I was expecting another joke, but she stared ahead, fingers tapping slowly against her thigh. “It’s weird. For years, you’ve been my emergency contact, the person who knows when I’m lying.” She gave a short laugh that didn’t sound like her. “Baltimore feels so far away.”
“I get it. But it’s only for a time.” I reached across the console, and we sat there, hugging. “I’ll miss you too.”
She let go first, clearing her throat. “Feeling childish right now.”
“It’s okay. But you got this. Baltimore is only one flight away.” I patted her arm. “Now let’s go find that fancy, hype bar.”
We found a neon-drenched sports bar pulsing with energy. Beer, fries, and noise hit us as we stepped inside—the clink of glasses, the roar of overlapping games, a pulse that made me exhale.
“Whoa,” I murmured. “This is what I needed.”
We squeezed toward a side corner that had just cleared out. A football fan group had taken over the back area, shouting, throwing a ball in between them and waving small flags.
“Nice. Now we can see the screens,” Sam said, sliding into a seat.
I scanned the wall of screens—no hockey. Figures. A couple of guys in matching jackets sat at the bar, already razzing each other over scores. Another guy with hair sticking out from under a low-brimmed cap, broad shoulders, and a relaxed stance looked familiar from behind as he checked his phone.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Sam, slipping through the crowd toward the bar.
“Hey,” I called to one of the bartenders, “any chance we can get that screen switched to the Tahoe West game?” I pointed to the one facing our seats.
“Absolutely,” she said, already reaching for the remote. “You want to order something while you’re here?”
“In a minute. Thanks.”
As I turned back, the broad-shouldered guy at the bar was already looking at me.
“I thought that was you.” I stopped short as Logan faced me. “Watching hockey, huh?” he asked, eyes on the screens.
“Hi. Yes. You, too, apparently.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Home’s boring as hell.”
I smiled. “Not a sit-on-the-couch type, even with a bruised shoulder and ego?”
“You got that right.”
“How’s the shoulder by the way?”
“Eh, getting there. Kinda sucks being sat out. ‘Precautionary’, they said.” His voice was flat, probably tasted bitter too.
“Head up, soldier. The season’s long.”
He chuckled. “You’re not wearing your assistant badge. I feel misled.”
That made me laugh. “Hey, I couldn’t miss the heart-pounder about to start. I came to watch with my sister.” I nodded toward Sam.
His gaze followed mine. “Mind if I join you two?”
“Not at all.” We rejoined Sam. “This is Logan, one of the guys,” I told her.
She gave a polite wave. He slid into the seat beside her, me on his other side.
“The game’s on in five. First round’s on me,” he said, flagging a server.
This was a side of Logan you didn’t see rinkside: charming, relaxed. Working with him in player development, I knew there was more to him than trash talk, highlight reels, and the whirl of energy he brought to the ice.
He ordered beer and a fancy-looking share plate. I got a cocktail, and Sam grabbed a nonalcoholic brew.
