“Saving it,” I mutter.
Chase tilts his head. “For who?”
I shrug. “Dunno yet.”
There’s another moment of silence, and then Logan suddenly grins and reaches for a marker from the shelf in his stall.
“What are you doing?” Eli asks flatly, already not liking the smirk on Logan’s face.
“Doing what must be done,” Logan declares, and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his blue hockey pants.
He tugs the front down just enough to expose the inside lining, bending slightly as he starts scrawling something along the inner band. I see a glint in Logan’s eye, the sudden inspiration that usually ends in chaos—or brilliance. Sometimes it’s both.
Eli frowns. “If you’re writing my sister’s name somewhere inappropriate, I swear toGod—”
But he stops when Logan straightens and tugs the waistband forward, just enough for us to see.
Z. C.
“Zoe Carlson!” Logan announces proudly. “To keep Walton really locked in on the ice.”
Chase chokes on his water beside me. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”
Jake snorts, and Viktor mutters something in Swedish, while Eli buries his face in his towel.
“I’m going to fucking murder you, Miller!”
Chase lunges at Logan, who’s in hysterics, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to hold him back.
“It’s for morale!” Logan laughs.
And the thing is, it actually kind ofis. Chase has always played better when he’s pissed off. Doesn’t matter how good he’s feeling going into the game, he plays tighter when he’s fired up—chirp shit or piss him off, and he locks down the blue line like a goddamn fortress. With the backup goalie still in net, we need all the defensive heat we can get.
So yeah. Twisted as it sounds, Logan might be onto something.
“Morale!?” Chase barks, straining against my grip. “By writing my girlfriend’s initials inside your damn pants?”
Logan beams. “Zoe Carlson. For optimal defensive performance.”
“You’re fucking dead.”
“If we win, tell her I’ll scrub it off. But if we lose… it’s staying.”
“You’ll be telling her from theground,” Chase growls, but he’s holding it together. Just.
“You’re welcome for the boost,” Logan calls as he flicks the waistband once more before tugging it back into place. “Just trying to keep our top D-man properly motivated.”
“You’re fucking unhinged,” Eli mutters, grabbing tape from the bench. “And I say that as someone related to yourowngirlfriend.”
Logan throws an arm around him. “Don’t worry, Big Brother. Her name’s written onmy heart.”
Eli sharply shrugs him off, and Logan chuckles.
I let go of a muttering Chase and shake my head, dropping back down onto the bench to let the last of the locker room noise and Coach Benson’s strategy wash over me before we head back down the tunnel.
And for all the chaos and sheer unhinged energy of this team, I’m so happy to be back amongst these idiots.
We win the game, the boys playing out of their goddamn minds. And Chase—possibly motivated by pure homicidal rage—shut down the blue line like his life depended on it. I’m not saying Logan’s unholy waistband stunt deserves a medal, but it’s pretty fucking close.
