Chapter 92 Chapter 91
Logan POV
I stare at my closet like it’s going to judge me.
Which is stupid.
It’s a closet.
But somehow it feels like it’s already disappointed in me.
I tug a shirt off a hanger, hold it up, then immediately put it back.
Too much.
I grab another one.
Too little.
I’m halfway through a third option when Cole appears in my doorway, leans against the frame, and says, “Wow. You look like a man preparing for a root canal.”
“I’m not,” I mutter. “I’m just… deciding.”
“On what? Whether to wear clothes?”
“I always wear clothes.”
“Debatable,” he says. Then he tilts his head. “Wait. Are you… nervous?”
“No.”
He grins slowly. “Oh my God. You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” he says, delighted. “You’re actually going on a date-date.”
“It’s not a date-date.”
“It’s a date,” he says. “With the girl you’re in love with.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. Your face does.”
I throw a sock at him.
He catches it. “Okay, real question. Do you remember how to go on a date?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? Because you don’t usually date. You… appear. Charm. Disappear.”
“That is not true.”
“That is extremely true,” he says. “You’re a romantic comet. Very bright. Very brief.”
I glare at him. “I can handle this.”
“Uh-huh,” he says. “Do you need coaching? I can give you tips. Step one: don’t bring me.”
“Already ahead of you.”
He nods approvingly. “Good start.”
I sit on the edge of my bed and pull my shoes on. My leg won’t stop bouncing.
Cole watches me. “You look like you’re about to play in overtime.”
“That’s because this feels like overtime.”
“Buddy,” he says, “it’s coffee. Not a championship.”
“It’s not about the coffee.”
“I know,” he says more quietly. “That’s why you’re freaking out.”
I finish tying my shoes and stand. “I’m not freaking out.”
“You tried on four shirts.”
“…Okay. I might be a little freaking out.”
He smiles. “You’ll be fine. Just be normal.”
I snort. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Then be honest,” he says. “That’s new for you. Might as well lean into it.”
I grab my jacket. “If I die, delete my search history.”
“Absolutely not.”
⸻
The café is small and warm and smells like cinnamon and coffee beans.
Harper is already there when I walk in.
She’s sitting by the window, sunlight catching in her hair, scrolling on her phone.
My chest tightens.
She looks up when she hears the door.
Our eyes meet.
And something in me loosens a little.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
I sit across from her and immediately feel like my body is made of spare parts.
She studies me for a second. “Why do you look like you’re bracing for impact?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes,” she says. “Relax. This isn’t a firing squad.”
“Debatable,” I mutter.
She laughs.
Actually laughs.
It’s… nice.
“You don’t have to be so tense,” she says. “We’re just… hanging out.”
“I know,” I say. “I just… want to not screw it up.”
She tilts her head. “You’re doing okay so far.”
That helps.
We order. Sit. Talk.
About normal things.
Classes. Teammates. Her sorority being chaotic. Marco setting something on fire in the locker room microwave.
It’s easy.
Too easy.
At one point, she says, “This feels weirdly… normal.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” she says. “It’s just… nice.”
There’s a pause.
Then she smiles a little. “Do you remember the bonfire after the homecoming game junior year?”
I blink. “The one where someone tried to jump over it and lost their eyebrows?”
“Yes,” she says. “That one.”
“I was not that someone.”
“No,” she says. “You were the one who stood there telling him it was a bad idea and then still helped him up when he did it anyway.”
I huff. “That tracks.”
She looks out the window, smiling at the memory. “You stole my hoodie that night.”
“I did not steal it.”
“You absolutely did,” she says. “You said you were ‘borrowing’ it. I never got it back.”
“I think you look better in mine anyway.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Shaw?”
“…Maybe.”
She laughs again.
And something in my chest feels dangerously close to hope.
This is good.
This is really good.
Then my phone vibrates.
Once.
Twice.
I don’t look.
But I already know.
Because only one person calls instead of texting.
My dad.
The screen lights up.
Dad
My stomach drops.
Harper notices immediately.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“I—” I swallow. “Yeah. I just… I need to take this.”
Her expression shifts slightly. Not angry. Just… aware.
“Okay,” she says.
I step outside.
The air feels colder.
“What,” I say.
“Nice tone,” he replies. “You busy?”
“Yeah.”
“With what?”
I close my eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” he says. “Scouts confirmed next week. You’ve been skating tight. Don’t get stupid now.”
“I’m not being stupid.”
“Good,” he says. “Because this is when guys screw it up.”
My chest tightens.
“You’re close, Logan. Don’t lose focus.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get this chance twice.”
The call ends.
I stand there for a second longer than necessary.
When I go back inside, Harper looks at me.
And I know she can see it.
The shift.
The way the air around me changed.
“Everything okay?” she asks again.
“Yeah,” I say automatically.
She doesn’t look convinced.
“You just… went somewhere else,” she says quietly.
“I’m here,” I reply.
But the truth is?
Part of me isn’t.
And she can tell.