“Every single one,” I say, because it’s true. “Even the away games in the snow.”
He nods, then lifts his coffee again like its armor. “Mine… didn’t really stick around that long.”
I go still, letting the information settle.
“She left when I was eight to chase her dreams, apparently having three kids and a husband wasn’t her dream,” Todd says, voice casual but careful. “I remember the sound of her heels more than her face.”
My chest tightens, but I don’t rush in with a reaction. I just stay where I am, close enough that he knows he’s not alone.
“Dad raised us after that,” he adds. “He’s great—loud, proud, all about hockey. Just… not exactly the guy I’d come out to, you know?”
I nod once, understanding more than he probably realizes. I remember his dad from our games in high school, shouting at the refs from the stands and his pep talks I overheard a few times. “Still think he’d go all-in on the ‘Skate Hard, Hit Hard, Be a Man’ pep talks?”
Todd huffs a laugh, but there’s no real joy in it. “Pretty much. That and his stupid jokes that are pretty homophobic.”
I take a sip of coffee, then say lightly, “Well, you’ve got options now. You’ve got me. And I don’t care if you skate hard or soft, as long as you keep ending up in my bed.”
He smiles at that—soft, grateful, still guarded. “That right?”
“Damn right,” I say. “And just so you know, I will absolutely show up to our games wearing a T-shirt with your baby picture on it if you ever piss me off.”
His laugh is real this time, full-bodied and bright, and I file that sound away like it’s something precious.
Because it is.
TWENTY-TWO
TODD
The past fewdays have felt…easy.
Not like everything’s fixed or simple—because it’s not. I’m still figuring things out, still keeping my head down around certain people, still avoiding mirrors when I think too hard. But Logan’s been this quiet, steady hum beneath all of it. Like background music to my week that makes everything sound better.
I don’t sleep over every night, but when I do, I wake up with his hand tangled in mine or his chest pressed to my back, warm and solid, and everything. We drink coffee in our boxers. Steal kisses all morning long. Share bites of cereal over the counter like some messed-up domestic sitcom that I’m one hundred percent addicted to.
It’s stupid how happy I’ve been.
Practice is brutal today—Coach makes us run line drills after our scrimmage like we pissed in his coffee—but I don’t even care. Logan’s grin when we worked together to block Blue’s shot gets me through it. Even if he teases me later for letting Daniel score, and I don’t bother denying it.
After the final whistle, we all gather near the benches, sticks propped against the boards, helmets off, steam rising from sweaty heads.
Coach claps his hands. “Tomorrow morning, we will leave for our away game. Ohio. It’s a big one. They’ve been up all season.”
Groans ripple through the team.
He doesn’t flinch. “Bus leaves at 6:45 a.m. sharp. I want you here by 6:30. That means gear ready, water bottles filled, and no, Starling, you can’t Uber there in your pajamas.”
Peter raises a hand. “What if I sleep in my gear?”
“Then you’ll smell like a locker room before we even get there. Don’t test me.”
There’s laughter, but Coach is still giving us that look—the one that says he’s serious. Be there or get yourself to Ohio. He doesn’t say it, but it’s clear as day.
“You miss the bus, get yourselves there, or you’ll miss the game,” he adds, already walking away. “And no more naked hula-hooping in the showers. We’re not in middle school.”
Blue barks out a laugh. “Okay, but I was winning.”
“You had a negative swing,” Peter fires back. “My grandma’s got more torque.”
