Chapter 24 Can I have a ride, Mr. Miller?
Chapter twenty-four
Can I have a ride, Mr. Miller?
Logan
The locker room is buzzing the way it always does before a home game—sticks smacking cement, tape ripping, music too loud because Chase thinks he’d make it as a DJ if he weren’t an NHL star.
Jake’s in the corner, re-taping his stick with the precision of a sniper. Chase is giving live commentary.
“And ladies and gentlemen, we’ve reached layer forty-seven. At this point, the stick weighs more than Reid’s pads.”
Jake doesn’t even look up. “Better than weighing as much as your head.”
That gets a laugh out of half the locker room. Chase grins and points his roll of tape at him like a mic. “Ooh, look at him. Feisty tonight, ladies and gents!”
The chirping rolls on harmlessly until Chase decides he’s a comedian again. “Speaking of feisty, Hutchy, you keeping Taylor Swift waiting? Hear Lulu’s class thinks you’re her boyfriend now.”
The room breaks. Guys laugh, and a couple of them hum a Taylor chorus off-key.
Reid slowly looks up, his stare locking on me, clearly thinking I’m the snitch. The last thing I need right now is Reid offside.
“I didn’t tell them shit!” I blurt, hands up like I’m about to be frisked. “Wasn’t me.”
“Relax,” Eli says as he strolls past, dropping his gloves on the bench. “It was me. Lulu mentioned it after Career Day, and I told the guys.” He shrugs. “We don’t keep secrets.”
My chest goes tight, my own secret jammed behind my teeth every time he looks at me. Reid’s head lifts just enough to catch my eye from across the room.
He ties off his pads, voice a blade. “Better that way. Secrets have a way of blowing up in your face.”
The words wedge under my ribs. He’s not wrong. Every time I’m with Lulu, I feel the edge of it, the risk, the pressure. One day, this secret’s gonna crack wide open, and the sick part is, I don’t know if I care enough to stop it.
The room quiets for a beat, until Chase pipes up again. “So what you’re saying is, if you did date Taylor Swift, you’d tell us?”
Reid’s look could kill a man at twenty paces, and the chirping fizzles into a few nervous snorts.
Ryan shakes his head. “Leave Hutchy alone. Guy’s set in his ways. God help the woman who actually catches his eye.”
A round of oooohs ripples through the room, a couple of guys smirking. Reid grabs his helmet, voice flat. “She’ll be a stronger person than any of you snowflakes.”
When we hit the tunnel, it swallows us in echo—skates clacking, music thrumming through the walls, the low roar of the crowd swelling with every step. My chest tightens the second the ice comes into view, and we skate onto the ice one by one for warm-ups.
I spot her almost immediately.
Front row behind the glass with Zoe, Charlie, Tamara, and Claire.
She’s wedged right in the middle of them all, a ridiculous foam finger clutched in her hand, laughing with Zoe as they try to make it do vulgar gestures.
She waves when she sees me, and they both start making the gestures toward me and shouting Pookie at the top of their lungs.
I shake my head, but the edge of my mouth lifts at how she’s grinning so wide and bright.
Eli’s right there too, winking at Tamara as he glides past in front of her, completely oblivious to how my eyes are locked solely on his sister.
The crowd is thunder, but all I hear is my pulse. And her laugh. And her moan.
My gut twists sharply. In hockey, nothing says mine like putting your jersey on someone’s back. It’s claiming without words. And fuck, I want that more than I’ve ever wanted a goal. I want her in my number, my name stretched across her shoulders for everyone to see.
But I can’t. Not without blowing everything sky-high.
And yet, the thought won’t leave me, won’t stop circling. Because this isn’t just about respect or superstition, not just about us swearing we wouldn’t fuck around with anyone else. It’s different. It’s heavier.
I don’t just want Lulu in my bed, I want her in my jersey. I want her in my life.
Once the puck drops, the roar of the crowd is a living thing. My skates bite the ice, legs burning as I push harder, faster. Lulu’s somewhere in that wall of noise, and it’s like every stride is for her.
We cycle through quick shifts—Chase showboating down the wing, Jake barking at him to quit hot-dogging, Reid stonewalling the net with saves that shouldn’t even be possible.
I come off the ice sucking wind, and Chase elbows me as I drop onto the bench beside him. “Skating like you’re trying to win prom queen, Miller.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, squirting water into my mouth.
Jake smirks. “Prom queen can’t even grow a beard.”
That cracks the bench. Helmets knock, gloves smack shoulders, the kind of easy laughter that keeps the blood pumping.
I grind my teeth, trying not to smile. Because the truth is, they’re not wrong—I am skating harder tonight. And it’s got nothing to do with them.
Next shift, the puck’s on my stick and I’m gone.
Cutting through the neutral zone, picking up speed until the wind burns my face.
A defenseman tries to pin me against the boards, but I drop my shoulder and slide past, feeling the surge of the crowd rise with me.
Another steps up, stick jabbing at me, but I toe-drag around him, the ice spitting beneath my blades.
For a second, it’s just me and the goalie.
I fake left, drag right, and snap it high. The puck smacks the back of the net with a clang, and the building detonates.
The horn blares. Chase is hammering his stick against the boards like a maniac, and Jake’s yelling something I can’t hear before the guys pile on me, celebrating the goal.
But I only look up once, past the glass.
The whole crew’s on their feet. Zoe and Charlie clapping, Tamara whistling through her fingers, Claire bouncing on her seat.
And right in the middle of them, Lulu’s losing her damn mind.
Foam finger in the air, ponytail flying, grin so wide it could light the rink.
And fuck if it doesn’t feel like I just won the Cup.
We close it out with a win and a shutout for Reid.
The final horn blares, and gloves go flying, sticks banging the ice.
The boys swarm the crease, mobbing him in a pile that barely makes him blink.
Stone-faced bastard just lets it happen, as if the whole arena didn’t just watch him bend physics in the crease.
By the time the locker room chaos dies down—showers, chirps, the media gauntlet—I’m striding toward the lot, bag slung over my shoulder, the buzz of the game still in my veins.
Most of the guys peel off toward the family lounge. Jake for Charlie and the kids, Ryan for Claire and Poppy, Eli for Tamara, and Chase for Zoe. I don’t head that way. No reason to. My car’s waiting, the night cool against the back of my neck as I step outside.
And then I see her.
Lulu, leaning against my car, shoulders hunched tight against the chill, grinning like she’s been caught red-handed.
“Can I have a ride, Mr. Miller?”
I nearly combust on the spot. My chest does something stupid, like it’s too full for the ribs holding it.
“Jesus, Lu.” I shift the gear bag and quickly look over my shoulder. “You trying to get me killed?”
Her smirk widens. “Relax. Eli thinks I’m riding with Zoe. Zoe thinks I’m riding with Eli.” She takes a step toward me, trailing her fingertip down my chest. “But I wanted you to give me a ride.”
I want to kiss her right here in the lot, floodlights be damned, but then I register where she is. “Tallulah. How long have you been out here alone?” My voice comes out harsher than I mean it. “Parking lot’s full of creeps.”
Her smirk falters, but only a little. “The creepiest one out here is you.”
My hand finds her jaw, fingers slipping into her hair, tilting her head until her eyes meet mine. Pretty sky blue shines back at me. “Not funny, Lu. Don’t do that again.”
“Okay,” she whispers, eyes not leaving mine as she leans up higher to my mouth. “Noted.”
I blow out a breath and step back, aware Eli could walk out at any moment. Stepping around her, I yank the passenger door open. “Get in.”
She blinks. “You always this bossy after a win?”
“Only when you’re standing around like bait,” I mutter. “Inside.”
Her smile creeps back as she slides in, tugging the beanie from her head. I shut the door gently behind her before heading around to the driver’s side.
I toss my bag in the back, then climb in, heart hammering like I just skated another shift.
The first few blocks are quiet, headlights slicing through the dark. One hand tightens on the wheel, the other on the console. “Been thinkin’…” My throat feels raw. “You’d look good in my jersey.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” My voice is low. “But Eli would lose his shit.”
Her laugh is soft, wistful. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”
I risk a glance at her, something twisting hard in my chest. “Still worth it.”
There’s silence for a beat, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Wonder if she realizes what I’m saying, if she feels the same way. Her hand drifts, brushing mine where it rests on the console, and I open my mouth, ready to say more, when my car phone rings through the dash.
I hit speaker without thinking.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Two shots on net in the first. Missed coverage on the backcheck in the second. Could’ve been cleaner.” His voice is clipped, surgical. No hello, no congrats, just numbers carved into me.
“Yeah,” I say, jaw tight as Lulu’s wide eyes stare at me. “We won.”
“Because of your goalie. Keep your shifts shorter next time. You’re gassing out.”
There’s no goodbye before the line goes dead, and the silence after is brutal. Even the engine hum feels too loud.
Lulu’s looking down at her hands fisted in her lap. “Logan…”
I snort, forcing out a laugh that tastes of metal. “Don’t say my name like that. It’s normal. Been like that as long as I can remember.”
“But… after every game?”
“Yeah. He watches every one, then calls to tell me how I fucked up. Prefers to watch from home so he can replay all my failures.”
Her brows knit tight, eyes shining. Then her hand slides over, threading her fingers through mine resting on the console. She lifts them to her mouth and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles, holding them there as though she’s trying to stitch something back together.
It hits somewhere I don’t let anyone touch. For a second, I want to close my eyes and let the warmth sink in.
Instead, I clear my throat, a sharp smirk in place to cover the hollow in my chest. “Seriously, Lu. At least the man’s consistent. I’ve got Dusty for unconditional love.”
She doesn’t laugh, just watches me, eyes too soft, too much. It makes my grip tighten on the wheel until my knuckles ache.
Finally, she places our still threaded hands back on the console, but keeps hers there, as though she knows I’ll never ask for it out loud.
“You played amazing tonight, Logan,” she whispers. “My voice went hoarse chanting your name. That goal was incredible.”
The words sink in like balm on a burn, and it hurts how much I need them. I stare straight ahead, throat thick, pretending I don’t. Pretending I don’t want to keep her hand right there forever.
She exhales softly. “Kills me even more now, you know.”
I glance over, frowning. “What does?”
“That I can’t wear your jersey.” Her voice is quiet, almost shy, but her thumb keeps stroking over my knuckles. “I want you to have someone in the stands with your name on their back. Someone who’s not counting failures, but celebrating every incredible thing you do out there.”
She looks down, teeth catching her lip, and my chest twists so hard I have to tighten my grip on the wheel.
I want to tell her I don’t give a shit, that I’d put my name on her back tomorrow if she let me, but Eli’s face flashes in my head like a warning siren.
So instead, I roughly squeeze her hand back, letting the silence hold everything I can’t say.
When we turn onto Birch, I pull into my driveway and kill the engine. Before she can reach for the handle, I’m out and opening her door. She rolls her eyes, but I offer my hand anyway.
“Logan—”
“Not letting you cross alone at night, Lu.”
She sighs, but her fingers slip into mine anyway. We stroll across the street and up her path, the night quiet except for the crunch of gravel. The porch light halos her hair when she turns back to me, jacket pulled tight, cheeks pink from the air.
It hits me all over again, how much I want this. Not just sneaking her into my bed. This. Her.
And I can’t help it, I lean in and kiss her.
It starts soft, just the brush of my mouth over hers, but she sighs against me, and it unravels something I can’t leash. Her mouth is soft, and I lose myself in it, pressing her gently against the door as she clutches the lapels of my game day suit.
“I should go,” I murmur against her lips.
She shakes her head, fingers curling tighter. “I don’t want you to.”
That undoes me. I crush my mouth back to hers, tongue sliding, holding her face because I can’t get close enough.
When I finally drag back an inch, I rest my forehead on hers. “We can’t risk it, Lu. Not after nearly getting caught the other afternoon.”
“I know.” Her voice is small, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “I just hate it.”
“Me too.” I kiss her again, then pull back just enough to see her eyes wide and luminous, her pink lips shiny under the light. It’s nearly enough to make me change my mind.
But if Eli caught me slipping out of her house in the morning, it’d be a bloodbath.
My chest twists so hard it hurts. I cup her cheek, thumb sweeping across her skin. “You kill me, Tallulah Parnell. Every damn day, you kill me.”
Her breath shudders out, eyes shining, and I press one last fierce kiss to her mouth before stepping back.
“Go inside and lock up, baby. I wanna see you’re safe.”
Her lips curve, shaky but sure. “Judging by my pulse, safe’s not really what I feel around you, Miller.” Her hand lingers against my chest, pressing over my heart. “But I like it better this way.”
She unlocks the door, steps inside, and gives me a small wave before clicking the lock. Only then do I turn toward my place, my body screaming at me as though I’m leaving something vital behind.
“Kissing on the porch, huh?”
I swivel so fast I nearly fall. Betty’s voice booms through the quiet as she stands on her porch, robe flapping, mug in hand. God only knows what’s in it.
“Finally! Took you long enough.” She waves her mug. “Next time, use more tongue, Hockey Boy. I’m not paying for cable.”
From behind Lulu’s door comes muffled laughter, bright and uncontainable.
I groan, flip Betty off half-heartedly, and hurry across the street. Her cackle follows me home, but so does Lulu’s laughter, and I’d take both every damn night if it meant ending the day with that sound.