Chapter 64 Chapter 63
Harper POV
I wake up to quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful—the kind that feels… empty.
For a few seconds, I don’t move. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling that is very much not mine, trying to figure out where I am and why my body feels like it’s been through something big and emotional and slightly reckless.
Then it all comes rushing back.
Logan’s room.
Logan’s bed.
Logan.
My stomach flips.
I turn my head.
The other side of the bed is empty.
Cold.
The sheets are rumpled, like he left in a hurry.
Oh.
I push myself up onto my elbows, heart doing something weird and tight in my chest. For a split second, there’s a sharp sting of something that feels suspiciously like disappointment.
Then—almost immediately—relief crashes into it.
He’s not here.
Which means I don’t have to do the walk of shame.
No sneaking past Marco and Zack and Cole and whoever else lives in this testosterone museum. No pulling my coat tight and pretending I didn’t just make a life-altering decision in a hockey captain’s bedroom.
Thank. God.
I sit up and take stock of myself.
My clothes are folded neatly on the chair.
That’s… surprisingly considerate.
I find my phone on the nightstand. No new messages.
There’s a small folded piece of paper next to it.
My heart stutters.
I pick it up.
Had early practice.
We’ll talk.
— L
That’s it.
No “sorry.”
No “last night was a mistake.”
No “hope you’re okay.”
Just… we’ll talk.
Which somehow feels more terrifying than all of those combined.
I sit there for a minute, holding the paper, my thoughts spinning.
What does we’ll talk even mean?
About what?
Us?
What we did?
What we’re pretending it was?
My chest tightens.
They say sex changes things.
They’re right.
Because everything feels different now.
Before, I could tell myself I was just annoyed with him. Just tangled up in history and unresolved feelings and bad timing.
Now?
Now my body remembers him in a way my brain can’t ignore.
Now I know exactly how it feels to be wanted by him.
And that’s dangerous knowledge.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand, suddenly very aware that I’m standing in Logan Shaw’s room, alone, in the morning, with his note in my hand.
I pull on my clothes quickly, methodically, like if I move fast enough I won’t think too hard.
But of course, I do.
I think about how he looked last night when he said my name.
I think about the way he held me like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.
I think about how he promised he was here.
And how this morning… he’s not.
I shove that thought down.
Maybe he really did have practice.
Maybe he didn’t want to wake me.
Maybe—
Don’t.
I grab my bag and my coat, glance around one last time.
His room looks… normal.
Too normal.
Like nothing huge and complicated and emotionally reckless happened in it just hours ago.
I pause at the door.
For a second, I let myself feel it.
The confusion.
The lingering warmth.
The fear.
The part of me that’s already bracing for disappointment.
Then I straighten my shoulders.
Whatever this is… I’m not letting it turn me into someone who waits by the door.
I slip out quietly and make my way down the stairs.
The house is blessedly empty and silent.
No audience.
No walk of shame.
Just me and the morning air and a heart that feels like it doesn’t know what game it’s playing anymore.
As I step outside, the cool air hits my face and I breathe it in like I need it.
Okay.
You’re fine, Harper.
You’re an adult.
You made a choice.
You can deal with the consequences.
Still…
As I walk away from the Ice House, one thought keeps looping in my head:
I don’t know what last night meant to him.
But I know it meant something to me.
And that might be the scariest part of all.