Chapter 31 Chapter 30
Logan POV
The rink feels colder than usual.
Six a.m. and the air bites like punishment.
My blades scrape across the ice in messy, uneven lines. My body’s here, but my head’s not. It’s still back in front of the Alpha Chi house, still replaying her voice, that kiss, that text I shouldn’t have sent.
Coach’s whistle screams through the chill.
“Shaw!”
I glance up.
He’s standing at the blue line, arms crossed, expression like he’s about to bench-press hell itself. “You plan on showing up today, or are you saving that for the NHL scouts next month?”
“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter.
“Don’t be sorry—be better!” The words echo. “You want to play in the pros, then stop skating like your damn brain’s still at last night’s party.”
A few guys snicker under their breath. I don’t look.
“Line drills! Full speed!”
We take off. The first few strides are fine—then my focus cracks again. Her face flashes. Her laugh. Her text.
My stick slips, catching the puck too late. It ricochets off the boards and slams into the glass near Coach’s head.
He blows the whistle so hard the veins in his neck pop. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Wasn’t intentional.”
“I don’t care if it was divine intervention, Shaw—get your head out of your ass!”
The rink goes silent except for our breathing. Even Cole, skating beside me, doesn’t crack a joke this time.
Coach storms toward me, stopping inches away. “You’re the captain. You set the tone. And right now, the tone is garbage. If you’re tired, if you’re hungover, if you’re chasing tail instead of pucks, then sit your ass down until you remember what team you play for.”
My throat locks. “I’m good.”
He stares hard enough to break through bone. “Then prove it.”
He blows the whistle again. “Reset! Go!”
I skate until my lungs burn, until my legs shake. The ice blurs. Every stride feels like punishment—and I deserve it.
When practice finally ends, I’m soaked through, every breath jagged.
Coach calls after us as we head toward the tunnel. “You’ve got the skill, Shaw! But skill’s nothing without discipline. Figure out which one you actually want!”
I don’t look back.
⸻
The locker room’s a fog of steam and exhaustion. Gear clatters, showers hiss, someone’s music hums low from a phone speaker. Normally there’s laughter, chirping, the usual post-practice noise.
Not today.
Everyone’s careful. Watching me, but pretending not to.
I drop onto the bench, helmet between my knees, water dripping from my hair. My chest still hasn’t slowed down.
Zack’s the first to break the silence. “Coach was in rare form this morning.”
Marco grins, rubbing his shoulder. “Yeah, especially when he was screaming at our fearless leader.”
I shoot him a look. “Not funny.”
“Didn’t say it was.” He smirks. “Just loud.”
Cole sits across from me, toweling his hair dry, not saying a word. That’s worse. The quiet judgment.
Marco stretches, kicks off his skates. “You look like you got in a fight with your own head and lost.”
“Maybe I did,” I mutter.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He glances at Zack. “You think it’s a girl?”
Zack groans. “Dude—drop it.”
Marco shrugs. “I’m just saying. He’s been off since—what?—two nights ago? That usually screams girl trouble.”
I tighten my jaw. “Marco.”
“Hey, man, no judgment. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes you just gotta…” He trails off, looking for words, then snaps his fingers. “…you know, get it out of your system.”
Zack throws a towel at his head. “You’re an idiot.”
Marco laughs, batting it away. “What? It’s true. If he just—”
“Stop,” Zack warns.
But Marco doesn’t. He leans back, grinning like the devil. “If he just fucked her, maybe she’d stop haunting him. Clearly she’s got him twisted.”
The words land like a punch.
Zack smacks the back of his head. “Seriously, man. Shut up.”
Marco winces. “Ow! What? I’m right!” He looks around. “He kissed her, didn’t he? Everyone knows. Might as well go the rest of the way and clear his damn head.”
The room goes dead quiet. Even the showers stop running.
Cole’s voice cuts through the silence—low, dangerous. “You done?”
Marco blinks. “I—yeah. I’m just talking.”
Cole stands, all calm muscle and restrained anger. “Maybe think before you do. Because what you’re saying makes you sound like a piece of shit.”
“Jesus,” Marco mutters. “Sensitive much?”
“Say it again,” Cole snaps.
“Cole,” I cut in, voice rough. “Leave it.”
He looks at me, searching my face. “Leave it? He just turned her into a punchline, and you’re fine with that?”
“I’m not fine with anything right now.”
“Then say something.”
I slam my locker shut hard enough to rattle the bench. “What do you want me to say, Cole? That I can’t get her out of my head? That every time I close my eyes, I see her walking away? That Coach is right—I’m playing like shit because I’m too busy thinking about a girl I shouldn’t have kissed?”
No one breathes.
Marco’s eyes go wide. “Holy—okay, so it is her.”
Zack drags a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Marco mutters. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”
Cole’s still staring at me. “You shouldn’t be apologizing to him. You should be asking yourself what the hell you’re doing.”
I exhale hard. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” he says quietly. “Because whatever this is, it’s eating you alive.”
He grabs his bag and walks out, leaving a vacuum behind him.
Marco whistles under his breath. “Well, that was fun.”
Zack punches his arm again. “You need a filter, dude.”
“Hey, at least I got him to admit it.”
Zack rolls his eyes. “Congratulations. Want a medal?”
Marco grins, unfazed. “Maybe a beer.”
I don’t laugh. I can’t. The room feels too small, the air too thick.
I pull my shirt over my head, shove my gear into the bag, and sit there for a second, staring at the floor.
Cole’s words echo: It’s eating you alive.
He’s right.
It is.
Because no matter how hard I skate, how much I sweat, how loud Coach yells, none of it drowns out the image of Harper looking at me like I’m the last person she ever wanted to see again.
I drag a hand through my hair, grab my bag, and stand.
Marco calls after me, “You heading to class?”
“Yeah,” I say. My voice sounds like sandpaper. “And Marco?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you talk about her like that, I’ll make sure you can’t.”
He freezes, eyes wide. “Noted.”
I shoulder my bag and walk out, the slam of the locker door echoing behind me.
⸻
Outside, the morning’s freezing. The sun barely scraping the edge of the horizon, ice glittering across the parking lot. My breath fogs in front of me, each exhale harsh and visible.
I stop beside my car, lean against the cold metal, and finally let myself feel it—everything I’ve been trying to skate past.
The anger.
The guilt.
The pull I can’t explain.
I tell myself to let her go. To focus on the season. To remember the plan: get drafted, get out, stay untouchable.
But every time I close my eyes, it’s her again—her voice, her eyes, that moment before the kiss when I almost told her everything I never should.
Coach’s words replay in my head like a warning: Figure out which one you actually want.
The problem is, I already know.
And that’s what scares the hell out of me.