Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
That’s not how fashion works
Logan
Four games in six nights. My legs are cooked, and my shoulders ache every time I shift on the bench in the locker room. Trainers call it “building resilience.” I call it bullshit.
All it’s built is a permanent groove in my ass from plane seats. Now we’re back in Denver with practice winding down, and three whole days off before the next stretch
But it’s not the travel or ice stuck in my head right now, it’s Lulu. Her voice on the phone a few nights ago, so soft and hesitant, asking me if she could call herself my girlfriend. Like it wasn’t obvious, like I haven’t already fallen harder than I planned to.
I thought it went without saying, but that’s my mistake. Because yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Hell, she’s more than that. And I don’t know how to tell her that without tipping my whole hand—or Eli catching the cards out of the air and stabbing me with them.
Showers hiss in the background and sticks clatter into racks. Jake drops into the stall across from me, towel around his shoulders, and a grin on his face.
“Bachelor’s booked,” he announces. “Whole arcade’s ours. Beer, skee-ball, the works.”
Chase laughs, shaking his head. “You’re pathetic, Brooks. Guy’s got an NHL income at his disposal, and he’s choosing Pac-Man and bad pizza?”
Jake smirks. “Better than watching you eat pavement outside another bar. Place had to mop you up during Ryan’s Bachelor night.”
“That was one time,” Chase fires back. “And the sidewalk came at me first.”
Laughter ripples down the row, and even Reid huffs a quiet breath, tugging his hoodie over broad shoulders.
Jake shrugs. “Anyway, it is what it is. Charlie doesn’t want flashy, so neither do I.”
That part I already know. They’re getting married in February at the town hall, nothing extravagant. A quiet ceremony when the league breaks for the Olympics, then a party downtown. It’s exactly what Charlie wants, which is the only thing Jake cares about.
Chase grins. “Low-key wedding, low-key Bachelor party. Should’ve expected it.”
Eli snorts, yanking his shirt on. “Based on what Zoe told Tamara, it sounds a lot better than her first wedding. Didn’t Alex throw money around like he was trying to buy class?”
The air dips for a second. Alex—the manipulative asshole Charlie married before Jake—still slinks around the edges because of the kids. Barely calls, rarely visits. The only reason Jake hasn’t flattened him permanently is that Noah and Meadow share his DNA.
Jake doesn’t rise to the bait, but his mouth hardens. “Don’t even say his name.”
“Sorry,” Eli mutters. “That guy’s still on my shit list.”
“He’s on everyone’s shit list,” Reid adds.
Jake shakes his head, throwing gear into his duffel. “As long as she’s mine, I don’t give a damn. She could marry me in a parking lot, and I’d show up in a tux.”
“Jesus,” Chase groans, fake gagging. “Some of us are trying not to puke in our mouths.”
“Shut it, Walton.” Jake pelts him with a tape roll.
The room shifts again when Eli blows out a groan. “Speaking of flashy, Tamara’s been torturing me all week. This sequin theme for the bachelorette has had her sending me pictures of the hottest outfits. I’m not gonna survive it.”
Chase chuckles. “Sounds like a skills issue.”
“Shut up, I’m serious.” Eli scrubs a hand over his face. “My dick’s gonna fall off before we even get there.”
Laughter roars around the locker room, guys pelting him with tape rolls and chirps. Even Reid shakes his head, muttering something about stamina.
“Tam’s been helping Lulu find something, too.
Which is weird, ’cause Lulu’s usually first in line for sequins.
Remember that Harry Styles concert? Had to wear sunglasses around that jumpsuit she wore.
” He shakes his head. “Now she can’t find anything, and she’s all stressed out.
Stressed as hell over that dumb school play the PTA roped her into. ”
He pauses then and sharply points around the room. “And you bastards better come watch it, or I’ll ride your asses into the ground. You know how she gets. She’s a drama queen.”
A few of the boys laugh, and Reid mutters something that sounds like “runs in the family,” which earns him a towel to the head. Eli grins, and so do the guys, but I’m not laughing.
Drama queen, my ass.
I’ve seen the way Lulu chews her lip raw when people dismiss her. How her smile falters when someone underestimates her. She hides it well, sure, but sometimes the cracks show. And the thought of her sitting at home feeling like shit while Eli shrugs it off makes something in my chest burn.
I peel the tape off my stick a little too hard.
“She’s not a drama queen,” I mutter, too low for most of them to hear, but Eli’s close enough, and he glances over.
I keep my head down and continue. “She just cares. That play matters to her.”
He sobers a little, the grin slipping from his face as he blinks.
“Didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “You know how she gets when she’s in her head.”
I don’t look up.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I know.”
That knot I felt listening to Lulu this week pulls tighter. Her voice comes back to me, achy and flustered through the phone: “What if we break and we can’t even talk to anyone about it? It’d be like we never existed.”
That one line’s been eating me alive ever since. I don’t want to be some ghost she has to pretend isn’t real. I don’t want to pretend that I haven’t wanted to carve us into something permanent since the second I touched her.
Eli’s shrugging off Lulu’s stress, thinking it’s because of the school pressure, but I know better. And I can’t bear the thought that I’m part of the reason.
I haul my bag over my shoulder. The guys are making plans to hit The Rink Rat, and Reid’s already grumbling about babysitting them. Normally I’d be there, but tonight, I can’t.
“Rain check,” I mutter.
Jake chirps, Chase boos, Eli flips me off, Reid glances at me once, knowingly, then looks away.
I let it all bounce off me, because there’s only one place I wanna be right now, and she’s right across the street.
***
As soon as I pull into my driveway, I’m out of the truck and across the street, fishing Lulu’s spare key from my pocket. She gave it to me before the roadie, casual as hell, like it was nothing. It felt like everything. It still does.
The house is quiet except for a thump overhead, drawers slamming, her muffled voice. I take the stairs two at a time and stop at her doorway.
She’s standing in the middle of the chaos, hair frizzed from yanking her hands through it, sequins glittering in piles around her feet. She’s barefoot, cheeks flushed, muttering at a dress.
Fuck, I missed her.
She doesn’t see me right away, too busy berating a feathered dress.
“You’re a bird,” she mutters, exasperated. “You’re literally a bird.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can choke it back, and her head snaps up, eyes locking on mine.
And just like that, it hits. Ten days on the road, three states, a blur of flights and rinks and hotels— now her.
My girlfriend. The girl who wrecked me over the phone with a single line and still doesn’t know how much I missed her, while all I can think is that nothing touches this.
Her, wild and messy and so goddamn real.
The only thing tethering me back to earth.
Her lips part, breath catching. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. I drop my bag by the door and step in close. “Miss me?”
The smallest smile curves her mouth. “Mhmm.”
I can’t not touch her. My hand slides along her jaw, and she immediately leans into it.
“Hi,” I murmur.
Her fingers fist in the front of my hoodie, tugging me down, and I kiss her. Quick at first, then deeper, greedier, because ten days is too fucking long.
By the time we break apart, she looks flustered for an entirely different reason than she was ten minutes ago. She groans, dropping her forehead against my chest. “I have nothing to wear.”
I grin against her hair, tightening my arms around her, feeling the ache still alive under my ribs. “Yeah, I can see that. Totally barren in here. Just tumbleweeds and dust.”
Her head whips up, eyes wide as she prods an accusatory finger into my chest. “Don’t.” She steps back, arms flying wide as she gestures to her entire wardrobe strewn across her floor and bed.
“This is serious, Logan! Everything is wrong. This one’s too short, this one makes me look like a disco ball, and this one”—she grabs a bright red mini dress up off the bed—“screams Christmas ornament.”
I fold my arms, watching her spin herself into a frenzy. “So, what I’m hearing is, you have a closet full of clothes, but nothing to wear. Truly a phenomenon no one’s ever experienced before.”
She groans, collapsing onto the bed with a dramatic flop. “You don’t get it. You’re just a boy. Tamara looks like she was genetically engineered for sequins. And me? I’m going to show up looking like a kindergarten art project gone wrong.”
“Lu.” I step closer, brushing a hanger off the floor with my boot. “You could wear a paper bag and still be the hottest one there.”
She peeks up at me through her lashes, but the doubt doesn’t leave her face. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to stand next to Tamara tomorrow night while she’s in… whatever that silver thing was she ordered.”
“Solution’s simple,” I say, shrugging. “We go shopping.”
Her jaw drops as she leans up on her elbows. “Shopping? With you? Absolutely not. What if someone sees us? What if they tell Eli?”
I arch a brow. “What’s he gonna do, ground you?”
“Yes! Maybe! Also, he’ll kill me. And you.”
“Not if I kill him first,” I mutter, then hold out a hand, waggling my fingers. “Come on, Lu. Let’s go get you something that doesn’t look like a bird.”
She shakes her head furiously, blonde hair whipping. “No way. I’ll just—” She gestures hopelessly at the pile. “I’ll find something.”