His gaze sharpens, not harsh, but focused.
“The truth,” he says, “is that I already talked to Chicago and let them know my answer.”
My stomach drops so fast it’s like the floor disappears.
The world narrows. The weight room sound fades. All I can hear is my blood in my ears.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“Sloane,” he says low. “Baby, listen to me.”
My body shakes once, a tremor I can’t control.
“They wanted me this fall,” he says. “They offered for me to come out to camp, even though I’m not fully healed or even ready to play.”
It hits like a punch. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Tears blur my vision.
And then he says, calm as a heartbeat?—
“And I told them no.”
I blink.What?
My brain short-circuits.
“You—what?” I choke out.
“I told them not this fall,” he says. “I told themmaybenext fall.”
The air doesn’t go back into my lungs.
My voice comes out thin, barely there. “Why?”
Logan doesn’t hesitate.
“Becauseyouare more important to me than football.”
The sentence is simple.
No poetry. No dramatics. And it destroys me anyway.
My chest caves.
I laugh once, broken. “You can’t do that.”
He takes a step closer, eyes steady.
“I already did. Look, I’m not promising forever,” he says carefully, and my heart twists at the honesty. “I’m promising right now. I’m promising I’m not walking out on you while you’re still bleeding.”
My throat burns.
He watches me like he can see the fear behind my anger.
“And I’m not walking into a camp still rebuilding my knee like I’m invincible,” he adds. “I’m not doing that to myself. And I’m not doing it to you.”
My eyes sting harder. My anger wobbles.
