Page 65 of Puck Struck
The drive to the rink is a blur. My mind keeps replaying the look on Logan's face when he saw the photo of his house, the anger, the fear, the panic that keeps making my stomach flip. He's putting everything on the line for me, and I still can't figure out why.
The parking lot is half-empty when I arrive. I text Logan to let him know I'm here, then walk inside. I keep my head down, half-expecting to see James lurking in the shadows with his fucking phone. But there's only the familiar cool air of the arena and the distant sound of blades scraping ice.
I find Logan in the middle of the rink, methodically running through warm-up drills. His movements are precise, every motion calculated, like he's trying to control the one thing in his life that still makes sense. Kind of like what I need to do. I watch him for a long minute feeling something tight and warm radiate through my insides.
I drop my bag on the bench and lace up my skates. As I step onto the ice, the familiar sensation of my blades hitting the frozen surface calms me.
This, at least, is still mine. For now.
He looks up as I approach. "You're here."
"Said I would be.” I pause. “Anything from James?"
"Nothing." He skates closer, his voice dropping. "But I set up a meeting with a security company for tomorrow. They'll install cameras at the house. And Tessa knows everything. She’s going to keep an eye out, too."
I expel a breath and it clouds the air. "That's good. Smart."
"You sleep at all?"
I force a tight smile. "Does it look like I did?"
"Not really."
"You?"
"Barely." He skates over to the boards and leans against them. I follow along, not ready to separate. "Listen, we need to talk about what happens next after the game."
"Okay." I roll my shoulders back. "For now, we play."
"Yeah.” His gaze is steady, intense. "And we win."
The morning skate is light, just a few passing drills, nothing too demanding before the game. I move through the motions, trying to focus on the play in front of me, not the freight train of chaos angling to derail my life.
After the skate, we all head back to the locker room. I hang back, waiting for the crowd to thin out before changing. Logan does the same.
I catch Keating following our movements. I try to pretend I don’t notice but it’s fucking hard when it feels like a vicious eye-raping.
"Shaw," Coach calls from the entrance of the locker room. "Management wants a word. Something about PR for the playoff push."
Logan nods, shoulders tensing slightly. "I'll be right there, Coach." His forehead pinches as he looks between me and Keating since he has no idea that James is talking to Keating, too. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that one of our teammates is in on all of this and give him more stress.
I hold my breath until Logan is out of earshot. When he's gone, Keating creeps up to me, voice low. "Your friend James called again."
My blood runs cold. "What did he want?"
"To remind me there's a clock on this little arrangement." Keating's smile is all teeth, like a fucking shark smelling blood in the water, ready to attack. "Said something about Chicago and a two-week deadline."
I keep my face impassive even though my heart hammers hard and fast against my ribs. "And what exactly did you agree to?"
"Just to keep my eyes open." He leans closer. "And they are,Connor. Wide open."
"You think you're smart," I say through clenched teeth. "But you have no idea what you're getting into."
"Enlighten me, then."
I shake my head. "Not worth it. Just stay out of my way today."
"Or what?" His smirk grows wider. "You'll tell Shaw? To sic him on me?"
