Page 90 of Puck Struck
The drive to the rink is quiet other than the deafening noise clanging between my ears. So much angst assaults my chest as my current reality loops through my brain. Ethan's condition. The transplant timeline. James's threats.
The way I felt when I realized I'd do anything to protect Cam.
I wrap my fingers tight around the steering wheel.
The parking lot at the practice facility is half full when I maneuver my truck into a spot. Some of the guys are already on the ice when I get there, running through drills to get loose. I spot Cam near the boards, skating backward while juggling a puck. Something in my chest eases slightly. He looks like his old self for a minute. The showy, smirky kid who knows he’s a star.
I let out a shaky breath and it clouds in front of me.
He's here. He's safe. For now.
In the locker room, I drop onto the bench and lace up my skates. Carter walks around to sit next to me.
"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he says.
I wince at the shoulder reference. I wonder if he dropped that in deliberately. He’s always been suspicious about it but never confronted me directly. I grit my teeth, making a mental note to be even more careful in the time I have left.
Fuck. It sounds so final.
"Life is complicated,” I say, tightening my laces. “Some days are easier than others.”
“This isn’t something that I just noticed. You’ve been off for weeks. What’s going on? Something at home with your family? Or is it something else?” He nods his head toward Cam’s locker, a knowing look on his face.
I glance around the room. Most of the guys are already dressed and heading for the ice, but Keating is still here, dicking around with his equipment. I don’t like the looks he keeps shooting me, and if Carter wasn’t here, I’d be seriously tempted to get up and smack that shit off his face.
"It’s nothing I can't handle," I say.
He leans closer, dropping his voice. "Is it Foster? Becauseit’s obvious there’s some pretty crazy tension between you guys.”
"Nope,” I shake my head. “There’s nothing.”
Carter lifts an eyebrow. “You’re full of crap.”
Before I can even open my mouth to spew another lie, my phone buzzes with a text. I stare at the screen, my breath hitching when I see the number…and the message.
Good morning, Logan. I trust you slept well. I'm looking forward to our conversation today. Don't keep me waiting.
My insides plunge into a deep freeze. Our conversation? What the fuck is he talking about?
"Logan?" Carter's voice drifts over to my ears, muffled like my head is trapped in a bubble. "You okay?"
I shoot up from the bench, wincing at the sudden jolt to my shoulder. "I’ve got to make a call."
I head to the ice, jerking my head back and forth while I look for Cam. He's down at the far end with Tate working on some kind of passing drill. I need to talk to him now.
I pull off my skate guards and jump onto the ice. The blades dig deep into the fresh ice, my leg muscles tensing as I make my way around the boards. Coach Enver gives me a strange look but I don’t bother to acknowledge it.
Cam’s smile fades when I close in on him.
"What's wrong?" he asks, following me over to the boards.
"James just texted me. He wants to meet. Says we have a conversation scheduled."
He grips his stick against him. "Fuck. When?"
"He didn't give any details.”
"God, I'm so sorry, Logan. This is all my fault." He presses a hand to his forehead. “I have to fix this. I’ll meet him and get you out of this.”
