Page 53 of Puck Struck
After practice, I loiter in the locker room, waiting until most of the guys have left for the sudden team meeting Coach Enver called. Cam's still at his stall, taking his time packing up his gear, stealing sidelong looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I am. Always.
I walk over, keeping my voice low. "We still on for today?"
He nods. "Four o'clock?"
"Make it three."
"Okay."
It's stilted, awkward. Everything between us feels charged with something I can't pinpoint. Or maybe I just don't want to.
"Did James contact you again?" I ask.
Cam hesitates. "No."
It's a lie. I can see it in the way he averts his eyes, the tension stiffening his shoulders. But I don't call him on it. Not here.
"He contacted me," I say instead. "This morning. Trying to make it my problem."
Cam's head jerks up. "What did he say?"
"Nothing specific. Just making threats. I blocked him."
"Logan—"
"Not here," I cut him off. "We'll talk at my place."
I head out, the weight of everything pressing down on me with each step toward the conference room. But before I make it all the way there, I duck into an empty room, close the door, and pull out my phone to search for a name I haven't used in years. Mike Torres. A buddy from college who went into law enforcement. If anyone can give me solid advice without judgment, it's him.
He picks up on the third ring. "Shaw? No fucking way, man. It's been years."
"Hey, Mike. Got a minute?" I keep my voice low so that nobody passing by can hear me.
"For you? Always." There's genuine concern in his voice. "What's up? You okay?"
"Hypothetically, if someone was being blackmailed, what would you recommend they do?"
A pause. "Hypothetically, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Well,hypothetically, I'd tell them to gather evidence. Record calls, save texts, document everything. California's a one-party consent state, so they can legally record any conversation they're part of."
Okay, so my research was right. "What about meeting the blackmailer?"
"Bad idea unless they're wearing a wire and have backup." His voice turns serious. "Logan, are you in trouble?"
"Not me," I say. "A friend."
"Sure." I can hear the skepticism. "This friend should really talk to the police. But if they're not ready for that, they need to at least be smart. No lone wolf cowboy shit."
"Got it."
"And Logan? Be careful. Blackmailers are desperate people. Desperate people do desperate things."
I hang up and pull open the door to head to the meeting. I’ll have about two hours to decide what I'm going to tell Cam, how much I'm going to reveal. How far I'm willing to go to help him fight this battle.
Because that's what it's becoming. A battle. And battles have casualties.
