Chapter 9
Logan
It's eleven in the morning, and I'm standing in my kitchen drinking coffee and scrolling through hockey news on my phone. The Chargers won last night against Detroit, which means they'll be riding high when we play them tomorrow.
Their top line combined for seven points, and their goalie stopped thirty-eight shots. I make a mental note to talk to Cole about their power play setup on the bus.
My phone buzzes with a text. My heart skips a beat when I see Jasmine’s name.
Good luck in Chicago tomorrow. Play well and don't let anyone throw food at you ;)
I smile then type back: Lol thanks. What are you up to?
Jasmine: At the office. Buried in the sportswear contract. Wilder wants the framework by the end of the day and I'm on my fourth draft.
Me: Sounds like you need coffee.
Jasmine: I need a miracle. Coffee would be a close second.
As I take a sip of my own coffee, an idea forms in my head. The team bus doesn't leave from MSG until two. I don't need to be at the arena until one-thirty at the latest. I have time.
I shower and get dressed, then grab my keys and check my phone for the address of Caldwell, Price & Associates. Sixth Avenue, Midtown. Twenty minutes from my apartment if the traffic cooperates.
I stop at a coffee shop on Columbus first. It's a place I go to a few times a week. The barista's name is Dani, and she has my order memorized.
“Large black, right?” she says.
“Actually, I need six today.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Having a party?”
“Dropping off coffee for someone.”
I ask her to mix it up. Two black, two lattes, and two cappuccinos, figuring I'll cover enough bases to make everyone happy. Then I point at the pastry case and tell Dani to put together a box of whatever she recommends.
She loads up croissants, muffins, scones, and some kind of almond Danish that she says is the best thing they make.
Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn to find a man in a Renegades hat grinning at me. “Hey, are you Logan Shaw?”
“I am.”
“Big game tomorrow in Chicago. Good luck out there.”
“Appreciate that. Thanks.”
He asks for a photo, and I stand next to him while Dani takes it on his phone. I pay for my order and carry two bags and a tray of six coffees out to my car. I arrange everything on the passenger seat and the floor of the back seat, then drive downtown toward Sixth Avenue.
Caldwell, Price & Associates is on the twenty-third floor of a glass tower in Midtown. The lobby is all marble and polished metal. I give Jasmine's name to the guard manning the security desk. He calls up and tells me to take the elevator to twenty-three.
The elevator doors open onto a reception area with a woman behind a desk. She picks up her phone the second I give my name.
Two minutes later, Jasmine appears around the corner, and my brain short-circuits.
She's in a charcoal blazer over a cream blouse and a short skirt. She looks like a woman in command of her world.
She looks genuinely surprised—and pleased—to see me. “Hey, Logan. What are you doing here?”
I hold up the tray and the bags. “You said you needed coffee. I brought reinforcements.”
She looks at the six cups and the two bags of pastries, and then she looks at me. “You brought coffee for my entire office.”
“I didn't know how many people you work with, so I estimated. There's also croissants and some kind of almond Danish that the barista said would change my life.”
She laughs. “You drove to Midtown to bring me coffee and pastries before your flight to Chicago.”
“I had time.”
As Jasmine takes the tray from my hands, her fingers brush mine. Heat shoots up my arm and warms my chest.
A door opens down the hallway, and a woman with dark hair and a coffee mug appears. She takes one look at me and one look at the coffees and stops in her tracks.
“Clara, this is Logan,” Jasmine says. “Logan, this is my good friend, Clara.”
Clara's eyes go wide. “Logan Shaw. Number twenty-four. My husband and I watch every Renegades game. He's going to lose his mind when I tell him you were in our office.” She turns to Jasmine. “You didn't tell me he was this tall.”
“I didn't think his height was relevant to the sponsorship account, Clara.”
Clara turns back to me. “That hit you made against Tampa in the second period last week was brutal. My husband rewound it four times.”
Jasmine is trying not to laugh. “Clara, let the man breathe.”
“Right, sorry. It's just, you're standing in our office.” She turns back down the hallway. “Guys. Guys, come here.”
Within thirty seconds, there are five people standing in the reception area. A tall man in a pinstripe suit who introduces himself as David and shakes my hand twice.
A young woman named Eliza who takes a photo of me and the coffee tray without asking permission. Two associates introduce themselves, and I immediately forget, but they both tell me they've never watched hockey before and now they're going to start.
I hand out the coffees and open the pastry bags. Everyone grabs something, and for five minutes, I answer questions about the NHL.
Jasmine is leaning against the reception desk with her coffee and her almond Danish, her eyes soft and her lips curved into a smile.
“I have to go,” I say to her when the guys disperse. “Bus leaves at two.”
“Thank you for the coffee,” Jasmine says. “And for making my entire office's day.”
“Anytime.”
I step toward her and pull her into a hug. She comes easily, one arm around my waist, her cheek against my chest for a second.
“Good luck in Chicago,” Jasmine says.
“I'll call you when we land.”
“Okay.”
With one last glance at her, I head out.
In the elevator going down, I lean against the wall and exhale. My chest is buzzing, and I'm grinning like an idiot. The scent of her perfume is still on my jacket from the hug, and I bring my collar to my nose and breathe it in.
Smoky clove. I'm going to associate that scent with Jasmine Bennett for the rest of my life.
I drive back uptown to MSG, grab my bag from the back seat, and head to the team bus.
As soon as I step in, I’m hit by chaos. Someone has plugged their phone into the speaker system, and music is blasting from the speakers.
“Swift again?” Cole shouts from the front.
“It's a banger, Captain. Accept it,” Liam shouts back.
Jake is in the back row with his legs stretched across two seats, eating a sandwich the size of his head. Theo is on FaceTime with Olivia, holding the phone at arm's length so Maya can see the screen. She's babbling and waving, and Theo is making faces at her.
I stop and lean into the frame and pull a face. Maya squeals.
Theo shoves me away. “Get your own baby, Shaw.”
Laughing, I keep moving and drop into the seat next to Blake.
“About time,” he says. “Thought you weren't coming.”
“Had some errands to run. Took longer than I expected.”
We get to the New Jersey airport and board the charter, a Boeing 737 configured for the team. It has wide leather seats, extra legroom, and a section in the back for the coaching staff.
I take my usual seat, window, row six. Blake sits beside me.
The plane taxis and lifts off, and the New York skyline drops away beneath us. I put in my earbuds and lean my head against the window. The sun is low and gold across the clouds, and the hum of the engines fill the cabin.
The flight to Chicago takes about two hours. We're forty minutes in when a loud bang erupts from somewhere underneath the aircraft, deep and metallic, like something shearing loose.
The plane drops, and my stomach goes weightless. The overhead bins rattle and a bag falls out three rows behind me and hits the floor.
The cabin goes silent. Every conversation stops at the same time. The plane steadies, but the engines sound wrong. The left side is louder than it should be, and the right side is quieter than it should be. I've flown enough charters in nine seasons to know that's not normal.
The captain comes on the intercom. “Gentlemen, we've experienced a mechanical issue with our starboard engine. As a precaution, we're going to divert to Pittsburgh International for an emergency landing. Please fasten your seatbelts and remain seated. Flight crew, prepare the cabin.”
The plane banks hard to the right as it begins to descend, and my stomach drops. The cabin is dead quiet now. I look around the cabin. Nobody is talking. Every hand is gripping an armrest, including mine.
Cole turns around from his seat in the front row. “Stay calm, boys. These pilots know what they're doing.” His voice carries through the silent cabin, and a few guys nod, but the worry doesn’t leave their eyes.
The plane is descending fast. Faster than a normal approach. The flight crew moves through the cabin quickly, checking seatbelts, stowing anything loose, and speaking in low voices to each other.
Blake's knuckles are white on the armrests. He's staring straight ahead at the seat back in front of him. “If we make it through this, I'm proposing to Mia tomorrow.”
I don’t have it in me to respond. If I open my mouth right now, I might puke.
The plane shakes through a patch of turbulence, and the overhead bins rattle again. I flinch and grip the armrests tighter while watching the clouds rushing past.
We're descending through a thin layer of gray, and the ground below is getting closer and closer, but we don’t seem to be slowing down.
It’s not long before I can make out roads and farmland and the sprawl of a city in the distance.
My heart is pounding, sweat prickles at the back of my neck at the realization that this plane could very well crash.
My mind goes to my family. Mom and Dad on the couch in Long Island, watching the game tonight on TV, not knowing yet that the plane is in trouble.
Dom in his apartment with Sarah, living the life he chose. Nolan on the road with the Runners, probably on his own team bus heading to his own game somewhere.
And then I think about Jasmine. I saw her less than two hours ago. What if that was the last time I ever saw her?
She doesn't know that leaving her was the worst decision I've ever made. I didn’t tell her that losing her was the hardest thing I've ever gone through.
That I've thought about her every single day for ten years.
That every woman I've met since then hasn’t been able to compare to a girl from Long Island who made me feel seen and loved for the first time in my life.
If this plane goes down, she won’t know that reconnecting with her these last few weeks has been some of the best weeks of my life. That I never stopped loving her. That I want to try again.
The captain comes on the intercom again. “Brace for landing.”
The runway is visible through the window, gray and wide, with fire trucks and emergency vehicles lining both sides, lights flashing red and white in the late afternoon sun.
The engines scream as the pilot adjusts the approach. The cabin is silent except for the rush of air against the fuselage and the heavy breathing of twenty-five men holding their breath.
Blake reaches over and grips my forearm. I grip his hand holding me.
The ground rushes up, and we make impact.