Chapter 23 Logan
TWENTY-THREE
LOGAN
I’m on time. Early, even.
Which is probably the most shocking plot twist of the semester.
The sky’s still dark, the air biting cold, and my coffee isn’t kicking in yet, but I’m here. Backpack slung over one shoulder, stick in hand, headphones draped around my neck.
And yeah, maybe I was hoping that showing up early would mean I’d see him before anyone else.
But the parking lot’s already filling with guys, and Todd’s nowhere in sight.
I lean against the side of the bus and take another sip of coffee. Bitter. Burnt. Typical 7-11 bullshit.
He didn’t come by last night. Not that I asked him to or that we had plans.
But…still.
I waited.
Sat in my room like an idiot with my phone on full volume and the door unlocked—like some sort of hopeless golden retriever waiting for his person to show up.
I would’ve even pretended I wasn’t waiting. But he didn’t message. And I didn’t either.
Because I’m trying not to be too much. Not too clingy or too obvious. Not too in love with a guy who still won’t let anyone know what we are.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
Right?
The crunch of gravel pulls my focus, and there he is.
Todd Shaw. Captain of my everything. Ball cap pulled low, gear slung over his shoulder like he’s carrying the weight of the whole goddamn world.
My chest clenches stupidly just seeing him. But something’s…off.
His shoulders are a little tighter. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He gives a nod to Blue and says something low to Peter, but he doesn’t even glance my way.
Not once.
I school my face into something breezy and practiced. I know this version of me. The one who flirts too loud and plays it cool and acts like nothing ever touches him too deep. The one who survived high school by turning every crush into a punchline and every heartbreak into a dare.
It’s easier to wear that mask than risk everyone seeing the truth.
So I slap a grin on and shoot a wink at Eli when he climbs the bus steps, and I follow him on. “You saving me a seat, goalie?”
Eli snorts. “You’re way too chipper for six-thirty in the morning, even for me.”
“Love a good road trip,” I lie as I sink down into the seat next to him.
Todd shuffles down the aisle, close enough I could reach out and touch him—but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look my way.
My stomach knots.
I turn back toward the others, tossing out a too-loud joke about Daniel’s glittery neck pillow and pretending I don’t notice the way Todd takes a seat near the middle of the bus, earbuds already in.
He’s not mad.
I don’t think.
But something changed between waking up in bed together yesterday morning and right now.
Maybe he’s getting bored of sneaking around. Maybe he’s tired of pretending. Maybe he’s done with me.
Which is fair. But it fucking guts me anyway. Because I’m not bored. I’m not tired.
I’m head over heels for him, and if I say it out loud, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep pretending I’m not in front of others.
I stretch my legs out, trying to get comfortable before the seven-hour ride as the bus pulls out of the parking lot.
Eli eyes me over the lid of his drink. “You look like someone pissed in your oatmeal.”
I snort. “I don’t eat oatmeal.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. You’ve done a one-eighty in less than sixty seconds. You need sugar in your coffee or something?”
“I like it black.”
He grins. “Yeah, Max says that too. Swears up and down sugar’s a government scam. But I’ve caught him putting honey in his tea when he thinks I’m not looking.”
“Is that why you keep him around?” I ask, smirking. “To slowly corrupt him?”
Eli chuckles, warm and low. “Nah. I keep him around because he’s mine. The sugar thing is just a bonus.”
There’s a pause as he looks out the window, and for a second, I see it—the way his whole face softens just saying Max’s name. The way his shoulders relax, like even thinking about him is a comfort.
I glance away, swallowing hard. God, that must be nice.
To be so sure someone’s yours. To have it out in the open. No secrets. No need to lie or pretend.
I risk a quick look toward the back of the bus.
Todd’s already in his seat, head tilted toward the window like he’s asleep—or pretending to be. I know that look. I’ve worn it.
Eli’s still smiling into his drink when I ask, “Was it always that easy?”
He glances over. “What?”
“Being with him. Out loud, I mean.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Easy? Hell no. But worth it? Every second. We had to keep it a secret for a while, I’m sure you’ve heard at least some of it from Daniel.”
I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “You ever wish you’d kept it quiet? Just for a little while longer?”
He studies me, then shakes his head. “Nope. We wasted enough time already and not kissing him anytime I wanted to was terrible. I had to make up injuries to get alone time with him.” He laughs to himself at the memory.
I turn my gaze out the window, watching the blur of trees and signs pass by.
“Whoever he is,” Eli says casually, like we’re still talking about coffee or hockey, “don’t let the fear decide for you.”
Eli doesn’t push after that—just goes back to sipping his latte and pretending he didn’t just unravel me as if it was no big deal.
Then his phone buzzes, and he lifts it with a grin. “Speak of the devil.”
He answers the FaceTime with a smug smile. “Hey, handsome.”
Max’s face fills the screen, bleary-eyed and pillow-squished. “You left me.”
Eli’s grin widens. “I told you I had a game.”
“You told me,” Max echoes flatly. “Didn’t mean I agreed.”
“You were literally snoring when I left.”
Max narrows his eyes. “That bed is cold as hell now.”
“Poor baby,” Eli croons, like this isn’t on speaker and the whole front of the bus can hear him. “Guess you’ll just have to wrap up in my hoodie and pretend I’m still there.”
Max doesn’t even blink. “Already did.”
The noise around us quiets, just a little—enough to notice how easily Eli wears this. No shame. No hesitation. Just…love. Big and open and stupidly warm.
I look away before Eli can see how badly I want that, too. Fuck, I’m so screwed.
The seven hour bus ride to the hotel is loud—full of laughter and trash talk and Eli grinning at his phone every ten seconds like he’s in a Hallmark movie. I laugh at the right moments. Say all the right things. But the whole time, my thoughts keep drifting to the guy sitting five rows behind me.
Todd hasn’t looked my way since we got on the bus.
Now we’re unloading out front, grabbing gear and overnight bags while Coach barks room assignments. Mine and Todd’s names are called together, and my stomach does a backflip.
Great.
The elevator ride up is quiet. Not tense, exactly.
Just…cautious. Like we’re both playing some unspoken game of pretend.
Acting like we don’t know what the other looks like naked.
Acting like we didn’t just spend the last couple of weeks wrapped around each other like limbs and sheets were interchangeable.
The second we get into the room, I head straight for one of the beds and drop my bag with a thud. “Dibs,” I say, trying for easy.
Todd gives me a sideways look before setting his bag down on the other mattress. “Didn’t realize we were calling it.”
I shrug and toe off my sneakers, the silence stretching. The distance between us is only a few feet, but it might as well be miles.
He turns toward his bag, starts to unzip it—and I move.
Two strides, and I’m behind him. He straightens a little, but doesn’t step away.
I lean in close, voice low near his ear. “If you think we’re sharing a room and not sharing a bed… you must’ve bumped your head.”
He freezes.
Then I add, a little softer, a little more pointed: “Is that why you’ve been acting different?”
His breath catches, just for a second.
I pull back enough to meet his eyes as he looks back at me, giving him a half-smile that feels like bravado and hope tangled together. “Because I gotta be honest, Shaw… I’m not any less into you just because we crossed state lines.”