Chapter 33 Logan
THIRTY-THREE
LOGAN
Campus feels different now. Snow still lines the sidewalks in dirty, half-frozen piles, and the streetlights hum like they’re tired too.
I got back late last night, dropped my bag at my apartment, and tried not to look at my phone—like avoiding it could somehow stop the sting that comes every time I unlock the screen and see nothing.
I sent the I miss you text on New Year’s Eve. Right before midnight. I just sat there, watching the seconds tick down, typing words I’d deleted a dozen times already.
I miss you. Three words. Easy to send. Hard to live with when they’re met with silence.
I told myself he was just home with family, that his dad was still adjusting, that maybe he needed space. But the longer the quiet stretched, the harder it got to believe it was just space and not distance.
Now, walking through the rink doors, everything feels wrong. The cold air hits, familiar and bitter. The place feels hollow—like the echo of something we broke but haven’t admitted to yet.
I catch sight of Peter near the benches, tossing a puck between his hands. He sees me and his smile falters for half a second before he forces it back into place.
“Hey,” he says, too casually. “Welcome back.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “You too.”
He nods, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Got in last night. The room's a disaster. Pretty sure Shaw lived off takeout and existential dread while I was gone.”
My stomach twists. “He was here the whole break?”
Peter nods. “Yeah, pretty sure.”
“What happened with his dad?” The words come out before I can stop them. I know I shouldn’t be asking Peter what’s happening with my boyfriend's family, if I can still call him my boyfriend, but I can’t stop myself.
Peter exhales, gaze dropping to the ice. “That’s not really mine to tell.”
I nod, throat tightening. “So it’s bad.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but the look on his face says enough. “It’s bad,” he confirms quietly. “He’s… trying. I think he’s doing better now that we’re back, but it’s been rough for him.”
The silence stretches between us. The hum of the rink lights fills it, too loud in the emptiness.
Peter glances up again, eyes softer now. “He’s not okay, Logan. But he still showed up today. That’s something.”
“He froze me out.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I figured.”
There isn’t much else to say, so I head toward the locker room. My heart is firmly in my throat as I push through the doors and see Todd pulling his jersey over his pads. I swallow, trying to dislodge it, but it’s no use.
My mouth is dry as I move toward him. He hasn’t seen me yet, but the second his head pops out of the top of the jersey, his blue eyes find me immediately. His face goes through a million emotions I can’t catch before landing on passive.
Fucking passive? That’s what he’s giving me after almost two and a half weeks of silence?
I come up short and pivot to my cubby. No fucking way am I laying my heart out in front of him with the team filtering in—anyone could see him stomp on it.
The sound of the guys getting ready for practice, laughter, teasing—it all blurs. My pulse won’t slow down. Every cell in my body wants to reach for him, and every ounce of pride I’ve got keeps me rooted in place.
He froze me out. And I guess I’m supposed to act like that doesn’t hurt.
By the time we hit the ice, I’m running on fumes. The cold should wake me up—it usually does—but all it does now is sharpen everything I don’t want to feel.
Todd’s already out there, skating drills with mechanical precision, not a wasted movement. He doesn’t look at me once. Not even when Coach pairs us up for defense drills.
Figures.
We’ve always played like we shared one brain—reading each other’s movements, anticipating the smallest shift, covering the gaps before they even opened. But now… it’s off. Everything’s off.
He turns left when I expect right. Holds the line too long. Misses the cue when I move to intercept. It’s nothing big—just small enough that Coach doesn’t notice—but I do.
I feel every fucking inch of the space between us.
A puck slips past us and clangs off the boards behind the net. Normally we’d laugh it off. Now, he just skates back into position without a word.
My jaw tightens. “You gonna talk to me, or is the silent treatment part of the new space you need?”
His voice comes out flat. “Just focus on the drill, Logan.”
That stings more than it should.
“Yeah,” I mutter, lining back up beside him. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your perfect rhythm.”
He doesn’t rise to it—doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps his eyes on the puck, body tense, movements jerkier than they need to be.
We make it through the rest of practice like that—two strangers forced to share the same ice. Every pass feels heavier, every shift longer. The easy flow we used to have is gone, replaced by something stiff and uneven.
When Coach finally blows the whistle, I rip off my gloves, chest heaving. My whole body’s vibrating with frustration. We used to skate like we were built from the same blueprint, but now every shift feels like a fight just to stay in sync.
Todd doesn’t even wait for the final call to end—he’s already heading for the tunnel, stick in hand, shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is sitting there.
I stare after him for half a second before following.
The hallway to the locker room smells like melted ice and sweat, the kind of scent that’s usually home. Today it just burns.
He’s halfway through pulling off his gear when I walk in. Doesn’t even look up.
“That was fun,” I say, voice tight. “Real team-building exercise.”
I toss my gloves into my cubby and rip off my jersey. Anger is starting to bloom inside my chest replacing the hurt. And I welcome it. Anything is better than the hole he’s put there with his silence.
He sighs, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “Logan, not now.”
“Then when?” I snap. “Because I’ve been waiting for two and a half weeks to hear from you, and all I’ve gotten is radio silence and whatever the hell that was out there.”
His shoulders go rigid, but he still won’t look at me. “I told you, it’s not a good time.”
“Yeah, you said that before you disappeared, too.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to, but I don’t stop. “You froze me out, Todd. You didn’t just need space—you built a wall and slammed the door.”
“I didn’t—” He finally turns toward me, eyes raw and tired. “It’s not about you.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Really? Because it feels a hell of a lot like it is. Especially since kissing me in public is what caused all of this.”
He shakes his head, voice cracking a little. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me,” I shoot back. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one walking away like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.”
Todd swallows hard, and for a second, I see it—the guilt, the ache—but he looks away fast, jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is with you,” I say, quieter this time. “But you could’ve said something. Anything.”
He exhales shakily, rubbing at his face like he’s barely holding it together. “My dad—” He stops himself, shakes his head. “He doesn’t get it, okay? He said some shit, and it messed with me. I just needed to breathe.”
I snort. “Yeah. Fucking breathe. Right. Without me.”
I practically tear off my pads. I don’t care who’s witnessing this spectacular crash and burn. The rest of the team has gone dead silent as I take a torch to everything.
His eyes finally meet mine, and for a second, the silence between us feels like it might break—like he’s about to say what I’ve been dying to hear. But then his expression shifts, retreating behind that same tired calm.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I just… can’t do this right now.”
It lands like a blade between my ribs.
I take a step back, breath catching in my throat. “Right. Yeah. Message received.”
“Logan—”
But I’m already moving, shaking my head, trying to laugh it off even though it comes out hollow. “No, it’s fine. Really. You’ve made yourself clear.”
I strip off the rest of my gear in record time, each piece hitting the floor harder than the last. I pull on my jeans with shaking hands, yank my hoodie over my head, and jam my feet into my sneakers without bothering to lace them.
I skip the shower. I can’t stand to be in this room another second. The air’s too thick—full of everything we were and everything I just broke.
The guys keep their heads down. No one says a word. Even Blue, who always has something to say, stays quiet.
When I grab my duffel and sling it over my shoulder, I can feel every set of eyes on me. Todd’s included.
I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll cave.
The door bangs shut behind me, the sound echoing down the corridor. My breath comes out harsh and ragged as I put more distance between us.
Out here, it’s quieter—but it doesn’t feel better.
It feels empty.
Like I just walked away from something I’ll never get back.
I make it halfway down the hallway before I hear footsteps behind me. Heavier than Todd’s.
“Logan.”
Daniel’s voice.
I don’t slow down. “Not in the mood, man.”
“Too bad,” he says, catching up easily. “Because you just turned the locker room into a funeral, and I’m not letting you walk off like that.”
I stop, jaw tight, but I don’t turn around. “You saw what happened.”
“Yeah,” he says, coming to stand beside me. “I saw two guys who are both bleeding and pretending they’re not.”
I drag a hand over my face. “You don’t get it.”
Daniel’s voice softens. “Maybe more than you think.”
That gets me to look at him. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes steady in that calm way that makes you want to trust him.
“My dad didn’t get it either,” he says quietly. “Told me once that loving a man was just a confused phase.”
My chest tightens.
“I tried to prove him wrong by pretending he was right,” Daniel goes on.
“Pushed the guy I loved out of my life because I couldn’t handle the fallout.
Told myself it was easier that way. That I was making my dad happy.
” He shakes his head, smiling bitterly. “It didn’t.
He never forgot that I admitted I liked guys, and pushing the guy I loved away, it just broke us both. ”
I look away, throat burning. “So what, you’re saying I should just go back in there? Act like everything is fucking perfect?”
“No,” Daniel says. “I’m saying you both got hit by this and are too busy licking your wounds to realize you’re still on the same team.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want me.”
“He’s not rejecting you, Logan. He’s trying to survive his own shit. He’ll get out of his head and see what’s really important to him.” Daniel pushes off the wall, his tone gentler now. “You don’t have to fix him. Just… don’t let this be the way it ends.”
The words hang there, heavy and honest.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit quietly.
Daniel shrugs. “Start by cooling off. Then maybe remind him that you’re not his dad. That you see and love the real him, no matter what.”
I let out a slow breath, the fight bleeding out of me. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
He smirks. “Occupational hazard of being right.”
I almost smile. Almost. But it dies fast. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
He pats my shoulder once and heads back toward the locker room, leaving me standing in the cold hallway, my chest still aching but my pulse finally starting to slow.
I stare down at the tile, the echo of his words replaying in my head.
You’re not his dad.
I don’t know if that’s enough to fix anything. But for the first time, it feels like a place to start.