“Obviously,” he says, winking.
A shiver goes straight down my spine. I pretend it’s just the cold rink air.
Peter skates by, catching the wink and groaning. “Unbelievable. You two make up, and now I have to deal with you making eyes at each other the whole practice.”
Blue flips us off lazily as he glides past. “Get a room.”
“Jealous?”Logan chirps.
“Disgusted,” Blue corrects. “Deeply. Passionately.”
Eli’s laugh echoes from the crease—bright and genuine, because he’s constitutionally incapable of being anything but sunshine. “Don’t worry, Blue. You’re still the prettiest one out here.”
Blue blows him a kiss. “Don’t let Max hear you say that.”
“I said out here,” Eli laughs. “My man knows how sexy he is.”
Coach whistles us into line rushes, then transition drills. And God—everything clicks so easily I could almost forget how messy things were before.
Logan anticipates every move. I feel him over my shoulder without needing to look. Our timing is back, better than ever.
Daniel fires a pass too hard, and Logan cushions it instantly, sending it to me with a subtle tap. I one-time it into the net so loud it rings off the boards.
“Okay,shit,” Peter says, skating up beside us. “Did you two fuse into one player overnight? ‘Cause this is borderline terrifying.”
Logan bumps my shoulder. “We’re unstoppable.”
“Cocky,” I mutter.
“Accurate,” he corrects, grinning.
Coach even cracks a smile. A real one.
And for a bit—it’s just hockey. The ice, my team, and Logan’s presence is like a quiet gravitational pull beside me the whole time.
We rotate into another rush. I hit Logan with a pass; he spins off Blue, cuts inside, and buries it glove side.
Eli throws his hands up dramatically. “This is not making me look good.”
“I love you, too, Starling!” Logan yells back.
Eli beams. “Thank you!”
Everything feels good.
And then as I skate back to center ice, something in my periphery freezes me mid-glide. A figure standing behind the glass. Hands in his jacket pockets. Shoulders stiff, posture unsure. My stomach drops straight to the ice.
Dad.
He’s by the boards near the bleachers, expression drawn tight, eyes fixed not on the team…but onme.
My breath catches hard in my chest.
Logan notices immediately and skates closer, blades whispering against the ice. “Hey,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “You good?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
