Chapter 78 Chapter 77
Logan POV
I should’ve known it wouldn’t be optional.
That’s the thing about decisions that involve money, media, and men in suits — they stop being suggestions real fast.
Coach doesn’t even pretend this is a conversation.
He stands in the doorway of the locker room with his arms crossed, watching me lace my skates like he’s waiting for me to screw up just so he can say told you so.
“Office. Now.”
I don’t argue.
I follow him down the hall, past the smell of ice and sweat and disinfectant, into his little glass fishbowl of a workspace.
I know I’m in trouble the second I see who’s waiting in Coach’s office.
Daniel Myers.
Suit too clean for a rink. Smile too practiced for nine in the morning.
Coach closes the door behind me and doesn’t sit.
Neither does Myers.
That’s never a good sign.
“Logan,” Myers says, holding up a hand before anyone else can speak. “I know the sponsor meeting caught you off guard. And I know you already said no to the date.”
Coach shoots him a look.
I don’t say anything.
Myers exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself. “But I really need you to hear me out.”
Coach crosses his arms. “This isn’t a debate.”
Myers nods. “It’s not. But I’m going to explain why anyway.”
He gestures to the chair. “Sit.”
I sit.
He leans back against the desk. “The gala is our biggest donor event of the year. The date auction is the hook. You and Harper are the hook for the hook.”
I grimace. “We’re not exactly selling romance right now.”
“Exactly,” he says. “And that’s the problem.”
Coach cuts in. “You two look like you’d rather be anywhere else than in the same room. People notice.”
“And donors care,” Myers adds. “They’re not buying dinner. They’re buying a fantasy.”
I snort. “That’s their problem.”
Myers’s smile tightens. “It becomes our problem when they stop writing checks.”
Coach steps forward. “You want to play pro hockey, Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“Then start acting like someone who understands how the world works.”
Myers opens a folder and slides it across the desk. Inside are mockups. Flyers. Social posts.
My name.
Her name.
Side by side.
“You’re already the face of the team,” Myers says. “This event puts you in front of alumni donors, boosters, media. You don’t get to look like a guy who can’t handle basic optics.”
“I’m not doing a fake date,” I say flatly.
Myers nods. “I know you don’t want to. You made that clear.”
Coach says, “But you’re going to.”
I look at him. “This isn’t hockey.”
“No,” he says. “It’s your career.”
That lands harder than anything else.
Myers continues, “Scouts don’t just look at your stats. They look at how you represent the program. How you handle pressure. How you behave when things get uncomfortable.”
Coach’s voice is quieter now. “And right now? You look distracted. Messy. Unfocused.”
I clench my jaw.
“You’re skating like a guy who’s got his head somewhere else,” he adds. “That doesn’t inspire confidence.”
Myers slides a pen across the desk. “This is one date. Public. Controlled. Photos. Maybe a short clip. You smile. You behave. You leave.”
I don’t touch the pen.
“You don’t even have to pretend it means anything,” Myers says.
That’s almost funny.
Because pretending it means nothing is exactly what I’m worst at with her.
“This is a bad idea,” I say.
Coach doesn’t hesitate. “So is blowing your draft stock over personal drama.”
That one hits straight in the chest.
I think about my dad.
About the NHL.
About everything I’ve bled for.
And then I think about Harper’s eyes.
Her voice.
My bed.
This is a terrible idea.
Which means I don’t get a choice.
Myers watches me carefully. “The date is in three days.”
“Where?”
“We’ll handle that.”
I stare at the pen.
Then I pick it up.
“Fine.”
Coach nods once. “Good.”
Myers relaxes like he just defused a bomb. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”
He pauses, then adds lightly, “And maybe try not to look like you want to kill each other.”
I stand.
“And Myers?”
“Yes?”
“If this blows up in your face, it’s not on me.”
He smiles. “It never is.”
I walk out and don’t look back.
In the hallway, I stop and press my hand to the wall.
One date.
That’s it.
In.
Out.
Done.
Except Harper Lane has never been an in-and-out kind of problem.
And I just agreed to walk straight back into her orbit.