Chapter 34 Todd
THIRTY-FOUR
TODD
The door slams, and the sound rattles straight through me.
No one moves.
The locker room’s gone silent except for the drip of melting ice and the hum of the fluorescent lights. Every guy in here is pretending to mind their own business, but I can feel their eyes like static on my skin.
My chest feels hollow—like I’ve just been hit but the bruise hasn’t caught up yet.
Peter exhales somewhere behind me, mutters something low to Blue, and they both head toward the showers. Eli hesitates at his cubby, gives me this quiet look that says fix it, then follows them out.
I stay where I am. Still in half my gear, still holding my chest plate like an idiot who doesn’t know what to do with his hands. I drop it in my cubby.
My heart’s still hammering, my pulse tripping over itself. I don’t even know if it’s from the fight or from watching him walk away.
I sit down hard on the bench, elbows on my knees, and drag a hand through my hair. The air feels too thin. My ribs too tight.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I just needed space—to think, to breathe—but somehow all I did was burn the one person who ever made me feel like I could actually be myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut. His voice still echoes in my head. Yeah. Fucking breathe. Right. Without me.
God.
He’s not wrong.
The door creaks again, and for a second, my heart lurches stupidly—thinking maybe it’s him.
It’s not.
Daniel steps in, his expression unreadable, the edges of his hair damp from sweat. He doesn’t say anything right away, just crosses the room and sits across from me, elbows on his knees, mirroring my posture.
“You okay?” he asks finally.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Do I look okay?”
He doesn’t smile. “Didn’t think so.”
We sit in silence for a while, the quiet stretching between us until it hurts.
Finally, he says, “You know he’s wrecked, right?”
My head snaps up. “He’s wrecked? You saw him just now. He’s pissed. I’m the one who—” I stop myself, swallowing hard. “No. You’re right. He’s hurt. Because of me.”
Daniel studies me carefully. “Because of both of you.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “He doesn’t get it. My dad—he said things I can’t forget. Things I don’t even know how to unpack yet. I just—” I exhale hard, words breaking apart. “I didn’t mean to shut him out. I just couldn’t handle being looked at like I was something to be ashamed of. Not again.”
Daniel nods slowly, like he understands too well. “Yeah. That kind of shit sticks.”
I glance up, surprised by the quiet empathy in his tone.
He shrugs. “Been there. Family that doesn’t understand. Love that scares the hell out of you because it’s suddenly not safe to want it.”
“You ever figure it out?”
He lets out a soft breath. “Eventually. But not before I lost him. Took me a long time to realize I wasn’t punishing my dad—I was punishing myself. And when I did…” He swallows, giving me a sad smile. “He didn’t wait around.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay silent.
Daniel stands, grabbing his bag. “Logan’s hurt, Todd. You know that. But he’s not gone. Not yet.” He pauses, looking down at me. “Don’t wait too long to decide if you’re gonna chase him. Some doors don’t stay open forever.”
When he leaves, the room feels too big again.
I lean back against the cubby, staring at the scuffed tile floor, my throat burning.
The truth is, I want to chase him. I want to tell him I didn’t mean it—that I was scared, that my dad’s words still echo every time I look in the mirror.
But the part of me that’s still that in the kitchen hearing my dad say it’s just a phase just… can’t move.
So I sit there, surrounded by silence and the echo of everything I didn’t say. Until the locker room empties out and it’s just me and my thoughts.
I’m not sure how long I sit there. Only that Coach checks on me once and goes back to his office, then he eventually tells me to lock up when I leave.
He doesn’t leave right away, though. A few minutes later, I hear his boots on the tile and the creak of the bench as he sits across from me.
“You planning to live in here now?” he asks, voice rough but not unkind.
I manage a weak smile. “Didn’t seem worth leaving.”
Coach folds his arms, studying me the way he does before a game—as if he’s trying to figure out what play I’m running. “You and Brooks had words.”
“Something like that.”
He nods slowly. “You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
He leans back, the wood groaning under his weight. “All right. Then I’ll talk, and you can listen.”
I look up, half-expecting a lecture. Instead, his tone softens. “You know, Todd… I’ve been around a long time. Seen a lot of players, a lot of noise. The world likes to get worked up about things that don’t matter.”
I frown, unsure where he’s going.
He meets my eyes. “Loving boys isn’t a big deal. Not here. Not to me. You play hard, you lead your team, you show up. That’s what matters. Everything else? It’s just background. Hell the NHL understands that it doesn’t impact the way you play. You’ll still be scouted with that picture out there.”
For a second, I can’t speak. The words feel like they sink into my bones.
He continues, voice steady. “You’re one of the best damn defensemen I’ve ever coached. And you’ve got a good heart—even if you let it get in your head sometimes.” He gestures toward the ice. “Don’t let anyone make you think the two can’t exist together and still be successful.”
Something cracks open in my chest, sharp and sudden. I blink hard, staring at the floor as tears gather behind my eyes. “My dad doesn’t see it that way.”
Coach exhales through his nose. “Yeah, well. Dads screw up sometimes. Doesn’t mean you gotta carry it like it’s gospel.”
I let out a shaky breath. “You really think it doesn’t matter?”
“I think you’re the same kid you were before that photo hit the internet,” he says.
“Only difference is now people know you’re brave enough to stop hiding who you are.
Being honest about who you are will make you a better player, because you won’t be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore. ”
That one lands soul deep. I look up, and for the first time since everything fell apart, I actually believe someone might mean it.
Coach pushes to his feet, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder. “Lock up when you’re done sitting in the dark, Shaw. And go fix things with Brooks. The rink’s big enough for both your egos.”
A quiet laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Yes, Coach.”
He nods once, then heads for the door, leaving me alone with his words echoing in my head.
When the door clicks shut, the silence feels different—less like a punishment, more like space to breathe. I know I missed my first class of the day, probably my second too. But none of it seems important.
Time blurs. I shower eventually—mechanical, numb. Eat something I can’t taste. Pretend to study. Pretend to sleep.
None of it sticks.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him turning away. The hollow look in his eyes when I said I just can’t do this right now.
The thing is, I didn’t mean I didn’t want him. I meant I didn’t know how to want him when everything else feels like it’s collapsing around me.
By late afternoon, the guilt starts to outweigh the fear. I pull my phone out for the tenth time, open his messages, stare at the blinking cursor. I’m sorry looks pathetic. Can we talk looks worse.
I start typing, delete it. Try again. Delete that too. It’s all wrong. Too small for what I need to say.
Finally, I drop the phone on the bed and stand. I can’t fix this through a screen. Not this time.
I grab my jacket, shove my keys in my pocket, and head for his apartment before I can talk myself out of it.
The walk feels longer than it should. My stomach twists with every step, nerves and regret tangling into something akin to fear. I practice the words under my breath, over and over—what I’ll say, how I’ll explain.
When I reach his door, I pause, hand hovering just above it. My pulse is loud in my ears.
Then the door swings open before I can knock.
Logan stands there, jacket on, keys in hand, eyes going wide when he sees me.
For a second, neither of us says anything. Just the sound of someone down the hallway going into their apartment and the uneven rhythm of our breathing.
“Hey,” I manage, voice rough. “I—uh—I didn’t mean to interrupt. You look like you’re heading out, so maybe—”
He blinks, still staring at me like he’s not sure I’m real. “I was,” he says slowly. “To see you.”
The words hit like a gut punch. I freeze, hand still halfway raised, every apology I’d rehearsed scattering in my head.
He was coming to me.
For a second, neither of us moves. I can’t. My throat’s dry, my pulse loud in my ears.
“You’re here?” he says, but it sounds like a question.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I was gonna… I don’t know. Try to explain. Apologize.”
He exhales slowly, shoulders dropping a little, like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Guess we both had the same idea.”
A quiet laugh slips out of me, nervous and shaky. “Yeah. Figures.”
We stand there in the doorway, both of us half in, half out—like we haven’t decided if this is a beginning or an ending.
He steps back first. “You coming in or planning to stand there all night?”
I nod again, step past him, and the warmth of the apartment envelops me. It smells faintly like coffee and his shampoo, and my chest aches so bad I can barely breathe.
He closes the door behind us, and the sound feels final.
For a few seconds, I don’t know where to start. Every apology I’d rehearsed sounds too small. Too late.
Finally, I say, “I’m sorry.” It comes out rough, barely a whisper. “For freezing you out. For making you think you did something wrong.”
Logan stays quiet, watching me.
“My dad…” I pause, drag a hand down my face.
“He said a lot of shit. Called it a phase. Told me I was ruining my future. Told me to leave until I got my head on straight. I tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but it did.
It messed with my head. And I didn’t know how to handle it without… breaking everything else too.”
He takes a slow step toward me, expression unreadable. “So you shut me out.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” I swallow hard, eyes burning. “I didn’t want to drag you into it. I thought if I could just get through it on my own—if I could be okay first—then maybe I’d deserve you again.”
“Deserve me?” he repeats softly, like the words sting.
I look up, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t want you to look at me and see someone weak. Someone who couldn’t stand up to his own dad.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then he says quietly, “You think I give a shit about you standing up to your dad? I just wanted you to let me in.”
Something in my chest cracks open, sharp and messy. “I know,” I whisper. “And I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
He exhales, the tension leaving him all at once. Then, softer, “You’re also forgiven.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep it together as tears try to fill my eyes.
He steps closer, just enough that I can smell his cologne. “Don’t disappear on me again,” he says. “If we’re going to do this, we do it together.”
I nod again, the breath leaving me in a shudder. “Together,” I echo, quiet but certain.
And when he finally reaches out and pulls me in, I let him.
Because for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m drowning. I just feel home.
His arms are solid around me, grounding and warm, and it’s like my body remembers something my brain’s been trying to forget—that this is where I’m supposed to be.
Neither of us says anything. There’s nothing left to say right now. Just the sound of our breathing, the steady thud of his heart against my chest, and the quiet hum of the radiator filling the space where words used to live.
When he finally loosens his grip, I almost don’t let go.
He takes half a step back, his hands still lingering at my sides. “You look wrecked,” he murmurs and brushes my hair from my forehead.
I huff out a laugh that’s half sob. “You should see the other guy.”
That gets the faintest smile out of him—small, but real. He runs his hands over my cheeks, and down to my hoodie like he’s checking if I’m still in one piece.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when he tugs me toward the couch, I go without hesitation, folding into his lap.