“I mean it,” he says, voice breaking. “I want to meet him the way I should have from the start.”
For a long moment, I can’t say anything. The lump in my throat is too thick, my chest too tight.
Finally, I manage, “He’d want that. He really would.”
Dad’s shoulders ease, just a little. “Good,” he whispers. “Whenever you’re ready…set it up.” He stands up and steps back, letting out a breath that sounds like relief and regret tangled together. “And Todd?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell him…thank you. For being there when I wasn’t.”
My chest caves in.
“I will,” I whisper.
Dad nods—slow, tentative, hurting—and then starts toward the parking lot, moving stiffly like he’s afraid one wrong step will undo everything he just said.
I watch him go, wiping my face again with a shaking hand.
Dad’s truck disappears around the corner, and the cold settles heavier than before. I’m still standing there, breath fogging the air, trying to steady myself, when the rink doors slam open behind me.
I turn.
Logan comes barreling out of the building like someone lit a fire under him. He’s still got his gear bag slung over one shoulder, hair sticking up in every possible direction like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His chest rises and falls quickly as I watch him. But he doesn’t close the distance between us.
He just… stops.
A few feet away.
Like he wants nothing more than to grab me and pull me close, but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed. His hands hover near his sides before he stuffs them into his jacket pockets, eyes searching my face as if he’s reading a language he’s terrified he might get wrong. Or he might see something in my eyes he doesn’t want to see.
“Todd,” he says, voice low and breathless. “Are you…okay?”
“I—” My throat closes around the word. I can’t speak yet. Not without my voice breaking in half.
Logan takes one tiny step forward then stops again, like he’s still waiting for a sign that we are still us.
Screw signs. I move first.
I close the distance between us and press my forehead to his chest, letting my weight meet his. His breath shudders hard as soon as I touch him.
That’s all it takes.
His hands fly out of his pockets and wrap around me, one arm sliding tight around my waist, the other cradling the back of my head like he’s terrified someone might try to pull me out of his arms.
I exhale against his jacket, the smell of cold air and laundry soap grounding me. “I’m okay,” I manage, though it comes out a little broken.
He lowers his head until his cheek rests against the top of my hair. “You sure?” His voice breaks on the second word.
I nod against him, fingers curling into his jacket. “Yeah.”
He holds me tighter as if he’s been waiting to breathe and finally can.
“What happened?” he whispers.
I swallow. Hard. “He apologized.”
Logan’s whole body goes still around me.
