Page 56 of Puck Struck
"I won't," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel, which is basically not at all.
He holds my gaze for a second longer than he needs to, like he's searching for something. Then he walks away, leaving me with the distinct feeling that something has shifted between us. Something I can't quite name.
When Coach finally ends his meeting, I get up and look around the room. My stomach crashes into my sneakers when I catch Keating watching me, that calculating flare in his eyes. I turn away. Fuck him if he thinks I’ll sweat in front of him.
Tate follows me out of the conference room. "Party at my place tonight," he says. "You in?"
"Can't," I say. "Got plans."
He raises an eyebrow. "What kind of plans? Shaw plans?"
I freeze, my fingers fisting the hem of my t-shirt. "What?"
"Come on." He rolls his eyes. "The tension between you two is thick enough to skate on. What's the deal?"
"There's no deal," I mutter. "We're just trying to work better together. It’s the whole mentorship thing. You know."
"Right." Tate grins. "Working together. That's what the kids call it these days."
"Drop it, Tate."
His smile fades. "Seriously though, you good? You've been off lately."
The concern in his voice catches me off guard. "Yeah. I’m…fine."
"If you need anything..." He leaves it hanging, an unexpected offer from the team's resident chaos agent.
"Thanks," I say. "I'm good."
But I'm not. I'm nowhere close to good.
By the time I leave the rink, dark clouds hover overhead,the first few raindrops splattering against my windshield. Great weather for the shit storm brewing in my life.
I check my watch. It’s two-thirty. Just enough time to get to Logan's place. I plug the address into my GPS and follow the directions to a big brick-face colonial house in a quiet suburb of Oakland, twenty minutes from the arena. It's not what I expected. I figured he’d live in some bachelor pad or luxury condo, not a family home with a well-kept yard and toys scattered across the porch and lawn.
I sit in my car for a long moment, trying to reconcile this new piece of Logan with everything else I know about him. The stoic veteran. The grumpy mentor. The man who kissed me like he meant it.
The man with a son? It’s too weird.
I finally step out of the car and jog up the front steps to the front door. Before I can knock, it swings open. Logan stands there, expression guarded.
"You're early," he says.
"Is that a problem?"
He hesitates, then steps aside. "No. Come in."
I walk past him into the entryway, shocked to see how lived-in the place feels. Family photos cover the walls. It's homey, cozy, inviting, nothing like the cold, sterile space I'd imagined.
"Nice place," I say, looking around and feeling like I might be seeing him for the first time.
Logan nods, watching me closely. "Thanks."
"So, what did you need to tell me?"
A woman appears in the doorway to what looks like the kitchen. She's pretty, with Logan's blue eyes and a warm smile that immediately puts me at ease.
"You must be Cam," she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I'm Tessa. Logan's sister."
