kissed. Connor, not Cam. A fraud. A desperate kid who did what he had to do and lied to everyone about it."
I wait for the disgust to seep into his expression. Instead, he just stands there, his face stoic and unreadable. Not soft, not accepting, but not angry.
"That's what this is about?" he says finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Your past?"
I can't tell if his tone is laced with judgment or confusion. "Yes. That's what this is about. My secret's about to blow up, and it's going to take everything down with it."
He scrapes a hand over his face and exhales hard. "Why are you telling me this now?"
Not the response I expected. "Because you wouldn't fucking leave it alone. Because you should know what you've gotten yourself into by being associated with me."
"Associated with you," he repeats, his brow furrowing. "Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is," I say, throwing my hands into the air. "But whatever it is, it's going to end when the truth comes out. You need to stay away from me."
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He steps closer, intensity in his heavy stare. "And what truth, exactly? That you did what you had to do to survive? That's not exactly breaking news, Cam."
I blink, confusion replacing the tension knotted in my chest. "What?"
"You think you're the only one with a past? With regrets?" His voice is rough. "Welcome to the fucking club."
"It's not the same?—"
"No," he cuts me off. "It's not. But that doesn't mean I can't understand desperation. That doesn't mean I can't understand doing whatever it takes to protect what matters."
There's something in his eyes I can't quite place. Something guarded, something he’s holding back.
"There's more," I say, my heart pounding. "The phone messages…they’re from a former client. This guy James. He's blackmailing me. He wants me to go back to him or he'll expose everything we did to the press and team management."
His expression is immediately eclipsed by confusion. "Go back to him?"
"He's obsessed with me. Has been for years. I got arestraining order, but he found me anyway." My voice falters. "He has photos. Of us. Me and you. The kiss. Everything."
This lands differently. I see the shift in his stance, the tightening of his jaw. This isn't about my past anymore. Now it's about a threat to the present. To him.
"Where is he?" His voice is dangerously low.
"What?"
"This James fucker. Where is he staying?"
"The Columbia Hotel downtown. But, Logan, you can't?—"
"I'm not letting some stalker blackmail you. Or threaten me." He grabs his keys from his pocket and turns toward his car.
I grab his arm. "Stop. This isn't your fight."
