Chapter 81 Chapter 80
Logan POV
My room is too quiet.
Not the good kind. Not the calm kind.
The kind that lets your thoughts get loud.
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at a spot on the floor like it might offer answers if I glare at it long enough.
It doesn’t.
All I get is noise in my head.
Her.
I close my eyes.
Big mistake.
Because the first thing that comes back is middle school.
Seven minutes in heaven.
God, I hadn’t thought about that in years.
It wasn’t even romantic. It was a stupid party game in a friend’s basement. Too many kids, too much sugar, too much yelling. Someone spun a bottle. Someone laughed. Someone shoved us into a closet and slammed the door.
Harper had looked terrified.
So had I.
We’d stood there in the dark, not touching, not talking, both of us pretending the floor was the most interesting thing in the world.
And then—awkward, fast, barely even a kiss. More like our faces bumped and we both froze.
She’d laughed after. Nervous. Breathless.
I’d bolted out of the closet like the house was on fire.
I never talked about it again.
Neither did she.
I swallow and open my eyes.
That’s not who we are anymore.
My brain doesn’t care.
It jumps forward.
To her in class.
Sitting two rows ahead of me. Always focused. Always serious. Chewing on the end of her pencil when she’s thinking too hard, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
The way her brow furrows when she’s concentrating.
The way she taps her foot when she’s impatient.
I’ve watched her like that more times than I’ll ever admit.
Then another memory cuts in.
Her at parties.
Not drunk. Not sloppy.
Laughing.
Throwing her head back, eyes bright, surrounded by people, but never the loudest one in the room. Just… present. Warm. Real.
Different from the girls I usually notice.
Then the memory shifts.
And tightens.
Her standing in my doorway.
That night.
The way her face went still when she saw Sophia in my room.
The way something in her eyes broke.
I squeeze my hands into fists.
Then comes her anger.
The way she looked at me like I’d personally insulted her existence.
The way her voice shook when she tried to pretend she didn’t care.
Then—
The first night we slept together.
I drag a hand over my face.
Her saying my name.
The way she sounded when she did.
The way she looked at me like I wasn’t just Logan Shaw, hockey captain, campus cliché.
Like I was just… me.
That’s the one that wrecks me.
Because then my brain shows me the other version.
The version of her walking past me in the hallway like I don’t exist.
The version of her jaw tight, eyes forward, pretending I’m air.
The version of her hurt.
And I did that.
I’m doing that.
Because I don’t know how to be anything else.
I lean back against the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Get it together.
That’s what Dad would say.
That’s what Coach would say.
That’s what PR already said.
You have a future.
You have a draft.
You have a career.
Don’t screw it up.
I hear Myers’s voice in my head like he’s standing in the room.
You’re doing the date, Logan.
Not asking.
Telling.
I exhale slowly.
I don’t want to hurt her.
But I don’t know how to want her without it changing everything.
I don’t do relationships.
I don’t do complicated.
I don’t do things that can wreck my focus.
And Harper?
Harper is all of that.
She’s not a fling.
She’s not a distraction.
She’s a storm.
And storms change landscapes.
I sit up and grab my phone.
Stare at it.
Put it down.
Pick it up again.
I don’t even know what I’m going to say.
Because “I’m sorry” doesn’t cover it.
And “this is complicated” sounds like a coward’s excuse.
And “I don’t know what I want” feels unfair when she probably does.
My thumb hovers over her name.
Harper Lane.
I close my eyes.
Then I type.
Logan:
I know I’ve been… avoiding you.
That’s not okay.
We need to talk. About the date. About everything.
I stare at the screen for a long second.
Then, before I can overthink it, I hit send.
And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m running.
Just… standing in front of something I don’t know how to handle yet.
But might finally have to.