Chapter 66 Chapter 65
Logan POV
I can’t get her out of my head.
Not her body.
Not just that.
Her face.
The way she looked at me when I left. The way she didn’t wake up. The way she trusted me enough to fall asleep in my bed like it meant something.
I told myself I did the right thing by leaving before she woke up.
Gave her space.
Gave myself space.
That’s what guys like me do.
That’s what I’ve always done.
Except it feels like I carved something out of my chest and left it behind in that room.
The campus gym smells like rubber mats, metal, and sweat. Familiar. Safe. The kind of place where I can usually shut my brain off and just burn everything out of my system.
Today, it’s not working.
I’m on the bench press, loading more weight than I should, chasing the burn like it might drown something out.
It doesn’t.
My phone buzzes on the floor beside me.
I ignore it.
Another rep.
Another.
Another.
Her voice is still there.
Her hands.
The way she said don’t make me feel like this and then walk away.
I rack the bar harder than necessary and sit up, breath coming too fast.
My phone buzzes again.
Then again.
I finally grab it, annoyed.
Dad.
Of course.
I don’t even look at the screen when I answer.
“What.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then his voice—calm, controlled, dangerous in that quiet way.
“Nice to hear from you too, son.”
I close my eyes and scrub a hand down my face. “I’m busy.”
“You’ve been ‘busy’ for a week. Coach Ryland called me.”
That gets my attention. My jaw tightens. “He had no right.”
“He absolutely does,” my dad says flatly. “When my kid starts skating like he’s thinking about something other than hockey, it becomes my business.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
I stand, pacing in front of the bench. “It’s just a bad stretch.”
“You don’t have bad stretches,” he snaps. “You get in your own head. So tell me—what the hell is going on with you?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
He hears it.
“It’s a girl,” he says.
My grip tightens on the phone. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Logan.”
That tone. The one that used to shut me up when I was twelve.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“Nothing doesn’t make you play like you’re afraid to look up. Nothing doesn’t make a head coach call me. Nothing doesn’t make you avoid my calls.”
Silence stretches.
“Handle it,” he says finally. “Or it will handle you. And it will cost you more than you think.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a long second before shoving it into my pocket.
Great. One more thing.
“Working out or trying to punish the equipment?”
I look up.
Cole.
Leaning in the doorway like he’s been there a while.
“Go bother someone else,” I mutter.
He smirks. “Marco’s busy gaming and Zack’s screwing a puck bunny. That leaves you.”
I grab my towel and wipe my face. “Lucky me.”
He watches me for a second. “You look like hell.”
“Feel great.”
“Liar.”
I move to load more plates.
He steps in and stops me. “Enough.”
I turn on him. “Get out of my way.”
“No.”
We stare at each other.
“You don’t get to pretend you’re fine anymore,” he says. “Not after last night.”
My chest tightens. “Don’t start.”
“Why not? You already did.” He folds his arms. “You sleep with her and now you’re acting like someone kicked your foundation out.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he cuts in. “And now you’re scared.”
I scoff. “Of what?”
“Of wanting her.”
My jaw clenches. “She’s not my type.”
There it is.
Cole actually laughs. “That’s your favorite bullshit line.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“She’s not Latina, so what? That’s your whole argument?” He shakes his head. “That’s a fucking excuse, Logan. You hide behind ‘not my type’ because it means you don’t have to deal with anything real.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you’re too damn pigeonholed in this ‘I only hook up with Latinas’ crap to admit the truth.”
I shove past him. “Drop it.”
“No,” he says. “Because guess what? It seems like Harper is your type. So deal with it.”
I stop.
Turn back slowly.
“Don’t say her name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like she’s—” I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.
Cole’s expression softens just a little. “She’s not a one-and-done girl, Logan. And you know it. So why the hell did you treat her like one?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t have one.
I leave before he can say anything else.
The Ice House is loud when I get back.
Someone’s got music on. Someone’s yelling at the TV. Someone’s definitely drinking.
Marco and Zack are in the living room when I walk in.
Zack squints at me. “You look like you lost a fight with a treadmill.”
Marco grins. “Or a woman.”
I drop my bag. “Don’t.”
They exchange a look.
“Oh,” Marco says slowly. “It’s definitely a woman.”
“Coach was right,” Zack adds. “You’re acting like you got a girlfriend and pissed her off.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I snap.
“Relax,” Marco says. “We’re just saying—you’re moody.”
“Moody broody,” Zack adds.
I head for the stairs.
Behind me, I hear Marco say, “Okay, but seriously… what did you do?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
And that’s the worst part.
I don’t know what I want.
I don’t know what I broke.
I just know that for the first time in my life, walking away didn’t make things easier.
It made them louder.