Chapter 39 Chapter 38
Logan POV
Victory tastes like cheap beer and bad lighting.
The bar near campus is packed—students, locals, a few alumni who still act like they’re twenty-one. The music’s loud, the floors sticky, and the booths overflowing with bodies pressed far too close.
Classic post–game chaos.
The guys are eating it up.
Marco’s already got two girls in his lap, both batting their lashes like it’s a sport. Zack’s at the dartboard showing off his “deadly aim” to a blonde who keeps giggling even when he misses by a mile. Cole’s somewhere near the bar charming a waitress into giving him an extra basket of fries.
And me?
I’m sitting at the edge of the booth, sipping Coke instead of beer, pretending this is fun.
Pretending I’m fine.
Because that’s what I’m supposed to be after a win.
Loose. Loud. Ready to celebrate.
Except all I feel is restless.
My knee won’t stop bouncing. My jaw keeps clenching. Every laugh around me grates like sandpaper.
One of the girls hanging off Marco’s shoulder leans over and trails a hand down my arm.
“You played so good tonight, Captain,” she purrs. “You wanna dance?”
Her perfume hits hard—cotton candy and desperation.
A month ago, maybe even a week ago, I would’ve taken her hand without thinking. Let her pull me onto the dance floor, let things get messy and distracting and easy.
But tonight, I feel nothing.
“No thanks,” I say, nudging my arm away.
She blinks, surprised, then shrugs and turns her attention back to Marco, who welcomes her like he’s never heard the word no.
Cole slides into the booth next to me, shoving a basket of fries toward my chest. “Eat. You get weird when you’re hungry.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He looks at me. Really looks. “You’re brooding.”
“I’m not brooding.”
“Moody, then.”
“Not moody.”
He grins. “Okay, so… moody broody grumpy pants.”
I glare at him. “Cole.”
He just laughs and steals his own fry. “Dude, lighten up. We won. You scored. You should be floating.”
I should be.
But every time I close my eyes, I picture her there anyway.
A flash of red in the crowd that could’ve been her.
The shape of someone leaning forward when I flew past the boards—
not her, probably, but my brain fills in her face like a reflex I can’t shut off.
Maybe if I’d looked up just once, I would’ve seen her.
Maybe it’s better I didn’t.
Or maybe I’m losing it.
“What’s up your ass, anyway?” Zack calls across the table, half-drunk and smiling. “You’ve been acting like someone kicked your puppy.”
“Maybe he needs to kiss Harper again,” Marco says around a mouthful of wings. “Get whatever’s stuck in his head out of his system.”
My whole body goes still.
Zack whacks Marco upside the head. “Dude. Shut up.”
“What?” Marco shrugs. “It’s obvious. The man’s wound tighter than my stick tape. Harper’s the only thing that gets a reaction out of him.”
Cole shoots Marco a warning look, but Marco’s already drunk enough not to care.
“Seriously,” Marco continues. “Just kiss her again. Or sleep with her. Something. You’re killing the vibe over here.”
The booth goes quiet.
All eyes shift to me.
And every nerve in my body snaps tight.
I stare at Marco long enough for him to swallow hard. “You done?”
He holds up both hands, backing off instantly. “Okay. Damn. Sorry.”
The music keeps thumping. Glasses clink behind the bar. People laugh and flirt and move on.
But something’s off inside me.
Like a gear grinding the wrong direction.
I lean back, arms crossed, eyes on the crowd.
Harper isn’t here.
Obviously.
She wouldn’t step foot in a place like this unless someone forced her to.
Sorority presidents don’t come to grimy victory bars.
Harper Lane doesn’t come where puck bunnies hang off sweaty athletes.
She’s… different.
Uptight.
Structured.
Bossy as hell.
The kind of girl who color-codes her closet and alphabetizes her textbooks.
The kind I don’t date.
Don’t hook up with.
Don’t even look at twice.
But I do.
I always have.
Even when I told myself I didn’t.
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to shake the tension out of my skull.
Why her?
Why now?
Why when it’s so damn obvious she isn’t into guys like me anymore?
She’s grown up, leveled up.
She walks around like she owns every room she enters now—confident, fierce, impossible to ignore.
Meanwhile I… what?
Kissed her like a man starving and then watched her run home.
Smooth.
Marco slides back into the booth and hands Cole a beer, then glances at me like I’m a live grenade someone forgot to bury.
“You sure you’re okay, man?” he asks carefully this time.
I don’t answer.
Because I’m not sure.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t have a plan.
On the ice, I can see the whole play before it happens.
Off it… everything feels like a blind corner.
Cole leans closer, voice low so only I hear. “Listen, Logan. You can either keep pretending she doesn’t matter, or you can stop acting like a coward and figure out what the hell’s going on.”
My jaw twitches. “She’s not my type.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, say that again but slower. Maybe you’ll believe it this time.”
“She’s not,” I snap. “She’s—Harper. She’s… a lot.”
“She’s not ‘a lot.’ She’s honest. And smart. And she sees straight through your bullshit. That’s what scares you.”
I look away.
Because he’s wrong.
And he’s right.
And I hate both options.
Cole nudges me again. “Also, FYI? Types are bullshit. Attraction is attraction. And you are extremely, painfully, ridiculously attracted to her.”
“I’m not—”
He cuts me off with a look so blunt I shut up.
Marco reappears, drunk and oblivious. “Hey, Captain! Someone offered to buy you a drink.”
A brunette waves at me from the bar.
Tiny dress.
Long legs.
Perfect hair.
Puck bunny poster child.
My usual type.
The type I should want.
I don’t even blink.
“No thanks.”
Marco stares. “Dude, she’s gorgeous.”
“So?”
“So?” His jaw drops. “What is happening right now? Did Harper curse you?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is terrifying in its simplicity:
For the first time, none of this works on me.
Not the attention.
Not the girls.
Not the noise or the lights or the thrill of winning.
All I feel is that ache in my chest I can’t shake.
I drag my thumb across the rim of my glass, staring at nothing.
Marco clears his throat. “Okay, seriously, man—you’re ruining the celebration. Just kiss her again or something. Get your equilibrium back.”
The whole table laughs.
I don’t.
Because this isn’t about kissing.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to fix what I broke.
Not with her.
Not with me.
I stand, grabbing my jacket.
“Where you going?” Zack asks.
“Home.”
Cole watches me closely. “You okay?”
“No.”
It’s the first honest thing I’ve said all night.
I leave the bar, the noise fading behind me as the cold air hits my face.
And for the first time, I feel it—the truth I’ve been dodging like a hit on the ice:
I don’t know how to want someone who can actually hurt me.
And Harper Lane?
She’s already halfway there.