Chapter 99 Chapter 98
Logan POV
For the first time in weeks, my skates feel like they belong to me again.
The ice is clean beneath the blades, sharp and honest. Every stride lands right. Every cut is smooth. My body isn’t fighting my brain for control.
I’m not thinking about the stands.
I’m not thinking about Harper Lane.
I’m not thinking about my father’s voice like a ghost in my ear.
I’m just skating.
The puck snaps off my stick in warm-up drills, clean passes, clean shots. My timing is right. My instincts feel awake instead of muffled.
Coach’s whistle cuts through the air.
“Again!”
We go again.
I drive harder, faster, pushing into the drill like I have something to prove—not to scouts, not to boosters, not to anyone else.
To myself.
A check comes in from Marco and I absorb it, spin out, recover without losing speed.
Cole skates by and gives me a look.
Not teasing.
Just… noticing.
Like he’s seeing me come back online.
By the middle of practice, even Coach seems to register it.
He blows the whistle, calls us in.
His eyes land on me.
“Shaw,” he says.
I brace automatically.
Then—
“Finally,” Coach mutters. “That’s what you look like when you’re actually focused. Took you long enough.”
A couple guys chuckle.
Heat flashes in my chest, half pride, half relief.
Coach isn’t done.
“You’ve been skating like your head’s been somewhere else,” he continues. “Today? You’re here.”
I nod once.
“Yes, Coach.”
He claps his hands. “Keep it that way.”
We break.
Practice continues, hard and fast, but I stay locked in.
No hesitation.
No tightness.
Just the game.
When the final whistle blows, we coast toward the boards, breathing hard, sweat cooling too quickly in the rink air.
Coach skates out, arms crossed.
“All right,” he calls. “Listen up.”
The room quiets.
“We are five days out from the charity event,” he says sharply. “Boosters will be there. Donors will be there. Alumni will be there.”
He looks around like he’s daring someone to be stupid.
“So I’m saying this once: no scandals. No drama. No nonsense.”
A couple guys shift uncomfortably.
Coach’s gaze sharpens.
“Do not give the university a reason to regret writing checks for this program. You understand me?”
“Yes, Coach,” the team answers.
“Good,” he snaps. “Locker room. Shower. Get out.”
He blows the whistle and dismisses us.
The guys peel off toward the tunnel, laughing, shoving each other, talking about food and naps and anything except pressure.
I’m about to follow when something makes me glance up.
The stands.
Not empty.
One figure sitting near the middle row, arms folded loosely, hair falling over one shoulder.
Harper.
My chest tightens, surprised.
She isn’t with a group. She isn’t talking to anyone.
Just… watching.
For a second, I freeze.
Then she stands.
Like she didn’t mean to get caught.
I don’t think.
I push off, skating toward the boards near the tunnel entrance. My blades carve shallow arcs as I slow at the sideline.
“Harper,” I call.
She hesitates, then makes her way down the steps, careful in heels that weren’t designed for rink stairs.
When she reaches the glass, she stops.
Close enough that I can see her expression clearly.
And something about it is… off.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Just tight around the edges.
“You okay?” I ask immediately.
Her lips part like she’s surprised by the question.
“Yeah,” she says quickly. “I’m fine.”
I study her.
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
She exhales softly, then forces a small smile. “I just wanted to see practice.”
“That’s new,” I say.
Her eyes flick away. “I was nearby.”
I lean closer against the boards. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she repeats. Too fast again.
I wait.
She clears her throat. “Did Daniel Meyers talk to you?”
My brows lift. “About what?”
“The photos,” she says. “From our… date.”
Oh.
“Yeah,” I answer. “He told me this morning.”
Her face shifts slightly.
“He seemed pleased,” I add. “Said it’ll bring buyers to the auction.”
“That’s good,” she says softly.
But she doesn’t look like it’s good.
I tilt my head. “Harper.”
She looks at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she insists.
I don’t buy it.
I’ve seen her command rooms full of people. I’ve seen her shut down frat boys twice her size with one look.
This version of her feels… uncertain.
“You’re acting different,” I say carefully.
Her shoulders rise in a small shrug. “I’m not.”
“You are,” I press. “Did he say something?”
Her eyes flicker.
Just once.
That’s all it takes.
“Harper,” I say again, quieter this time.
She swallows, then shakes her head.
“It’s fine,” she says. “Really.”
I push off the boards slightly, still keeping my voice low.
“You came here. You watched practice. You asked about Daniel. You’re clearly not just fine.”
Her mouth tightens.
For a moment, I think she might actually tell me.
Then she steps back.
“I should go,” she says.
“What?” I frown. “Why?”
She gives me a quick, too-bright smile.
“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” she says, “that our date was… pleasing. This time.”
The word is strange in her mouth.
Pleasing.
Like she’s quoting someone else.
Like she’s trying to make it sound lighter than it is.
My stomach twists.
“Harper—”
“I’m good,” she interrupts quickly. “Really. I just… wanted you to know it wasn’t a disaster.”
“It wasn’t,” I say, confused. “It was a good night.”
She nods once.
Too sharp.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Then she turns.
“Harper,” I call again.
She pauses but doesn’t look back.
“I’ll see you,” she says softly.
And then she walks away up the stairs, disappearing into the exit like she’s trying not to run.
I stay there, gripping the top of the boards harder than I realize.
Cole calls my name from the tunnel.
“Logan! You coming?”
I don’t answer right away.
I just watch the door Harper left through.
Something is up.
Something she isn’t saying.
And the worst part is I can feel it in my gut the same way I feel pressure before a hit.
Whatever it is—
It’s going to matter.
I push off slowly, skating toward the locker room, but my focus is already slipping again.
Because Harper Lane doesn’t come to the rink for no reason.
And she doesn’t look like that unless something is eating at her.
And this time…
I’m not going to let her disappear without asking why.