“Ah, yeah. I tried to, but it didn’t line up with our schedule, unfortunately.” One corner of his lips pulls up in a wry smirk before he adds, “You know the life of a hockey player. Time isn’t exactly our own during the season.”
His cavalier response stuns me for a second. I don’t know what I was expecting, walking into a conversation with him after all this time, but it certainly wasn’t this obvious amount of indifference. It’s a fucking knife to the gut.
Maybe I really was alone in these feelings.
The thought only drives the knife in deeper, slicing through my resolve, but I force a smile all the same.
“Speaking of… How is the AHL treating you? I saw you were drafted by the Blaze.”
He blinks, cocking his head. “So you’re keeping up with hockey these days?”
Only one player. And he was drafted in the first round, just like Louis said he’d be.
But I don’t say this either, of course. Instead, I just wave my hand and offer, “Well, it’s kinda all anyone in Chicago, and at Leighton, is talking about. It’d be hard news to miss.”
He nods slowly before taking a sip of his drink, only for his gaze to drop to the counter.
“Uh, yeah. Fair,” he concedes before clearing his throat. “But it’s good, you know. The team is great; we vibe pretty well. I’m just biding my time to see when they’ll call me up, if at all.”
“I’m sure they will. They’d be stupid not to.”
He nods again, a smile on his lips when he thanks me, but there’s a sadness in his gaze when it returns to mine—a flicker so brief, I almost miss it. It’s a wishful kind of longing, and it’s disarming to see, even for a moment.
Becausehe’sthe one who ended it, the one who broke up withmebefore disappearing into the ether.
But maybe it’s because he’s feeling how awkward this is too. I mean, it’s like we’re strangers attempting small talk, when in reality, I know him more intimately than anyone else. Not only his body but his fears and dreams and mind and…fuck.
And his heart.
It’s the part of him I know best of all. Maybe even better than I know my own.
“Well, you look good,” I murmur, and he offers me another tight smile.
“Thanks. So do you.”
God, this is painful.
All I want is to run my fingers through the stubble along his jaw as I kiss him, not sit here and stumble through…whatever this is. Or at least grab his hand and drag him away from the prying eyes I can feel on us, if only to find somewhere else for us to talk.
My lips part, ready to ask him just that, but he downs the rest of his drink in a single gulp and then sets the empty glass on the bar top.
“Well, I better hit the can before dinner starts. Wouldn’t want either of the grooms killing us for holding this show up.” His gaze holds mine for the briefest second, and he offers me another smile. “It was good to see you, Logan.”
Logan.
Never in my life have I hated hearing him say my name. It lacks the teasing, playful lilt of being Little Reed. It’s missing the reverence like when he calls me Lo. But I’m neither of those things to him anymore.
My name is just an agonizing reminder of that fact.
I watch as he walks away, ducking out of the restaurant entirely rather than heading to the bathroom near the entrance. Part of me wonders if the comment was just a lie to get out of the awkward small talk, and truthfully, I wouldn’t blame him if that were the case. It just sucks, knowing this is the point we’ve come to.
Movement out of my periphery has my gaze leaving Cam’s retreating form, only to find my brother sliding up beside me against the bar, staring at the restaurant entrance too.
“Hey,” I murmur, feeling the word catch in my throat a little. “Are you ready for this weekend?”
Oakley’s gaze flashes back to me, lingering on my face in that assessing way of his. It’s one of the many traits he acquired from Dad that I never received, and it’s made even more apparent by the words that leave his mouth next.
Words that have nothing to do with the question I just asked.
