Chapter 63 Chapter 62
Logan POV
I wake up to sunlight and a headache made of bad decisions.
For a second, I don’t know where I am.
My room looks wrong. Too bright. Too quiet. My sheets are twisted like I fought them in my sleep. My body feels heavy, slow, like it ran a marathon and lost.
Then I feel her.
Warm. Curled into my side.
Harper.
Reality crashes down all at once.
Last night comes back in fragments. The hallway. The door. The way she said my name like it meant something. The way I stopped thinking entirely.
My chest tightens.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not like this.
Not at all.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling, barely breathing, afraid that if I move I’ll wake her—and then I’ll have to deal with it.
Deal with what we did.
Deal with what it means.
Her hair is fanned across my chest, soft and dark, her face turned toward me in sleep. She looks… peaceful. Not guarded. Not sharp. Just Harper.
And something in my chest twists painfully.
This isn’t a puck bunny.
This isn’t a one-night mistake I can laugh off and forget.
This is the girl who knows exactly how to ruin my life.
Careful, Shaw.
That’s the first thought that comes, sharp and defensive.
Careful, before you screw everything up.
Before you turn this into something you can’t control.
I close my eyes and scrub a hand over my face.
Why the hell did I let this happen?
No—worse.
Why did I want it so badly?
I shift slightly, trying not to wake her, and she moves with me, instinctively, curling closer. Her hand slides over my chest like it belongs there.
My pulse spikes.
I freeze.
She murmurs something I can’t understand and settles again.
Jesus.
I stare at her and all I can think is:
This changes things.
They say sex changes things.
And it did.
It changed everything.
Because now I can’t pretend she’s just Harper Lane, Sorority President, Walking Headache.
Now she’s… this.
Warm. Real. Mine, at least for one night.
And that scares the hell out of me.
I’ve built my whole life on not needing anyone.
On keeping things clean. Simple. Detached.
Hook up. Have fun. Leave.
No expectations. No damage.
No one gets close enough to matter.
That’s how you stay focused.
That’s how you make the NHL.
That’s how you don’t end up like—
I cut that thought off before it finishes.
I look back at her.
She matters.
That’s the problem.
I swallow hard.
She’s going to wake up and look at me like something happened.
Because something did.
And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that.
I don’t know how to be a guy who stays.
I only know how to be a guy who leaves first.
Slowly, carefully, I slide out from under her arm.
She shifts but doesn’t wake.
Good.
I stand there for a second, just… looking at her.
At the girl I’ve wanted in ways I refused to admit.
At the girl who is absolutely not supposed to be part of my plan.
My chest feels tight.
Crowded.
I grab a shirt and pull it on, pacing the room like a caged animal.
Get it together, Shaw.
This was a mistake.
A mutual one.
Two people blowing off steam.
That’s all.
It has to be all.
Because if it’s more than that…
I don’t know how to survive it.
I run a hand through my hair and check my phone.
6:42 a.m.
Missed messages from Cole.
A text from Marco.
Another from Zack.
And one from my father.
Great.
One more damn thing.
I don’t open that one.
Not yet.
I glance back at the bed.
She’s still asleep.
Good.
I don’t trust myself to talk to her right now.
I don’t trust myself not to say something that makes this real.
So I do what I always do.
I put distance between me and the problem.
I scribble a quick, stupid note and leave it on the desk.
Had early practice.
We’ll talk.
Coward.
I know it the second I write it.
But I still do it.
I grab my keys and head out, my chest tight, my head a mess.
As the door closes behind me, one thought keeps pounding in my skull:
I don’t know how to want her and still be the guy I’m supposed to be.
And I’m terrified that I’m about to hurt her anyway.