Chapter 229 Chapter 228

Chapter 229 Chapter 228
Logan POV

The alarm went off at six.

For a second, I forgot where I was.

The hotel room was unfamiliar, the ceiling higher than the one back in my apartment, and the faint rumble of traffic drifted through the window even this early in the morning. Then everything came rushing back at once.

Chicago.

The showcase.

The scouts.

My stomach fluttered, but it wasn’t the sickening knot I’d expected. It was lighter than that. More like the feeling before the opening faceoff of a rivalry game—the kind where every nerve in your body woke up because you couldn’t wait to get on the ice.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. My roommate was already awake, lacing his running shoes.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

“You sleep?”

“Better than I thought.”

He laughed.

“I think I got about four hours.”

“I would’ve been the same a few months ago.”

He looked over at me.

“What changed?”

I smiled as I reached for the bracelet resting against my wrist.

“I remembered why I play.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask any more questions. Maybe he thought I was talking about hockey. Maybe I was.

⸻

Breakfast was held in one of the conference rooms downstairs.

Forty players sat around tables, picking at eggs, oatmeal, fruit, and enough coffee to keep an entire city awake.

Yesterday everyone had been strangers.

Today conversations came easier.

Guys joked about who snored loudest in the hotel.

Someone complained that the mattresses felt like concrete.

Another defenseman swore he’d forgotten half his equipment before realizing it was still in the team trailer.

I found myself laughing more than I expected.

The old version of me would’ve been sitting quietly in the corner, studying everyone else and wondering who was better than me.

Instead, I realized something almost funny.

Every player here was nervous.

Not one of us was hiding it very well.

The kid projected to go in the first round kept bouncing his knee under the table.

One goalie hadn’t touched his breakfast.

Another forward admitted he’d called his mom before coming downstairs because he couldn’t settle his nerves.

For years, I’d imagined elite players as fearless.

Turns out we were all just hockey players trying not to let the moment swallow us whole.

Coach Reynolds walked by my table, coffee in hand.

“You boys ready?”

A chorus of uncertain answers followed.

Coach chuckled.

“Good.”

We all looked at him.

“If you weren’t nervous, I’d be worried.”

That earned a few smiles.

“Nerves mean this matters.”

He looked directly at me.

“But don’t confuse nerves with fear.”

His eyes lingered for just a second before he continued toward another table.

I knew that message wasn’t only for me.

But somehow…

It felt like it was.

⸻

The bus ride to the arena was almost silent.

No music.

No jokes.

Just forty players staring out the windows as the arena slowly grew larger with every passing block.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I finally saw them.

SUVs lined one side of the building.

Many had NHL logos displayed on small parking permits in the windshield.

Some carried logos I recognized instantly.

Toronto.

Boston.

Detroit.

Chicago.

New York.

Even from a distance, the sight made my heart skip.

They were here.

Not someday.

Not maybe.

Today.

As we walked through the lobby, men and women wearing team jackets stood talking in small groups, clipboards tucked beneath their arms.

Most barely looked at us.

They didn’t need to.

They’d already seen countless hours of video.

Today wasn’t about introductions.

It was about confirming what they thought they knew.

I reached for my stick.

The leather bracelet shifted against my wrist.

Play Free.

I took a slow breath.

One shift.

One pass.

One decision at a time.

⸻

The locker room hummed with quiet energy.

No one had to give a speech.

Everyone knew what today meant.

I dressed slowly, following the same routine I’d had since I was twelve years old.

Compression shirt.

Hockey socks.

Pants.

Skates.

Shoulder pads.

Elbow pads.

Helmet.

Tape the stick.

Every movement felt familiar.

Comforting.

The routine had carried me through hundreds of games.

Why should today be any different?

As I wrapped fresh white tape around the blade, Harper’s bracelet peeked out beneath my glove.

I smiled.

She probably had no idea she’d be stepping onto the ice with me today.

⸻

The first game started fast.

Faster than college.

Faster than juniors.

Every player could skate.

Every pass had purpose.

Every mistake disappeared beneath immediate pressure.

There was no easing into it.

On my very first shift, a winger chipped the puck past me and exploded toward the boards.

Instinct took over.

I pivoted, matched his stride, angled him away from the middle, and lifted his stick just enough for the puck to slide harmlessly behind the net.

Nothing flashy.

Nothing highlight worthy.

Just good defense.

Our goalie tapped his stick against the ice.

“Nice gap.”

I nodded once before skating back into position.

A few months ago, I would’ve already been thinking about whether a scout noticed.

Today…

I didn’t.

The puck dropped again.

⸻

As the game settled in, so did I.

I made the simple pass instead of forcing the difficult one.

I kept my feet moving.

I communicated.

I trusted my instincts.

Halfway through the second period, one of our forwards turned the puck over at the offensive blue line.

The other team broke out with numbers.

Three on two.

The crowd leaned forward.

I backed in just enough to take away the passing lane.

The puck carrier hesitated.

That was all I needed.

I stepped up.

Clean shoulder.

The puck popped loose.

Our bench erupted.

Instead of dumping it out, I looked up.

A winger streaked through center ice.

Tape to tape.

He caught the pass in stride.

Two passes later…

Goal.

The arena erupted.

Not because of me.

Because of the play.

I glided toward the bench as my teammates celebrated.

Coach caught my eye.

He didn’t clap.

He didn’t cheer.

He simply smiled.

The kind of smile that said…

There you are.

⸻

Late in the third period came the moment I’d remember long after the final buzzer.

The puck found me at the blue line.

Traffic crowded the slot.

A forward waved for a shot.

Another defenseman drifted toward me expecting I’d wind up for one of my hardest slapshots.

The old Logan would’ve done exactly that.

Trying to create the perfect highlight.

Trying to impress somebody sitting in the stands.

Instead…

I waited.

One extra heartbeat.

The defender committed.

I slid a short pass across the line to my partner.

He immediately returned it.

The lane had opened.

Now…

I shot.

The puck sailed through three bodies.

I never even saw it cross the goal line.

I only heard it.

The unmistakable clang as it clipped the inside of the post before snapping into the back of the net.

For one heartbeat, the arena stood still.

Then my teammates crashed into me.

“Let’s go!”

“Huge shot!”

“What patience!”

I laughed as someone nearly knocked my helmet sideways.

Not because I’d scored.

Because I’d never felt so free playing hockey.

When I skated back toward center ice, I glanced into the stands.

Rows of scouts scribbled notes.

Some spoke quietly to the people beside them.

Others never looked away from the ice.

Months ago, seeing them would’ve tightened every muscle in my body.

Now…

They were just part of the background.

For the first time since I was a little kid lacing up oversized skates before dawn practices…

I wasn’t playing for anyone else.

I was playing because I loved the game.

And somehow…

That made me the best player I’d ever been.