Chapter 12 Chapter 11
Logan POV
The clang of weights against steel fills the Titans’ gym. It’s the kind of gray morning that smells like rubber mats and sweat, the air thick with effort. Cole’s spotting me, counting reps under his breath.
“Fourteen. Fifteen. You trying to kill yourself, Shaw?”
“Not yet.” I rack the bar, chest burning, sweat running down my spine. The harder I train, the less room there is for thinking.
Cole tosses me a towel. “You hear Alpha Chi’s throwing a party tomorrow night?”
I frown. “Since when?”
“Since Harper Lane decided it. No theme, no invite list—just ‘be there.’ Whole campus is buzzing.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“She’s a sorority president, man. Parties are part of the gig.”
“Not her kind,” I mutter. Harper’s events usually have sponsors, spreadsheets, charity ties—not spontaneous chaos. “You sure?”
Cole raises a brow. “Why? Thinking of going?”
“Hell no. Coach said no distractions. We’ve got the Frozen Four to chase.” I take a long drink from my water bottle. “Last thing I need is a hangover before Saturday skate.”
He grins. “Sure. But half the team’s going. Public relations, right?”
“Right,” I say, too fast.
He smirks. “If it’s bugging you that much, maybe you should just go.”
“I’m not going because of her.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
⸻
The locker room hums with noise—music muffled under showers, the sharp scent of deodorant and metal in the air. I lace up my shoes, tuning out the chatter until her name cuts through.
“You hear about the Alpha Chi thing?” Jimmy calls.
“Harper Lane’s?” Mikey replies. “Yeah, she texted half the campus.”
I look up before I can stop myself.
Jimmy laughs. “You think she’ll even let the team in after that Ice House mess?”
“She already did,” Mikey says. “Public relations, man. She’s playing nice before the gala.”
They keep talking, voices overlapping, her name rolling through the room like a song I can’t turn off.
Cole walks past and claps my shoulder. “You good?”
“Fine.”
“Sure,” he says. “You look about as fine as a guy trying not to care.”
I shoot him a look. He gets the message.
⸻
By the time I hit the showers, my head’s a mess. The season just started. This is supposed to be tunnel vision time—weights, drills, focus. But instead of line changes, I’m thinking about Harper throwing a last-minute party like she’s trying to make a point.
And that gnaws at me more than I want to admit.
⸻
By evening, the guys are already hyped. Music’s blasting through the Ice House, Tyler’s talking loud, and the air stinks of cologne and bad decisions.
“Suit up, Captain,” Tyler calls from the couch, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Alpha Chi’s waiting.”
“I’m not going.”
“Sure, Shaw. Whatever you say.”
I ignore him and head upstairs. My reflection in the mirror looks tired, jaw tight. The noise has been constant since August, but tonight it’s louder—inside my head, where Harper’s name keeps echoing.
If I stay, I’ll think about her.
If I go, I’ll make it worse.
I grab my jacket anyway. “Just checking on the team.”
⸻
The Alpha Chi house glows like a lantern against the dark. Music spills into the street, laughter cutting through the night. The porch is crowded—frat guys, students, a few of my own teammates already drunk.
I step inside, and it hits me—perfume, champagne, something sweet underneath.
And then I see her.
Harper Lane.
Her hair’s down, catching the light. Her eyes are smoky, lined dark. Lips painted the color of danger. She’s not hiding behind a clipboard tonight; she’s commanding the room.
Every guy in here sees it. So do I.
She’s laughing with someone I don’t recognize, her smile bright and easy. It hits harder than any check I’ve ever taken.
Cole appears beside me, holding two beers. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”
“Didn’t think she’d look like that,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
Cole whistles low. “Damn. Harper cleaned up.”
“Don’t.” My tone cuts sharper than I mean it to.
He hands me a bottle anyway. “Whatever you say, Captain.”
Across the room, she turns. Our eyes meet. The noise blurs. Everything else disappears.
She looks straight through me—calm, unreadable, daring me to blink first.
I don’t.
Then she smiles at someone else, breaking the connection like it meant nothing.
The hit lands right where she wanted it.
⸻
I push through the crowd until I’m close enough to smell her perfume—something citrus and warm, familiar in a way that shouldn’t be.
“Harper.”
She turns, her expression polite. Too polite. “Logan.”
“You threw this together fast.”
“Alpha Chi can multitask.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving mine. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
“Neither did I.”
“Well,” she says, lips curving in that smile that used to undo me, “enjoy the party. Try not to ruin it.”
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
Her gaze sharpens. “If you’re worried about your teammates, don’t be. They’re behaving. For once.”
“I’m not worried about them.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“You.”
The word slips out before I can stop it.
She freezes, glass halfway to her lips. “Me?”
“You’re different tonight.”
“Different how?”
“Like you’re trying to prove something.”
Her laugh cuts sharp. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
I should walk away.
Instead, I step closer.
“You mad at me, Harper?”
“Would it make a difference?”
“Maybe.”
The music fades. The air thickens. She smells like citrus and heat and challenge. I can’t look away.
“If you came here to lecture me, save it,” she says, voice low. “I’m not the one who can’t keep his stories straight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her expression doesn’t change, but I can see it—the hurt beneath the armor. “Ask your teammates.”
Before I can answer, she’s gone, slipping back into the crowd like smoke.
Cole reappears, eyebrows raised. “What’d you say to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
I don’t answer. My gaze finds her again across the room, laughing with someone else. Every time I try to stay away, she finds a new way to drag me back in.
And I let her. Every damn time.