Chapter 13 Logan
THIRTEEN
LOGAN
I keep my eyes on the puck. Mostly.
Todd’s out here flying like someone lit a fire under his skates, and I know damn well it’s not the usual drive for drills. He’s buzzing with something else. Or trying to skate it off.
Probably me.
And I should leave it alone. Really, I should. But the memory of him jacking off and then falling to his knees to suck me in the showers yesterday is enough to have me on edge. My eyes are locked on the curve of his back and the way his sweat-darkened collar clings to his neck.
It’s messed up, but I kind of love watching him try to act normal—like he didn’t fall apart at my feet, like I don’t know what he sounds like when he comes.
“Dude.” Daniel’s voice cuts in next to me from the crease. “You gonna keep staring at Shaw’s ass or are you gonna cover the right side like Coach asked?”
I snap my eyes forward, heart skipping. “Relax. I’ve got it.”
“You had it. Until he skated by and your soul left your body.”
I grunt, skating back to my side while Daniel glides toward his post, muttering, “You’re worse than Eli.”
“I’m not—” I start, but he lifts a hand before I can finish.
“Don’t. I’ve seen that look before. You stare at Shaw like he hung the fucking moon.”
I roll my shoulders, trying not to let that land. “We’re teammates.”
“Uh-huh.” Daniel’s tone is dry. “And I’m the starting center.”
“You play right wing.”
“My point exactly.”
I exhale slowly, jaw tight. “It’s not like that.”
He cuts me a look. “Logan, I was there when Max and Eli tried to pretend they were nothing, too. This is giving the same vibe—except worse, because at least Max and Eli had a chance at something, you clearly don’t, not with him.”
My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face still. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Daniel lifts a brow. “Don’t I? You’ve been half-hard and fully tense since warm-ups. You checked your phone three times during water breaks. And Shaw?” He jerks his chin toward where Todd’s skating drills like he’s got something to prove. “He hasn’t looked at you once.”
That one lands harder than I want to admit.
Because he’s right. Todd’s out here pretending I’m invisible.
Daniel drops his voice as we skate toward the boards. “And before you let your head write some happily-ever-after epilogue, remember—he’s not out. He’s not even close. Guys like that?” He shrugs. “They don’t pick messy. They pick safe. They pick quiet.”
“I thought you said he wasn’t gay.”
Daniel snorts. “Is that what I said?”
“Yeah, you said he doesn’t swing that way.”
“I also recall saying he was basically a monk.”
“And you think I’m messy,” I mutter.
“Nope.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a walking Pride float with a mouth and a hockey stick.”
“I know. And I know that he’s not into me like that.” Except when he falls to his fucking knees to finish me off. And that thought isn’t helping the chub in my pants.
“Do you?” Daniel asks, gaze a little softer now. “Because you’re looking at him like he already belongs to you.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just turns and slides back into his position as the next drill whistle blows.
But the words stick like ice in my chest. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe I am looking at Todd like he’s already mine.
Even if I know he’ll never let himself be.
The thought puts me in a bad mood, and I take it out on everyone during the scrimmage.
I’m faster. Rougher than usual.
When Peters cuts across my zone too slowly, I hip check him hard enough to send him sprawling. He laughs as he lands on his ass, and I don’t stop to help him up.
When Eli swats the puck away from the net with a cocky smirk, I chase it down like I’ve got something to prove and fire it so hard toward the cage that it pings off the post like a gunshot.
Coach yells something I half-hear, but I don’t stop. I’m buzzing. All edge. No chill. Every cell in my body feels like it’s vibrating with the need to do something—anything—other than think about Todd.
Because if I do, I’ll replay the way he looked at me when he came apart in my hands. The way his body arched into mine, hungry and open and fucking beautiful. I’ll remember the tiny little sounds he made when I told him to be a good boy. The way his whole chest stuttered when I called him baby.
Fuck, it’s been days since Friday night. And twenty-four hours since the showers. I didn’t message him again, even though I wanted to. I half hoped he would show up at my place last night.
Obviously that was a crazy wish, because that’s not him. Unless I order him to do it, he might like that, but I want him to show up all on his own. Hell, I know he’d like that.
Man, I’m so screwed. Daniel is right; I need to put some distance between any thoughts of him and my heart before I make this more than it is.
So now I’m skating like I’m trying to outrun the silence. Shoving harder, playing dirtier, ignoring every warning bell in my head screaming that this isn’t helping.
When Blue crosses into my space too slowly, I hit him. Shoulder first, no apology. He goes down with a grunt, and for a second, I wish he’d hit me back.
Hurt me. Drop his gloves and beat the shit out of me. Give me an excuse. Anything to distract from this ache I can’t seem to shake.
But he doesn’t. He just shoves himself off the ice and mutters something under his breath—something I don’t hear but feel.
Coach blows the whistle, fed up. “That’s it! You’re done for the day. Hit the showers. Come back tomorrow with your heads screwed on straight.”
Everyone skates off, dragging their sticks and leaving a trail of frustration behind them. The usual post-practice chatter is thin, brittle. No one’s in the mood.
I don’t wait around.
I make quick work of my gear, pulling off my skates before yanking off my pads and jersey like they’re suffocating me. The second I’m naked, I’m already moving toward the showers, ignoring the low hum of voices behind me.
Fast rinse. Hot water. Quickly washing off all the stink. No lingering. I scrub off the sweat and the tension, trying to leave it all on the tile. The tension clings anyway.
By the time I’m back at my cubby, the locker room’s still not full. I towel off, throw on my hoodie and jeans, shove everything else in my duffel. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out without looking back.
The cool air outside hits like a slap, but I welcome it. At least it cuts through the noise in my head for a second. I climb into my Jeep, throw the bag in the passenger seat, and just sit there for a minute.
Hands on the wheel. Eyes on the dash. Breathing like I just finished a sprint. Because I have no idea what the hell I’m doing anymore.
And the worst part? I’d do it all over again.
If he asked.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, debating whether to drive or just sit here like a loser a little longer. Instead, I unlock my phone and scroll past the texts I haven’t replied to.
And hit call on the one contact that always answers.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom says, her voice warm and a little winded like she’s been cleaning or doing yoga or chasing the dog around the backyard again. “How was practice?”
“Fine,” I lie.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, “Logan.”
“Mom,” I groan. “I said it was fine.”
“That tone tells me it was absolutely not fine. What happened? Did you get hurt?”
“No. Not like that.” I exhale, sinking back against the headrest and watching the way the clouds roll low over the rink roof.
“Okay,” she says gently. “Then talk to me. You don’t usually call this early unless something’s up. And I know that voice.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “It’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
I close my eyes. “I fell for someone.”
Silence again. Not surprised silence, just the kind where she’s letting me talk without pushing.
“He’s not… He’s not ready. For me. For any of it. He’s still figuring himself out, and I guess I thought—” I stop, grinding my teeth. “I don’t know what I thought. But I let it happen anyway. And now I feel like an idiot.”
“Oh, honey.” Her voice goes softer, and I just wish she were here so I could get the hug I know she’d give me. “You’re not an idiot. You’re human.”
“Feels worse than that,” I mutter.
“You cared about someone, and they didn’t—or couldn’t—give you what you needed back. That’s not your fault.”
“I should’ve known better.”
“Maybe. But we don’t always get a say in who we fall for.” She pauses, then adds, “Everything happens for a reason, Logan. If it’s meant to work out, it will.”
I let out a short laugh. “God, you and your sayings.”
“Hey, I’m contractually obligated as your mother to give unsolicited wisdom.”
I huff something like a laugh, the tension in my chest loosening just a little. “Yeah, well…it helps. Kind of.”
“Then I’ve done my job. But just so you know, I’m proud of you. For being brave enough to care. That matters, even if it hurts right now.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
“I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. I love you.”
“I love you too. Take care, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
We hang up, and I sit there for another long moment, phone resting face-down on my thigh. The ache’s still there. The confusion. The frustration.
But it feels a little less heavy now.