Tamiko can be the one to tell me if her social media strategy worked because I won’t be checking.
“Here you are,” the team rep says, gesturing to a spot directly behind the bench.
I slide into my seat and take off my jacket. The thick glass separates me from the team, but it’s still the closest I’ve been to the action. During the Bellerive games, I’m always in the box with my dad, the royals, and any other members of the Advisory Council who decide to cheer on the team.
The game is already in the third period, and when we agreed on this plan, we knew I’d be cutting it close to make today’s game. It’s why I took my family’s jet. Bellerive is tied 2-2, and I scan the ice.
There he is.
Locking in on him causes all my tension to melt away. Maybe the fans’ reaction matters from a financial standpoint for Logan and the team, but their opinions can’t change real feelings and connection. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, but he’s what I need right now.
At shift change, Logan sails toward the door, and as he steps in, he glances up. Our gazes connect, and Radek, who’s behind him, bumps into him. A pleased but quizzical half smile tilts Logan’s lips as he takes his seat on the bench. Whatever Logan says to Radek has Radek glancing over his shoulder and giving me a little wave before conferring with Logan again.
The media savvy part of me knows television cameras might have already found me from that one little reaction. My mothertrained me to be aware of appearances, what the expectations of any situation were. When I was a politician’s girlfriend, I wastoldwhat was expected of me. But with Logan—the star player’s girlfriend—is a depth I don’t know how to measure. It doesn’t feel like I truly need to make anyone happy, but that instinct is still there. The desire to do therightthing—whatever that might be.
I didn’t used to see therightresponse as also the one that made the most people happy, but somehow over the years, my perception became clouded with this desire toplease, even at my own expense.
Logan and his line change on the fly, back out on the ice. The puck whizzes around the rink in quick passes that I almost wish Icouldsee from above. There’s real efficiency and speed on Logan’s line, and it’s obvious whenever they’re on the ice.
Logan’s told me that the team’s biggest problem is that the talent doesn’t go deep enough. One player can’t carry a whole team. They can dominate a single game by scoring goals or assists—make league top scorer lists—but to win the top prize at the WHL level, he says the Bullets need more depth.
Radek passes to Auston who finds Logan sailing down the ice, and he passes him the puck, somehow skipping it over the defenseman’s stick in what looks like luck, but knowing Auston, is probably skill. Either way, Logan’s stride doesn’t break, and he’s one-on-one with the lone defenseman who he dekes out before flipping the puck into the top corner over the goalie’s shoulder. It’s so quick and beautiful, but a move I also know from all the games I’ve watched, tough to pull off. I’m already on my feet when the buzzer sounds, and the crowd roars. The thrilled noise surprises me, and I take in all the fans cheering, the number of Bullets’ jerseys. Maybe Logan’s recently televised performances in Bellerive haven’t gone unnoticed. The goalhis line scored is a regular occurrence there—just phenomenal hockey.
When the team’s done celebrating on the ice, Logan skates to the bench, and he points at me when he gets close. Then instead of sitting down, he leans over and puts his gloved hand on the glass that separates us, and I put my hand against his.
“That was for you.” He grins. “I’m not fucking losing when you’re here.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, and I’m sure the grin that lingers on my face is ridiculously wide.
“Move over, lover boy,” Radek says. “Rest of us need to get in.”
Logan sits down and slides along the bench, Radek beside him, and Auston on the other side. And then Logan’s focus seems to be right back on the game again, on his feet every time there’s a close call for an equalizing goal.
When the final buzzer sounds, the two teams meet in the middle of the ice to shake hands, then instead of skating to the door that would take Logan to the dressing room, he crosses the ice. Beside the aisle I came down is a door to the ice that I never noticed. Logan knocks on it while dropping his gloves and helmet on the ice. The guy guarding it gives a start of surprise, but he unlocks it and swings it open.
Still in his skates, Logan goes up the three concrete stairs to my seat, in the middle of the departing crowd, who have all stopped moving to watch him. I stand to meet him, and he draws me into the tightest hug.
“I’m not even going to ask why,” he murmurs against my ear. “I’m just fucking grateful you’re here.”
Then he draws back, searches my face for a beat, but I’m not going to tell him no. He slides a hand into my hair, and his other stays on the small of my back, and he kisses me like he hasn’t seen me in weeks instead of having crawled out of my bed this morning to make the plane.
It’s a kiss that warms my chest and then sends heat radiating down to my core. Like always, I could kiss him forever. It’s only once people in the crowd start whistling, hollering, and clapping that I remember where we are. Then the heat goes straight to my face.
Oh my god. There’s public, and then there’s this. We’ve either made things better or so much worse. No middle ground with a graphic public make-out.
I press my forehead to his chest, and he runs a hand along my back, clearly blocking out the noise around us.
“You’ve got someone to get you to the dressing rooms?” His lips are close to my ear to avoid shouting. “You’re staying with me tonight?”
I nod, and I glance up. Without skates, he’s tall. With them, he’s like a freaking giant.
He lifts up one side of his hockey pants, and he tugs a puck out, holding it up to show me. “Got you this.”
“A puck?”
“The winning puck. The one I scored with. A marker of your first away game. Just in case you don’t make it to another one.”
I don’t tell him that Tamiko asked me to go to all of them during this run. There’s no doubt he’ll have questions, and answering any of these in the middle of the crowd that is still surrounding us won’t do Logan any good.
