Chapter 15 Logan
FIFTEEN
LOGAN
He stands there for a second. As if he might say something, and maybe he’ll stay. But then—he turns.
Leaves. Down the stairs. Each step echoing back to me. One flight. Two.
Gone.
Just like I told him to be.
I stand frozen, every muscle in my body screaming with the urge to go after him. Drag him back. Say something that doesn’t sound like a breakup line in a drama I swore I’d never be dumb enough to live out.
Instead, I slam my fist into the concrete wall. It hurts like hell. Skin splits open. My knuckles throb.
Good.
I bite down on the pain and breathe through my nose, letting it anchor me. Even though nothing about me feels solid anymore. I’m such a fucking idiot. I told him to go—and he actually listened.
I should be relieved. Should be grateful he didn’t press, didn’t make me explain why I’m scared out of my damn mind to want someone like him.
But all I feel is that hollow punch in my chest, like I just lost something I never really had.
I exhale hard, shaking out my sore hand, then shove out of the stairwell and head down the hall to my apartment.
When I open the door, Sara’s still on the couch, curled up in her usual spot with a bowl of popcorn and some cooking show playing, which she mutes the second she sees me.
Her eyes flick from my face to my shirtless chest, then to my bleeding knuckles. “Shit. What happened to you?”
I wave it off, heading for the kitchen. “Wall was in my way.”
She raises a brow but doesn’t press yet. Just watches me grab a paper towel, wet it down, and wrap my hand. “So… not a great time for charger delivery, huh?”
I almost smile, despite everything. “You’ve got impeccable timing, as always.”
She tilts her head. “That the guy?”
I don’t answer, and that’s enough of one.
She sighs and tosses a few kernels into her mouth. “If you wanna talk about it—”
“I don’t,” I say quietly, grabbing a water bottle and leaning against the counter like my body might hold itself together if I stay still long enough.
She nods like she gets it, like she’s been here before. “Alright. Want me to head out?”
“No,” I say immediately, then softer, “No. You’re here. Let’s catch up. I could use something…normal.”
Sara nods, switching the TV back to full volume like nothing just cracked wide open in my chest.
But she doesn’t ask anything else. And I don’t offer. Because I still don’t know what to say about Todd.
Except maybe that I wanted him to stay.
And he didn’t.
We’re up by one, third period, crowd on their feet.
And I should be focused on the puck.
Not on Shaw.
Not on the tight line of his shoulders or the way his jaw clenches when he misses a pass. Not on the fact that we haven’t said a word to each other since Friday night. Since the stairwell. Since I told him to go—and he did.
As though it didn’t mean anything.
And I didn’t mean anything.
I shouldn’t be pissed. I was the one who slammed the door shut. But now I’m the one choking on the silence I asked for.
And Todd’s skating like he wants to punish something. Or someone.
When one of their forwards cuts across the blue line, Todd sees red and steps up with a hit that comes way too late. The puck’s long gone, and the guy crashes into the boards with a grunt, drawing an immediate whistle.
Interference.
The ref raises his arm, and Todd doesn’t even argue. Just turns and heads for the box.
I shift on my skates.
I should stay calm. Should be the level head.
But I’m not feeling level-headed.
I’m feeling like the last forty-eight hours have been stuck in a loop of everything I can’t have.
So when their winger chirps something about our Captain as he glides past, I snap.
I drop my stick, grab his jersey, and give him a shove. It’s not enough for a fight—but enough to get the ref’s attention.
Two minutes, roughing.
I skate straight to the box, heart pounding, and pull the door open.
Todd doesn’t even glance at me.
He’s sitting in the corner, helmet still on, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s barricading himself from the entire damn world—including me.
I drop onto the bench beside him, every inch of my body buzzing. Not from the hit. Not from the penalty.
From him.
The silence between us stretches like a tripwire.
Finally, I can’t take it. “Nice hit,” I mutter.
He snorts. “Least I actually hit someone with a puck.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“That wasn’t even about the game,” he says, still not looking at me. “That was about me.”
“You think I got a penalty just to sit here with you?” I ask, heat rising. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Right. You just happened to lose your temper the second I did.”
My jaw tightens.
He finally turns, eyes blazing. “You gonna tell me that wasn’t about us?”
I hold his gaze, breathing hard.
“No,” I say. “I’m not.”
Todd’s chest rises, like he’s waiting for the rest. But I don’t have the words.
Not the ones that would make this better. Or the ones that don’t feel like pulling my own ribs apart.
He lets out a bitter laugh and looks away. “Don’t worry. Message received. Friday night was a mistake. Forget everything I said.”
That hits lower than anything else he’s said.
“What if I don’t want to?” I snap.
“You don’t have a choice, Brooks,” he bites back. “You told me to go.”
“And you did,” I fire, voice low. “Guess that answers that.”
He blinks, hard, like he wasn’t expecting me to throw it back.
But it’s the truth.
He left. And I’m still pissed about it, even if I was the one who told him to go.
The buzzer sounds. Our time’s up. The door swings open. We step back onto the ice side by side.
But the real game’s still stuck in the box.
We win. Not that it matters to me at the moment. If I could shake this stupid anger, I would. God, he’s got me so twisted up inside, and this is not why I came to this school. I came to have a shot at the NHL, not to get in my head about a guy. I need to focus on that. Get my head on straight.
So when the guys mention heading to the club to celebrate, I say yes. I pull on the tightest black shirt I own, spritz cologne at my throat, and make damn sure I look unfazed.
Fake it. Bury it. Burn through it.
I flirt with the bartender. Smile at a girl I don’t know. She laughs at something I say—not that I’m paying attention—and I feel his eyes on me before I even turn my head.
There.
At the end of the bar.
Todd fucking Shaw, standing with a drink in hand and a scowl carved into his face. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on me like he’s already picked out the spot on the wall he wants to shove me into.
Good.
Let him burn.
I tip my head, just slightly, and smile like this isn’t eating me alive.
Then I walk—slow, deliberate—down the back hallway past the bathrooms. It’s dark and feels half-forgotten. I lean against the wall and wait.
Two beats later, his heavy footsteps follow.
He stalks down the hallway like he’s ready to throw me into the drywall. And honestly, that’d be fine. At least it would mean he still feels something.
“You got a fucking problem?” he growls, eyes flashing.
I arch a brow. “Subtle, Shaw. Didn’t think jealousy was your color.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, come on.” I smirk. “You followed me into a dark hallway. You wanna fuck or fight?”
He shoves me.
I hit the wall with a grunt, but don’t move. Don’t flinch. I want this. Want him off balance.
“Careful,” I say, voice low even though there is no one around to hear me. “Someone might see.”
“Maybe I don’t care anymore.”
“Liar.”
I step into him, chest to chest. “You care so much it’s eating you alive. That’s why you’re here, right? Couldn’t stand seeing me flirt with someone else. Couldn’t stop thinking about my mouth on yours.”
His jaw flexes.
I push harder.
“Tell me, Todd—did you jerk off to the thought of what would have happened in that stairwell if that door hadn’t opened? Of how you sounded when I told you to be a good boy while I was deep inside of your ass? Or were you too busy pretending it didn’t mean anything?”
He slams me back into the wall.
My head knocks the drywall, but I laugh.
“There he is.”
“You’re such a prick.”
“Then stop letting me get to you.”
His hands fist in my shirt, mouth hovering close, breath ragged. “You don’t get to fuck with me and push me away.”
I grin, teeth bared. “Who said I did?”
He yanks me forward and crashes our mouths together.
And fuck, it’s a mess—teeth and tongue and frustration. Nothing soft, nothing sweet. Just raw, angry heat. His body pins mine, and I groan as the tension we’ve been dragging behind us all week finally snaps.
I bite his lip.
He digs his fingers into my sides like he wants to bruise me.
Footsteps echo down the hallway.
We freeze.
Someone’s laughing, just around the corner.
Still breathing hard, I break the kiss, resting my forehead against his, voice rough as gravel. “We could get caught.”
He just stares at me, lips red, eyes blown wide with heat and hate and want.
“Let them,” he says.
Then he grabs me again.
His mouth crashes into mine like it’s the only way to shut me up—and maybe it is. The kiss is bruising, all teeth and tongue, no hesitation this time. His hands fist in my shirt like he’s trying to tear it off or pull me under.
I groan against his mouth, one hand sliding up the back of his neck, the other gripping his waist as he grinds against me. Fuck. He’s hard. So am I. And when our hips drag together again, I see stars.
Heat coils in my gut, sharp and dizzying. It’s messy, frantic, filthy—and I can’t stop.
I don’t want to.
I kiss him harder, suck his bottom lip between my teeth, and he gasps into my mouth, bucking forward like he can’t get close enough.
“God—Logan,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I hate you. I hate how you make me feel.”
“You’re not supposed to like me,” I mutter, dragging my mouth along his jaw. “You’re supposed to want me.”
“I do,” he growls. “I want—fuck—I want everything.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
My fingers slide up the hem of his shirt, digging into his bare skin. I flip him fast—pressing him into the wall now, using my full weight to hold him there.
His breath stutters. His hips jerk. His hands scrabble at my back, pulling me in tighter.
“Why’d you stop messaging me?” he chokes out, voice raw. “Why’d you freeze me out after Monday?”
“I thought you didn’t want this.”
“I didn’t.” His hands tighten in my shirt. “I do.”
I press my forehead to his again, panting, lost in him.
“Say it again.”
“I want you.”
Fuck.
“I thought you gave up,” I whisper, voice thick.
“I thought you did,” he snaps back.
My lips crush into his again, both of us too wound up to care who started what or who’s supposed to finish it.
But we can’t do this here.
Not like this.
Not when I want him laid out and mine.
I pull back just enough to drag my gaze across his face—lips red and kiss-swollen, jaw flexing like he’s fighting to stay in control.
“Let’s get out of here,” I breathe.
He hesitates, just a second. Then nods. And that’s all I need.
I grab his wrist and pull him toward the back exit, heart slamming like a war drum in my chest. The cool air washes over my skin as I push out the door.
We exit on the side of the building, the parking lot in front of us.
I let him go just long enough to fish my keys out of my pocket, fingers fumbling with the metal, and then I’m pulling him toward my Jeep like I’m afraid he’ll change his mind if I don’t move fast enough.
The parking lot’s full of empty cars scattered under the harsh yellow glow of streetlights. No voices. Everyone is probably in the club.
I scan the lot once, then again.
We’re alone.
Good.
I back him up against the passenger side door and crowd into his space before he can ask what the hell I’m doing. My hand slides up, cupping the sharp edge of his jaw, thumb grazing the base of his throat.
And then I kiss him.
Hard.
His breath hitches as our mouths dance together. My fingers tighten on his jaw, keeping him right there, right with me, as I sink into the kiss like it’s the only thing holding me up.
He moans into my mouth—soft and wrecked and involuntary—and it shoots straight down my spine. His hands grab my shirt, yanking me closer, dragging me against the press of his body like he wants to fuse us together.
God, I want him.
Want him in ways I can’t admit, in places I can’t take this yet.
But I can give us this.
This moment.
One more kiss, slower this time—lingering, deep, my tongue teasing the corner of his mouth like I’m trying to memorize the taste of him. His hands tremble on my sides, either from the cold or the chaos of what this is turning into.
We’re both breathing hard when I finally pull back.
“Inside,” I murmur, voice low. Then I nod at the door. “Get in.”
He stares at me, chest heaving.
Then he opens the door and climbs in without a word.
And I round the Jeep like I’m not already shaking with everything I haven’t let myself feel until now.
I slide into the driver’s seat and close the door, but I don’t start the engine.
Not when he’s sitting there beside me, lit only by the glow of a streetlamp outside and the fire still burning behind his eyes, and he’s looking at me like that kiss wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t.
I turn toward him, reaching across the center console, and fist the collar of his shirt to pull him in again. Our mouths meet, slower this time, the hungry kind of want that simmers hot and steady.
I kiss him, mapping his mouth slowly. As though I have all the time in the world to learn every part of his mouth.
Soft nips to his bottom lip.
A slow lick just to taste him again.
He makes this sound—quiet, desperate, a soft whimper that shoots heat straight through me—and then he’s shifting, climbing halfway over the console like he can’t get close enough.
His fingers tangle in my shirt. Mine slide into the short strands of his hair.
We’re tangled up and breathing each other in, our bodies straining closer even though there’s barely space to move. He’s straddled me, grinding down on my lap. Until the horn honks when he bumps against it.
I break the kiss with a low laugh, my forehead resting against his. This won’t be a secret much longer if we make my Jeep rock.
“We really need to get back to my apartment before we give someone a front row seat.”
Todd’s lips brush mine, and he grinds down on me again as he murmurs, “It’s dark. They won’t see much.”
That pulls a grin from me—God, this guy—and I kiss him again through the smile, deep and slow and full of promise.
Then I pull back just enough to whisper, “Get back in your seat. Seatbelt. Now.”
Because if I don’t get us home soon, I will end up climbing into the backseat with him and fucking him in this parking lot.