Page 49 of Puck Struck
He yanks his arm free of my grip. "You made it my fight when you dragged me into it. When you let this guy take pictures of us." His eyes tangle with mine. "I protect what's mine, Cam. My team. My reputation."
"And what am I to you?" I ask, unable to stop the words from spilling out.
He pauses for a long minute, my throat tightening as I wait for his response. "I don't know yet," he says finally. "But I'm not letting this asshole decide for me."
It's not a declaration of love. It's not even warmth. It's determination, possessiveness maybe, but in no way tender or romantic.
"We'll deal with this," he says, again turning toward his car. "But when it's over, you and I need to have a real conversation. About everything. No more secrets. No more running."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak again.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he says, already pulling out his phone. "Lock your door. Don't answer if anyone comes."
He's halfway to his car when I find my voice again. "Logan."
He turns back.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate. "For not...walking away."
A muscle twitches in his jaw. "I haven't decided if I'm staying yet," he says, his bluntness like a slap across the face. "Let's handle the blackmailer first. Then we'll see where we stand."
As I watch him drive away, I'm left with the unsettling feeling that I've crossed a line I can't come back from. I just handed Logan a piece of me, the darkest, ugliest piece, and I don't know what he'll do with it.
I don't know if he'll use it to understand me or to destroy me.
But for the first time since James's threats began, I don't feel completely alone.
It's not hope, not exactly.
But it's something.
FIFTEEN
logan
The tasteof betrayal is bitter and cold, lodged in the back of my throat as I drive away from Cam's apartment, my knuckles white against the steering wheel.
Escort. Blackmail. Secrets.
I should be disgusted. In a rage. I should also be calling Coach right now to get ahead of this shit storm.
Instead, I head toward the Columbia Hotel, the place Cam said James was staying, my truck like a damn missile.
James, the man who’s demanding that Cam go back to New York with him. The guy who’s threatening to expose not just Cam’s past but our…whatever the hell this is between us.
The hotel sign appears in the distance, casting a red glow across my windshield. Fury pumps through my veins like lava.
But as I pull up to the intersection across from the hotel, something stops me cold. I ease off the gas, then yank the wheel right and pull into a deserted gas station.
What the fuck am I doing?
I don't know this James prick or what he's capable of. If I go in there ready to rip his throat out, what the hell might that trigger? The only thing I know for sure is that I have a sisterand nephew at home who depend on me. They’ve already lost enough.
And Cam? Would charging in there like some knight in dented armor help him? Or make everything worse? I barely know him. Barely understand what's happening.
"Fuck," I slam my palm against the steering wheel, the sting doing nothing to calm me down.
My phone buzzes in the console. I pull it out to see a text from Cam.
