Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
TODD
Once we both straighten, Dad sniffles once, rough and tired, and rubs his palms on his jeans like he’s preparing himself for something harder than anything he’s already said.
“There’s… one more thing,” he murmurs.
The heaviness of his tone makes my pulse jump. “Okay.”
He clears his throat, eyes fixed stubbornly on the pavement between his boots. “I’ve met the boy from the photo before.”
My breath catches. “Yeah. You have.”
He nods, slow, almost ashamed. “But I didn’t…I didn’t see him. Not the way I should have.” He winces, like the honesty hurts coming out. “I saw your teammate. I saw some kid from the rink. I didn’t see the boy my son…cared about.”
My vision blurs again. I blink hard.
“So,” he continues softly, “I was wondering if… if I could meet him again.” Another pause. “As your boyfriend this time.”
My heart stops.
Then starts again, painfully, too big for my ribs.
He holds up a hand like he’s afraid I’ll shut down. “Not today. Not right this second. And not if it’s too much for either of you. Just… when you’re ready.”
The sincerity in his voice guts me.
“I want to do it right,” he adds. “And I want him to know he’s welcome. That you’re both welcome. That I’m trying.”
More tears spill before I can stop them.
I swipe at them with the back of my sleeve. “Dad…”
“I mean it,” he says, voice breaking. “I want to meet him the way I should have from the start.”
For a long moment, I can’t say anything. The lump in my throat is too thick, my chest too tight.
Finally, I manage, “He’d want that. He really would.”
Dad’s shoulders ease, just a little. “Good,” he whispers. “Whenever you’re ready…set it up.” He stands up and steps back, letting out a breath that sounds like relief and regret tangled together. “And Todd?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell him…thank you. For being there when I wasn’t.”
My chest caves in.
“I will,” I whisper.
Dad nods—slow, tentative, hurting—and then starts toward the parking lot, moving stiffly like he’s afraid one wrong step will undo everything he just said.
I watch him go, wiping my face again with a shaking hand.
Dad’s truck disappears around the corner, and the cold settles heavier than before. I’m still standing there, breath fogging the air, trying to steady myself, when the rink doors slam open behind me.
I turn.
Logan comes barreling out of the building like someone lit a fire under him.
He’s still got his gear bag slung over one shoulder, hair sticking up in every possible direction like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times.
His chest rises and falls quickly as I watch him.
But he doesn’t close the distance between us.
He just… stops.
A few feet away.
Like he wants nothing more than to grab me and pull me close, but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed.
His hands hover near his sides before he stuffs them into his jacket pockets, eyes searching my face as if he’s reading a language he’s terrified he might get wrong.
Or he might see something in my eyes he doesn’t want to see.
“Todd,” he says, voice low and breathless. “Are you…okay?”
“I—” My throat closes around the word. I can’t speak yet. Not without my voice breaking in half.
Logan takes one tiny step forward then stops again, like he’s still waiting for a sign that we are still us.
Screw signs. I move first.
I close the distance between us and press my forehead to his chest, letting my weight meet his. His breath shudders hard as soon as I touch him.
That’s all it takes.
His hands fly out of his pockets and wrap around me, one arm sliding tight around my waist, the other cradling the back of my head like he’s terrified someone might try to pull me out of his arms.
I exhale against his jacket, the smell of cold air and laundry soap grounding me. “I’m okay,” I manage, though it comes out a little broken.
He lowers his head until his cheek rests against the top of my hair. “You sure?” His voice breaks on the second word.
I nod against him, fingers curling into his jacket. “Yeah.”
He holds me tighter as if he’s been waiting to breathe and finally can.
“What happened?” he whispers.
I swallow. Hard. “He apologized.”
Logan’s whole body goes still around me.
“For real?” he asks.
“For real.” I lean back enough to look up at him. His hands stay firm on me, as though he won’t let me go unless I ask. “He said he regrets everything. He…he actually meant it.”
Logan’s eyes soften in a way that makes something inside me wobble.
“And he wants to meet you,” I add quietly, “as my boyfriend. Not as a teammate. Not as…anyone else.”
Logan’s breath leaves him in a rush, fogging the air between us.
“He said that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod. “Yeah.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me as if he doesn’t know what to do with this much hope all at once. Then he slides one big hand to the side of my face, thumb brushing under my eye where I know there are tear tracks. I probably look like a mess.
“Are you really okay?” he asks again.
I nod slowly, leaning into his palm. “Yeah. I am now.”
A choked laugh escapes him—relief, disbelief, and love all wrapped into that single sound—and he tugs me in again, burying his face briefly in my shoulder before breathing out against my skin.
“Good,” he murmurs. “God, that’s good. I’m happy he came around.”
I close my eyes for a beat, letting the cold fade into the background.
Then I lift my head from his shoulder and look up at him.
“Let’s go home,” I say softly.
Two fingers slide under my chin, tilting my face up so I’m forced to meet his eyes. And what I see there almost knocks the breath out of me—pure love. Deep and steady.
His smile is small, a little crooked, and entirely for me.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly along my jaw. “Let’s go home.”
He keeps his fingers at my chin for another second, like he’s memorizing the moment, then drops his hand to lace our fingers together instead.
His palm is warm. Mine probably isn’t. He doesn’t let go anyway. We start toward the parking lot, footsteps slow, shoulders brushing every few steps like gravity keeps nudging us closer. When we reach his Jeep, he opens the door for me and then closes me inside as he drops his gear into the back.
Then he hops into the driver seat and starts the engine. He pauses before putting the Jeep into drive and leans over the console for a quick kiss. “I like the sound of you calling my apartment home.”
“Home is where your heart is, isn’t that what people say?” I ask with a grin.
He hums a happy sound and presses another kiss to my lips. “Then, I’m home right here in my Jeep with you.”
“Then I guess it doesn’t matter where we go, as long as we are together.”
He laughs under his breath, a soft, breathy sound that hits me right in the chest. His forehead almost brushes mine before he pulls back just enough to actually put the Jeep in gear.
We roll out of the lot slowly, tires crunching over slush. The heater starts blowing warm air over my legs, but honestly? I don’t need it. Not with the way Logan keeps sneaking glances at me like he can’t help himself.
He reaches across the console, palm open.
I slide my hand into his without thinking.
His fingers curl around mine immediately, thumb stroking lazy circles over the back of my hand. After a moment, he speaks again, voice low. “I do love you, Todd. The forever kind.”
I swallow hard, the emotion rising so fast it presses against my ribs, tight and warm and overwhelming. I turn my head just enough to see the side of his face—his steady profile, the way his jaw softens when he means something with his whole heart.
“Logan…” My voice breaks, just a little. “I love you, too. More than I even knew I could.”
His grip tightens, like the words hit him straight in the chest.
“Good.”