Chapter 55 Chapter 54
Harper POV
My room smells like vanilla and printer ink.
It’s the quiet, comforting kind of chaos—textbooks stacked too high on my desk, my laptop open to a half-finished budget spreadsheet, a legal pad full of notes for the auction meeting tomorrow. The glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling are faint in the late afternoon light, barely visible, but they’re still there—tiny reminders of a girl who used to need them.
I’m trying to focus.
I really am.
But my brain keeps drifting to the same unhelpful places.
Logan’s mouth.
Logan’s hands.
Logan’s stupid, confused, frustrating face in the lecture hall when I snapped at him.
They say sex changes things, I think bitterly. Yeah. No kidding.
Because it changed everything for me.
It didn’t make things easier or clearer. It didn’t turn us into some rom-com couple who suddenly knows what they’re doing. It just… complicated it. Deepened it. Made every interaction feel loaded and sharp and personal in a way I didn’t ask for.
I hate that part the most.
I hate that I let myself believe—even for one night—that maybe he actually wanted me.
Not just my body.
Not just the moment.
Me.
I shove that thought away and force myself to look at my screen again.
Numbers. Focus. Numbers don’t lie to you. Numbers don’t look at you like you’re a problem they don’t know how to solve.
I’m halfway through recalculating the catering costs when there’s a knock on my door.
Three sharp taps.
I sigh. “Come in.”
The door opens, and Lila leans against the frame like she’s about to deliver gossip instead of interrupt homework. She crosses her arms, one brow lifting.
“So,” she says slowly, “I just got the weirdest phone call.”
I glance up from my laptop. “That’s saying something in this house. What does that mean?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “It means I was just on the phone with Zack.”
I blink. “Zack… from the Ice House?”
“Mm-hmm.”
My pen stills over the notepad. “Okay. And?”
“And he called me,” she says, like she’s still trying to wrap her head around it, “to ask what you did to his captain.”
My stomach drops.
“What?” I sit up straighter. “What are you talking about?”
She pushes off the doorframe and comes into the room, flopping onto my chair like this is casual. “According to him, Logan almost killed someone on the ice today. Or at least that’s how it sounded. Apparently he’s been playing like a maniac, and Coach lost his mind on him.”
I stare at her. “What does that have to do with me?”
She lifts a shoulder. “That’s what I asked. Zack said—and I quote—‘He’s been acting like he got into a fight with his girlfriend, except he doesn’t have a girlfriend, so we’re all confused.’”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I am not his girlfriend.”
“I know that,” Lila says quickly. “I told him that.”
My chest feels tight anyway.
“And then,” she continues, “he asked me what you said to Logan that made him snap.”
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I didn’t say anything that would make him snap. I told him to remember the sponsor meeting and then he started asking me why I was ‘being weird’ and I told him to mind his own business.”
Lila watches me carefully. “You might’ve said it… with your whole chest.”
I scowl. “That’s not the point.”
She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying, from the outside, it sounds like something happened.”
I turn back to my laptop, but the numbers are blurring. “Zack actually called you?”
“Yep. Which is why I said it was the weirdest phone call.” She tilts her head again. “What did Logan tell him for Zack to call me?”
“I don’t know,” I snap, more sharply than I mean to.
She goes quiet.
I can feel her watching me, the way she does when she knows I’m lying to myself.
“Harper,” she says gently, “did something happen?”
“No.”
The word comes out too fast.
She doesn’t call me on it. She just waits.
I exhale and rub my temples. “I don’t know what he told them. Or what he’s saying. Or why they think this has anything to do with me.”
“Except it does,” she says softly.
I look at her.
“Doesn’t it?” she adds.
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is… yeah. It probably does.
And that makes my stomach twist into knots.
I hate this.
I hate that my name is apparently floating around the Ice House like I’m some kind of plot device in Logan Shaw’s emotional breakdown.
I hate that his teammates think I did something to him.
I hate that part of me feels a small, stupid flicker of guilt—like maybe I did do something.
And I really, really hate that the first thought in my head is:
Is he okay?
Lila studies me. “Do you want me to call him and ask what the hell he’s telling people?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to be part of whatever narrative he’s spinning over there.”
She sighs. “Harper…”
“I’m serious,” I say, finally looking at her. “I’m not doing this. I’m not chasing him, and I’m not fixing his moods, and I’m not taking responsibility for how he acts on the ice.”
She holds my gaze. “You’re mad.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re hurt.”
I look away. “That’s not the point.”
She doesn’t argue.
She just says, “Okay. Then what is the point?”
I swallow.
“The point is,” I say slowly, choosing my words, “that I slept with him. And then the next day he acted like he didn’t know what to do with me. And now apparently he’s losing his mind at practice and his teammates think I broke him.”
I let out a short laugh. “I didn’t sign up for that.”
Lila’s expression softens. “You didn’t break him.”
“Tell that to his coach.”
She smiles faintly. “His coach yells at him when the ice is too cold.”
That almost gets a real smile out of me.
Almost.
“So what do you want to do?” she asks.
“I want to finish my homework,” I say. “I want to run this auction. And I want Logan Shaw to stop being a problem in my life.”
She raises a brow. “You sure about that last one?”
I hesitate.
Then: “Yes.”
It’s a lie.
But it’s a useful one.
Lila stands, squeezing my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I told Zack I had no idea what he was talking about. And that Logan should probably try sleeping more.”
I snort. “Good advice.”
She heads for the door, then pauses. “Just… don’t let him make this your fault, okay?”
I nod.
After she leaves, the room feels too quiet again.
I stare at my laptop.
At the numbers.
At the life I’m trying to keep neat and organized and under control.
And all I can think is:
What did you do, Logan?