Chapter 83 Chapter 82
Logan POV
I stare at my phone longer than I should.
The message is already sent. There’s nothing to take back. Nothing to edit. Nothing to soften.
We need to talk.
About the date. About everything.
Great. Real smooth, Shaw.
I toss the phone onto my nightstand and roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it’s going to give me answers.
It doesn’t.
Sleep doesn’t come.
It just… doesn’t.
My brain won’t shut up. It keeps replaying things I don’t want to think about. Her face. Her voice. The way she looks at me when she’s trying not to let something hurt her.
So I give up.
By five-thirty I’m already dressed and out the door, heading to the gym because at least iron doesn’t ask questions.
The campus gym is quiet this early. A few guys from other teams. A couple of serious lifters. No noise. No chaos.
Good.
I load plates onto the bar harder than necessary and start my first set like I’m trying to grind something out of my system.
It doesn’t work.
Nothing does.
I’m halfway through my second set when Zack drops onto the bench across from me, stretching his arms over his head.
“Jesus, man. You look like you’re trying to bench-press your soul out of your body.”
“Spot or don’t talk,” I mutter.
He smirks but steps in anyway.
I finish the set, rack the bar, and sit up, sweat already dampening my shirt.
He studies me for a second. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No,” he says. “You’re broody quiet. That’s different.”
I grab my water and take a long drink.
“Did Marco finally annoy you into homicide?” he asks.
“No.”
“Coach still riding you?”
“Always.”
He waits. Knows me too well.
“So?” he presses. “What’s up?”
I hesitate.
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because it’s already stuck in my head. Maybe because it feels unreal and saying it out loud makes it worse.
“I’m being forced to go on a date with Harper.”
Zack blinks.
Then his eyebrows shoot up.
“…Oh. So your girlfriend.”
I snap my head toward him. “She is not my girlfriend.”
“Easy,” he laughs. “Relax. It was a joke.”
It doesn’t feel like one.
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Still… you gotta admit, man. She’s kind of taken up residence in your head.”
He taps his temple.
“That usually happens with girlfriends.”
I glare at him from the machine.
He holds up his hands. “Hey. Just saying.”
I turn back to the weights and start loading more plates.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say again, like if I repeat it enough it’ll become truer.
Zack watches me for a second, then shrugs. “Alright. Fine. Not your girlfriend.”
Then he grins. “But she’s definitely living rent-free in your brain.”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s not wrong.
And that pisses me off.
He sits back on the bench. “Look, man. There’s a simple fix for that.”
I glance at him. “I’m not in the mood for your wisdom of the ages.”
He points at my head again. “One way to get a girl out of there?”
“Here it comes…”
“Go find another one.”
I stare at him.
He spreads his hands. “What? It works. Always has.”
“There are plenty of puck bunnies who would love to help you forget Harper Lane.”
Something cold and sharp twists in my chest.
“Don’t call her that,” I say.
He blinks. “Call her what?”
“A puck bunny.”
He frowns. “I wasn’t saying she is one. I’m saying—”
“I know what you were saying,” I cut in. “Just don’t.”
He studies me again, slower this time.
“…Okay. That’s new.”
“What is?”
“The part where you’re territorial.”
“I’m not—”
“You totally are,” he says. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
I stand up and move to the next station. “Drop it, Zack.”
He follows. “I’m serious, man. You’re wound up. You’re distracted. You’re snapping at everyone. Coach is already on your ass. The date thing is clearly messing with your head.”
“It’s not messing with my head.”
“Logan,” he says dryly. “You almost took Marco’s head off for making a joke last week.”
“…He deserved it.”
Zack laughs. “Sure.”
He leans against the rack. “Look, all I’m saying is this: if you don’t want to think about her, go not-think about her with someone else.”
I grip the bar harder than necessary.
That used to be easy.
That used to be automatic.
Now?
The thought doesn’t even land right.
Instead of relief, all I feel is… wrong.
Wrong face. Wrong laugh. Wrong hands.
I hate that.
I hate that my brain does that now.
“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.
Zack raises an eyebrow. “Wow. The apocalypse really is coming.”
I shoot him a look.
He holds up his hands again. “Hey, I’m just saying. Usually you’d already be halfway to someone’s room by now.”
“Maybe I’m tired.”
“Maybe you’re screwed,” he counters.
I don’t respond.
Because I don’t have a good comeback.
Because he might be right.
Because the last thing I want is for Harper to become a problem in my life.
I have a plan.
A path.
NHL.
Everything else is noise.
And somehow… she’s gotten loud.
I rack the bar and sit there for a second, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
My heart kicks stupidly hard.
I don’t take it out.
Zack watches me. “…You gonna check that?”
“No.”
“Uh-huh.”
He smirks. “Harper?”
“Shut up.”
He grins like he just won something.
I stand. Grab my towel. “I’m done.”
“Already?”
“I’ve got class.”
He follows me toward the door. “So… when’s the date?”
I pause.
“…I don’t know.”
He whistles. “Man. You look thrilled.”
I glance back at him. “It’s not a real date.”
“Sure sounds like one.”
“It’s for publicity.”
“That’s how all bad decisions start.”
I don’t argue.
Because deep down, I already know:
The problem isn’t the date.
The problem is that I don’t trust myself to walk away from her again.
And that scares the hell out of me.