Chapter 228 Chapter 227
Chapter 228 Chapter 227
Logan POV
The moment the plane touched down, a ripple of applause broke out somewhere behind me.
I smiled to myself.
Some people always clapped when the wheels hit the runway.
Today, I couldn’t even tease them for it.
I was too busy trying to convince myself my stomach wasn’t tied into knots.
Chicago.
The city stretched beyond the airport windows in every direction, gray skyscrapers pushing into the summer sky while planes taxied across seemingly endless runways. It felt bigger than anywhere I’d ever been. Faster. Louder.
By the time I stepped off the plane with my backpack slung over one shoulder, my hockey bag already waiting at baggage claim, I was surrounded by players carrying the same oversized equipment bags.
Some wore jackets from powerhouse prep schools.
Others represented junior clubs I’d watched online.
A few looked familiar from national tournaments over the years.
For the first time in a long time…
I wasn’t the best player in the building.
I was one of many.
That realization should have scared me.
Instead, it reminded me just how special this opportunity really was.
Outside baggage claim, a volunteer wearing a USA Hockey polo pointed us toward a shuttle bus.
“Showcase players this way.”
The bus filled quickly.
There wasn’t much talking at first. Everyone stared out the windows or scrolled through their phones, probably pretending they weren’t nervous.
A kid with dark hair sitting across the aisle finally broke the silence.
“You Logan Shaw?”
I looked up.
“Yeah.”
He nodded.
“Thought so. Hartwell University.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Ethan.”
He reached across the aisle to shake my hand.
“Defenseman from Minnesota.”
“You here for your first showcase too?”
He grinned.
“Thankfully. Means I can stop pretending I know what I’m doing.”
I laughed.
“Same.”
That one sentence seemed to crack whatever invisible wall existed between all of us.
Soon the entire back half of the bus was talking.
Not about rankings.
Not about scouts.
About hockey.
Favorite NHL teams.
Worst bus rides.
The time someone accidentally forgot their skates before a championship game.
Who had the hardest coach.
Who had the funniest equipment manager.
It felt…
Normal.
Almost disappointingly normal.
These weren’t intimidating hockey robots built in some secret Canadian laboratory.
They were just guys.
Guys who loved the same game I did.
The hotel came into view nearly thirty minutes later, towering beside the arena where the showcase would take place.
As soon as we stepped inside, the lobby buzzed with organized chaos.
Parents hugged sons goodbye.
Coaches checked names off clipboards.
Equipment bags rolled across polished tile.
Someone from USA Hockey handed each of us a welcome packet.
Inside sat a schedule packed from morning until night.
Fitness testing.
Team meetings.
Practice.
Games.
Scout interviews.
It was enough to make anyone’s head spin.
Coach Reynolds appeared beside me, carrying his own overnight bag.
“You surviving?”
“So far.”
He smirked.
“Good.”
We rode the elevator together in comfortable silence before reaching the eighth floor.
Coach stopped outside my room.
“Meeting downstairs in forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
He started walking away before stopping.
Without turning around, he said quietly, “Remember what we talked about.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Now he looked back at me.
“You know the words.”
His expression softened.
“I want you to believe them.”
Then he disappeared around the corner.
I unlocked my room and stepped inside.
It wasn’t anything fancy.
Two beds.
A desk.
A television mounted on the wall.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Chicago.
My roommate hadn’t arrived yet.
For a few minutes, I simply stood at the window.
Cars looked like toys from eight stories up.
People hurried along sidewalks without ever looking up.
The city didn’t know who I was.
It didn’t care.
There was something strangely comforting about that.
My phone buzzed.
Harper ❤️
Did you survive the flight?
A smile spread across my face before I even opened the message.
Barely.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Drama queen.
I laughed.
I’m here. Hotel is nice. City is huge.
Have you met anyone?
Yeah.
Turns out they’re all human.
Her response came almost instantly.
Good. I was worried they’d all breathe fire.
I leaned against the window, smiling like an idiot.
Miss you.
This time the typing bubble lingered a little longer.
Miss you too.
Another message followed.
Did you put it on?
Without thinking, I looked down at my wrist.
The black leather bracelet rested exactly where she’d fastened it that morning.
I ran my thumb over the engraving hidden on the inside.
Play Free.
Haven’t taken it off.
A heart appeared on my screen.
Nothing else.
She didn’t need to say anything more.
Neither did I.
⸻
The meeting room downstairs filled with nearly forty players.
Some sat with old teammates.
Others introduced themselves to complete strangers.
I took a seat near the middle.
A showcase director stepped to the front.
“First of all, congratulations.”
The room quieted.
“If you’re sitting here today, you’ve already accomplished something most hockey players never will.”
No one smiled.
We were all too busy pretending not to care.
He noticed.
“I know what every one of you is thinking.”
He folded his arms.
‘Who’s watching?’
A few players chuckled.
“How many scouts?”
More laughter.
“What happens if I have one bad game?”
Now everyone was paying attention.
He smiled knowingly.
“I’ve been running this showcase for fifteen years.”
He looked around the room.
“And every single year…”
“…the players who struggle are usually the ones trying the hardest.”
Several confused looks appeared.
“They try to create highlight-reel goals.”
“They force passes.”
“They stop trusting their instincts.”
“They stop playing hockey.”
He paused.
“The funny thing is…”
“The scouts already know who you are.”
That sentence seemed to settle over the room.
“They’ve watched your film.”
“They know your statistics.”
“They know your strengths.”
“They know your weaknesses.”
“This weekend…”
“…we’re evaluating how you compete.”
Coach Reynolds caught my eye from across the room.
He didn’t say anything.
He simply tapped two fingers against his wrist.
The bracelet.
I smiled to myself.
Play Free.
The message had followed me all the way to Chicago.
⸻
That afternoon, players filtered into the locker room for the first practice.
The smell hit me before I even sat down.
Fresh tape.
Sharpened steel.
Leather gloves.
It smelled like every rink I’d ever loved.
I pulled my skates from my bag before carefully wrapping tape around my stick.
As the white tape overlapped itself, the bracelet slid slightly down my wrist.
The words peeked out again.
Play Free.
Not…
Play perfect.
Not…
Get drafted.
Not…
Make everyone proud.
Just…
Play.
Around me, conversations bounced through the locker room.
Someone argued about the best pregame meal.
Another player complained that hotel pillows were terrible.
A goalie insisted pineapple belonged on pizza.
It was ridiculous.
And somehow…
It made everything feel lighter.
When everyone was dressed, we walked together through the tunnel.
The familiar scrape of skate blades echoed against the concrete.
My heartbeat picked up.
Not from fear.
From excitement.
The tunnel opened.
Bright arena lights spilled across fresh ice so smooth it almost looked untouched.
No fans.
No scouts in the stands yet.
Just a sheet of perfect ice waiting for us.
I stepped over the boards.
Cold air rushed across my face.
The first glide felt effortless.
My edges carved quietly through the fresh surface as I circled once around the zone.
I closed my eyes for the briefest second.
I wasn’t thinking about draft rankings.
I wasn’t thinking about my dad.
I wasn’t thinking about expectations.
I wasn’t even thinking about tomorrow’s games.
I was thinking about the little boy who used to race onto the ice because nothing in the world made him happier than hearing his skates cut across a clean sheet.
Coach had been right.
Mom had been right.
Harper had been right.
Somewhere along the way…
I’d mistaken pressure for purpose.
Standing here now…
I finally remembered the difference.
I looked down one last time at the bracelet around my wrist before pushing off toward center ice.
The engraving caught the light.
Play Free.
I smiled.
For the first time in a very long time…
I wasn’t here to prove I belonged.
I was here because I loved the game.