All I see is Logan. Logan grinning over the rim of his beer pong cup. Logan at the party like he belonged in my space. Logan kissing that waitress—and hesitating, like he knew I was watching.
I groan into my hands and flop backward. My ceiling looks exactly the same as it did this morning, but it feels smaller now, heavier, as though the room is stuffed with all the things I’m not saying.
I grab my phone out of habit, scrolling aimlessly through social media until a new notification pops up in the team groupchat:
Daniel: Brooks and I are undefeated. Who’s getting our next round?
There’s a blurry pic attached—Logan with his arm around Daniel’s shoulder, both of them laughing, like the world bends for their fun.
I should close the app. Should toss my phone across the room and call it a night.
Instead, my thumb hovers over Logan’s face, and my stomach flips like I’m falling.
He’s everywhere. In the rink, in my head, in the corner of every photo. And no matter how fast I skate or how far I run, I can’t shake him.
The rink airis sharp enough to sting my lungs, but it’s better than the stuffy party house from last night. Out here, everything’s supposed to be simple—puck, ice, net.
Except Logan glides up beside me like he’s part of the ice itself, a shadow I can’t shake. “Ready to work?” he says, voice easy, like he hasn’t been in my head for twenty-four hours straight.
I grip my stick tighter. “Let’s just get it done.”
He grins, spinning his stick in one hand before dropping into position. And just like that, he’s in motion—smooth, controlled, dangerous in the way a predator is dangerous. I track his movements because I have to, but it doesn’t feel like strategy. It feels like my pulse is wired to him, a low thrum that picks up whenever he’s close.
Coach calls the drill, and we explode into motion. My skates bite into the ice, the puck sliding between us withsharp clacks. Logan reads me like he’s known me forever, sliding into perfect position without me needing to call for him. When he stops hard to pivot, snow sprays against my shins, cold and stinging, and he laughs under his breath.
I try to focus on the rhythm of passing, on my breathing, but he’s impossible to ignore. The flex of his legs as he drives forward. The sharp turn of his shoulders when he cuts across the rink. He plays like he’s performing for someone, like every movement is precise.
Coach’s whistle cuts through the air, and we reset for the next run. Logan skates backward, eyes on mine, mouth curved like he knows I’m wound up tighter than my stick tape.
“Nationals,” he says casually, tapping the tip of his stick to the ice. “Think we’re gonna make everybody regret ever lining up against us?”
I grunt something that could be agreement. My chest feels too tight to form real words.
He winks, coasting past to take his place in the next line, leaving me chasing that flicker of heat down my spine I can’t get rid of.
The last whistle blows, and the team trickles off the ice one by one. Logan disappears with Daniel and Eli, joking about post-practice snacks. I stay.
I need the cold, the quiet, the empty rink to settle me down.
I skate drill after drill until my thighs burn and my breath clouds the glass. Finally, Coach steps out of the office with a clipboard in hand.
“Shaw,” he calls, squinting at me. “You live here now?”
I straighten, trying to look casual, even though my lungs are still heaving. “Just…running a few more reps.”
He huffs, shaking his head, but I swear I catch the edge of a smile. “You’ve got a motor, kid, don’t wear it out. I’ve got a staff meeting—lock up when you’re done.”
“Yes, Coach.”
The door thuds behind him, and the rink is mine. I skate one last lazy lap, letting the scrape of my blades echo in the hollow space, before heading to the locker room.
The place is blissfully quiet. No shouting, no snapping towels, no chatter about the party. Just the steady drip of the showers in the distance and the faint smell of rubber, sweat, and soap.
I peel off my pads, muscles protesting, and finally step under the spray. Hot water needles across my shoulders, and I let my head fall forward, trying to wash off the tension that’s been riding me since last night.
I don’t hear him right away.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Logan says, voice easy, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to stroll in after everyone’s gone.
