Chapter 33 Chapter 32
Logan POV
The day’s barely started, and I already want it to end.
Campus is half-awake as I leave my last morning class. The sun’s too bright, the noise too much. I’m running on caffeine, adrenaline, and about three hours of sleep. My body still aches from six a.m. skate drills, where Coach tore into me in front of everyone.
I should crash. Instead, my phone buzzes.
Coach:
Office. Ten minutes.
Perfect.
The rink smells like cold steel and exhaustion. I step inside Coach Ryland’s office, still half-damp from sweat, my duffel dragging behind me.
He doesn’t look up right away. He’s hunched over a clipboard, pen scratching, coffee cup within reach. His voice is a low growl when he finally speaks.
“Sit down, Shaw.”
“I’m fine standing.”
His head lifts, eyes sharp. “You look like shit, you play like shit, and I’m this close to benching your ass until you remember what sport you’re in. Sit down.”
The command lands like a hit. I drop into the chair across from him.
He tosses the clipboard down, leans forward, and locks me in that stare — the one that’s broken better players than me. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong answer.” His voice rises, gravel rough. “You’ve been off for a week. And don’t give me that ‘just tired’ crap. You’re missing reads, you’re late on transitions, your passes are lazy. I’ve seen rookies skate with more focus.”
“It’s just a bad stretch,” I say, jaw tight.
“Bullshit.” He slams his hand on the desk, making the coffee cup rattle. “You think I haven’t seen this before? Something’s screwing with your head, and until you deal with it, I don’t care how good you are — you’re a liability.”
My hands curl into fists on my knees. “It’s under control.”
“Doesn’t look like it. You skate like you’re somewhere else.” He pauses, then narrows his eyes. “You got a girl problem?”
My pulse stutters. “No.”
“Yeah, you do,” he says flatly. “That’s the only time a guy plays this distracted — women, booze, or guilt. Sometimes all three. You want to make it to the pros? Cut that shit out. I don’t coach prodigies who waste potential.”
I stare at the floor, jaw flexing. “Understood.”
“You better mean it.” He sits back, grabs another folder from his desk, and flips it open. “And since you clearly don’t check your email, Myers from PR’s coming by in a few. Wants to talk about that gala with the Alpha Chi sorority.”
I blink. “The what?”
He gives me a look. “The charity event. They’re doing an auction this year. You’re the closing act.”
“Act?”
He smirks without humor. “Yeah. You and their president — Harper Lane. Big media draw. Team’s golden boy meets campus sweetheart.”
My stomach twists. “You’re serious.”
“It’s already announced. Myers’ll explain the rest. Try to look like you give a damn when he does.”
He stands, grabs his clipboard, and moves for the door. “Get your head straight, Shaw. You’ve got talent, but you’re burning through it fast. You keep this up, you’ll be watching the Frozen Four from the bench.”
Then he’s gone.
⸻
I sit there a long minute, staring at nothing.
Harper.
Of course it’s Harper.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to process it. A date auction. With her. The same girl who walked into my room last night and saw—
I shove that thought down before it finishes forming.
The door swings open again, and Daniel Myers from PR walks in, suit too crisp for nine a.m.
“Logan! Great to see you.” He drops a glossy packet on the desk. “Just wanted to go over details for the gala. You’re the headline.”
I force my voice steady. “For the auction?”
“Exactly. You and Harper Lane close the night. You’ll both give a quick intro, the bidding starts, donors get photo ops—it’s perfect.”
I blink. “When was this decided?”
“Two days ago,” Myers says, oblivious. “Harper’s team loved the idea. It’s all approved.”
“She already knows?”
He grins. “She helped finalize it. Great head for logistics, that one.”
My heart sinks. “Right.”
He slides a paper toward me. “We’ll just need your signature for media rights.”
I stare at the pen, then at him. “Fine.”
He beams. “Knew I could count on you. See you at the donor reception.”
When he leaves, I sit there with the pen still in my hand, pulse hammering.
She knew.
And she didn’t tell me.
Or maybe she didn’t think she needed to — because I’m the asshole who kissed her and made it worse.
I slam the pen down, grab my bag, and walk out.
⸻
The Ice House is quiet for once. A few teammates are still half-asleep in the living room — Marco and Zack on the couch, a video game paused mid-play, controllers abandoned.
Cole’s at the counter pouring coffee, wearing that expression he gets when he knows I’m about to explode.
“Rough morning?” he asks.
“Don’t start.”
He arches a brow. “Didn’t even get to the second question yet.”
“Coach tore me apart, then PR tells me I’m being auctioned off with Harper for a fundraiser.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Marco lowers his mug. “Hold up. You’re being what now?”
“Sold,” I say flatly. “For charity. Lucky me.”
Zack laughs once. “That’s… wow. That’s brutal.”
“Yeah,” Marco says. “I mean, it’s kinda hot if you think about it—”
Before he finishes, I glare, sharp enough to cut him in half.
He raises his hands. “Kidding. Mostly.”
Cole leans against the counter. “She knows?”
“Apparently she’s known for two days.”
Cole exhales slowly. “And you didn’t?”
I grind out, “No.”
Marco mutters under his breath, “Maybe if you just—”
Zack smacks his arm. “Don’t.”
“What? It’s obvious she’s under his skin. Maybe if he just hooked up with her, he’d—”
The words barely register before my fist slams into the wall beside him. The sound cracks through the quiet.
Zack jumps. Marco freezes.
“Say that again,” I growl.
Cole’s voice slices through. “Enough.”
Marco swallows. “Jesus, dude. I was joking.”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
The silence that follows is thick.
Cole sets down his mug, eyes on me. “You need to calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“You’re bleeding.”
I glance down. My knuckles are raw. Doesn’t matter.
He crosses his arms. “You know why Coach is on your ass? Because you’ve been skating like a guy who left half his brain on some girl’s porch.”
My jaw tightens. “You done?”
“Not even close.”
Zack mutters, “Here we go.”
Cole takes a step closer. “You keep acting like she’s the problem, when really you’re the one who doesn’t know what the hell you want. You kissed her. You care. But the second she doesn’t fall neatly into your world, you panic.”
“I didn’t panic.”
“You ran, Logan. You’ve been running for years. You can face a six-foot defenseman at full speed, but one woman looks at you like you matter and you lose your mind.”
I shove past him. “You think you know me?”
“I think I see more than you want me to.”
Something in me snaps. “You don’t get it. You didn’t see her face when she walked in that room.”
Cole doesn’t blink. “No. But I saw yours after she left.”
That lands like a gut punch.
He lowers his voice. “You want to fix this? Stop hiding behind pride. Go tell her the truth.”
I shake my head. “She won’t believe me.”
“Then make her.”
The words hang there, heavy and impossible.
Cole grabs his jacket. “You can’t fight your way out of this one, Captain. You’ve got to feel your way through it.”
He leaves, the door slamming behind him.
Marco exhales. “Well… that was intense.”
Zack looks at him. “You think?”
They head upstairs, muttering.
And I’m left standing in the quiet, blood on my knuckles, Harper’s name pounding in my chest like a heartbeat I can’t shut off.
My phone buzzes.
Harper:
Did you know about the auction?
My pulse spikes. I type fast.
Logan:
Found out this morning. I swear I didn’t know.
The dots appear. Then disappear.
Nothing.
I drop the phone onto the counter and lean forward until my forehead touches my hands.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to win.