Chapter 28 Todd
TWENTY-EIGHT
TODD
There’s something about being surrounded by flashing lights, booming bass, and friends who don’t give a single shit about how idiotic they look while dancing that makes the world feel lighter.
Peter’s doing some half-assed shuffle with a drink still in hand, Daniel’s got one arm thrown over my shoulders, and Eli’s leaning back into Max like he’s gravity itself.
The floor is packed, the air is heavy with sweat and cologne and whatever the hell they pump through the vents here to keep people from realizing just how many bodies are pressed together.
I don’t even care. Not tonight.
It’s been a few weeks since that night in the hotel room in Ohio. A few weeks of stolen kisses in locker rooms and whispered I love yous in the dark. A few weeks of me climbing into Logan’s bed like I belong there, and him making me believe maybe I do.
No one knows.
Well—Daniel knows. But he doesn’t count because he figured it out without me saying a word. Except for when he told me that if I make Logan cry, he’ll kill me.
Fair.
The rest of the team’s in the dark. Which is fine. For now.
It’s the Friday before Christmas break. The semester’s done. I’ve got two more practices before I can go home for a few weeks and pretend like everything in my life isn’t currently tangled up in this boy I’ve been denying myself for years.
I glance around the floor and take a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn settle. The bass vibrates up through my boots. I turn toward Peter and gesture at the dance floor.
“Let’s dance.”
He grumbles a little but follows me out to the floor.
It’s different being in a gay club and seeing all the couples grinding on each other or making out for anyone to see.
Normally, if the guys drag me out, it’s to a club that is not of the gay variety.
And yeah, there is making out and grinding that happens there, but not the man-on-man sort.
It makes me wish Logan was here, and that we could be like them.
Still, I dance with my friends. It’s ridiculous. All elbows and shoulder jabs and dramatic arm flailing from Daniel, who somehow thinks he’s choreographed. Luke joins in with a theatrical twirl that nearly takes out a poor guy passing by, and Peter spins like he's lost in a fever dream.
I laugh. Really laugh. Not the stiff, polite kind I’ve been giving my dad on our check-ins. Not the forced chuckles I used to cover tension in the locker room.
This is the kind that comes from inside. The kind I almost forgot how to let out until recently.
And then—
My heart stumbles.
Because I see him.
Logan. My fucking whole world.
On the edge of the dance floor, framed by a strobe of shifting neon, wearing a smug little smirk. He hasn’t spotted me yet—his eyes are scanning the crowd, and when they land on me, his whole face softens.
That soft. Sweet. Dangerous smile.
Daniel notices, too. Of course he does, he’s observant. He leans over and shouts near my ear, “Is he gonna stand there looking pretty or come dance?”
Logan starts toward us without an invitation.
My breath catches. Because he’s here. And I know he only came for me.
Daniel elbows me. “You’re smiling like a damn idiot.”
“Shut up.”
“Mmhm.”
I turn to face Logan as he reaches us, and Peter claps him on the back like they’re old friends. Eli waves with his drink held high. Max nods, too cool as always. No one says a damn thing about how Logan’s eyes never leave mine.
“Hey, Captain”
“You made it,” I say.
He leans in close, like he needs to speak over the noise. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Logan doesn’t step back.
Not right away.
He lingers too close, his fingers brushing mine in a way no one would notice unless they were looking. But I notice. I always notice.
And tonight I don’t want him to stop.
I take the last sip of my drink and set the empty glass on a passing tray. “You gonna dance with me or just stand there being hot?”
Logan’s mouth twitches. “You asking?”
I smirk. “I’m telling.”
He huffs a laugh, but lets me pull him toward the center of the floor. I feel Daniel’s eyes on us for half a second, maybe Luke’s and Peter’s too—but I don’t look back.
I don’t care.
The music shifts—bass thumping deeper, slower now. Less chaotic. Bodies crowd around us, but Logan stays close, slotting into my space like he belongs there.
I slide a hand to his waist, grip the fabric of his shirt, and tug him flush against me.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low, mouth near my ear. “They will see.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’m sure.”
His hands find my shoulders. Then my jaw. And suddenly we’re just... here. Moving together like the rest of the club doesn’t exist. He tilts his head, and our foreheads brush. I can feel his smile against my cheek.
And then—fuck it—I press my mouth to his.
It’s not some sloppy club kiss. It’s not about the crowd. It’s us. Steady. Unshakable. A quiet storm of everything I’ve been holding in. I kiss him because I want to. Because I’m proud of the fact he’s mine.
Because I don’t want to hide anymore.
When I pull back, his eyes are wide with a stunned shock. His lips parted.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, chest rising. “Are you?”
I nod. “Better than okay.”
I don’t look around to see who saw. I don’t need to. Because he’s the only one that matters.
Logan’s fingers are curled into my shirt like he’s trying not to float away. And I pull him to me again. “I’m done keeping you a secret. I’m ready to tell everyone.”
“Shit, yeah, as long as you’re ready.”
Logan kisses me again—quick this time, just a brush of his lips that feels like a promise—and then we make our way back to where the others are huddled near the edge of the dance floor, drinks in hand and smirks already locked and loaded.
Peter blinks first. “Wait—you two?” He looks between us, then down at Logan’s hand still resting low on my back. “I didn’t even know you were into guys, man.”
I shrug, heart still thudding but steady now. “Guess you do now.”
Peter’s face scrunches like he’s recalibrating. “Huh.” Then he grins. “Honestly? That tracks. I mean… Logan is hot. If I were into dudes, I’d fuck him.”
Logan barks out a laugh, and I roll my eyes.
Eli whistles, leaning back into Max. “Finally. Took you long enough. I told you there was something between them,” he says looking at his boyfriend.
Luke fake gasps. “Are we witnessing a real-life Hallmark moment? On my night out? Why does everyone but me get the Hallmark moment?”
Daniel just lifts his drink. “To Captain Shaw, bravely exiting the closet in neon lighting.”
“Eat shit,” I mutter, but I’m grinning too hard for it to land.
Max, of course, stays chill as ever. “You good?” he asks, eyes flicking between me and Logan.
“Yeah,” I say, and mean it with everything I’ve got. “I really am.”
Eli elbows Max. “You owe me five bucks. I said they’d kiss before New Year’s.”
Max rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to his temple. “I’m sure they’ve done more than that, but it’s none of our business.”
I glance at Logan, who’s trying and failing to hide how smug he looks about all of this. His fingers brush mine, just once, before dropping back to his side like he’s easing off the gas—but the heat still lingers between us.
“I’m getting another drink,” Daniel announces, already dragging Luke with him. “You two—don’t suck face too hard without us.”
“Or do,” Luke adds over his shoulder. “Live your best life, babes!”
Logan turns to me, grin crooked. “This is gonna be a thing now, huh?”
I shake my head, still smiling. “Yeah. Our thing.”
I may have been a little tipsy on the atmosphere last night.
The lights, the music, the way Logan looked at me like I hung the damn stars—it was easy to let myself forget the world outside Riot. Easy to let my guard down. Too easy to feel safe.
And it’s not that I regret coming out to my friends. Not even close.
It’s just… It changes things.
I can’t expect them to keep it quiet forever, and once the news travels through the team—hell, even just the locker room—it won’t take long before reporters sniff it out. A whisper turns into a question. A question into a headline. And if that headline’s big enough…
The NHL.
I shove the thought away before it can root too deep. It doesn’t matter. I play well. That’s what they’ll see. That’s what they have to see.
Next to me, Logan shifts under the covers. Bare chest, messy hair, that sleepy little crease between his brows as he blinks at me like he already knows I’m spiraling.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, then finally lands on my lips. Warm. Reassuring. Familiar in a way I’m still getting used to.
“You’re in your head,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb along my jaw. “Regretting last night?”
“No.” The answer comes too fast, too sharp. I pull in a breath and say it again, slower this time. “No. I don’t regret it.”
His eyes stay on mine, quiet and steady, as if he’s waiting for the rest.
“I just…” I trail off, dragging a hand through my hair. “Telling my friends was easy. They're not family. I still have to tell my dad. And my sisters.”
His brows pull together slightly, not in judgment—never that—but in quiet understanding. His fingers drift down my arm, slow and careful, grounding me.
I exhale. “We’ve got three weeks at home, so I’ll tell him during the break. I promised I’d be home for Christmas, and I can’t hide anymore.” I glance at him. “Not when I’ve got this—you. Us.”
Logan leans in again, presses a softer kiss to my lips this time, like he hears the ache underneath all the bravado.
“You’ll get there,” he says against my mouth. “And when you do, they’re gonna be proud. Not just because of hockey. Because of you.”
I nod, throat tight.
Because yeah—I hope they will be.
But right now, having him here, skin warm beside mine and heart steady under my hand, that’s enough.