Chapter 14
Logan
Practice on Thursday is hard. Mercer has us running systems for ninety minutes straight, working on breakout patterns and neutral zone transitions. We have the Panders tomorrow night, and Denver plays a tight, physical game that punishes lazy passes and slow feet.
Mercer knows it, and he's grinding us accordingly.
I'm skating hard, but my head is somewhere else. Jasmine's mother is in town. She arrived last night and is staying at Jasmine's apartment through Saturday morning. Which means I won't see Jasmine tonight or tomorrow.
Two full days without seeing her. It's the first time we've been apart since Chicago.
A week ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about two days alone. Two days alone used to be my entire life. Practice, gym, treatment, dinner for one, game film, bed. I had a routine that ran like clockwork, and I didn't need anyone inside it.
Now, I eat dinner with Jasmine every night, and fall asleep with her head on my shoulder. And when my alarm goes off in the morning, she's still there, warm and soft against me.
My apartment has barely seen me in a week. My fridge is full of my mother's Tupperware containers that I haven't touched because I've been eating at Jasmine's every night.
Two days feels like eternity.
“Shaw.” Mercer's voice cuts across the ice. “You planning on joining us for this drill, or are you on vacation?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
Blake skates up beside me. “Where's your head?”
“Here.”
“Liar.”
“It's here now.”
I lock in for the rest of practice and push Jasmine out of my mind, which lasts about forty minutes until Mercer blows the final whistle and sends us to the locker room.
I towel off, change into sweats, and grab my phone from my stall. There’s only one text from Jasmine that was sent an hour ago.
Mom's taking me to some new restaurant tonight so I'll be off the grid. I'll cook for you Saturday night. Jollof rice. Mom's recipe. Be at mine by seven.
I read the message twice and smile. Lorraine's jollof is legendary. When we were dating in high school, I'd show up at the Bennett house praying that Lorraine had made it. I've eaten at restaurants all over North America in nine years of road trips, and nothing has come close.
I text back: I'll be there at six-fifty-five.
She replies with: Overachiever.
I put my phone in my bag and head to the parking lot. I can handle two days.
I drive home and eat lunch at the counter. Grilled chicken and rice, the same meal I've eaten on non-game days for three years. I wash the plate, dry it, and put it away.
The apartment is spotless because I cleaned it this morning out of habit. There's nothing to do except sit in a quiet apartment and not text Jasmine because she's with her mother.
I last forty-five minutes.
I go for a walk. It's cold out, and the streets around my building are busy with the afternoon crowd. I put my hands in my jacket pockets and walk south toward Central Park and loop through the lower trails where the trees are bare, and the benches are mostly empty.
I used to do this all the time. Long walks, alone, no destination. I liked the solitude. It cleared my head after practice.
Now the solitude feels different. The bench I pass near the Bethesda Fountain would be a good spot to sit with Jasmine on a Sunday morning with coffee. The path along the lake would be a good walk after dinner on a weeknight when neither of us is ready to go home.
I get back to my apartment at four and do an hour of stretching and foam rolling on my back. I watch game film for tomorrow's matchup against Boston. I eat dinner alone, then settle on the couch with a book.
At nine, I give up and text her.
Hope dinner with your mom is good. Miss you.
She doesn't reply for an hour, which means she's giving Lorraine her full attention, which is exactly what she should be doing. When the reply comes, it's short and sweet.
It's wonderful. Miss you too. See you Saturday.
I put the phone on the nightstand and get into bed. This is the first night in a week I've slept without her beside me.
I don't sleep well.
We beat Denver 3-1 at MSG. I play twenty-four minutes, block three shots, and assist on Cole's second-period goal. My back is tight afterward, but Lane works on it for thirty minutes in the training room, and the tightness loosens enough that I can drive home without wincing at every red light.
I eat leftover grilled chicken from a container in my fridge. It's fine. It's fuel. I eat at the counter and scroll through my phone, and the apartment is quiet in a way that used to feel normal and now feels empty.
Jasmine sends me a photo at ten. She and her mother are at a restaurant, sitting across from each other, wine glasses raised. Jasmine is leaning into her mother's shoulder. She looks happy.
Another text comes through. Mom says the sea bass is the best she's ever had.
I type back: Tell Lorraine I said hi.
There's a long pause. Then: She doesn't know about us yet, remember?
Me: Right. The agreement.
I put my phone down and go to bed. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I fall asleep thinking about Jollof rice.
Saturday morning, I go to the gym at seven, get treatment on my back at nine, and spend the rest of the morning at home doing laundry and watching game film from last night. I'm reviewing a sequence where I got caught flat-footed on a Boston zone entry when my phone rings.
It's Dad.
“Logan. What are you doing tonight? Nolan's already here, and Dom called this morning. He says he has something important he wants to discuss with the family. Your mother is cooking.”
“Dad, I have plans tonight.”
“Cancel them. Your brother says it's important. He wants all of us there. Dinner at six.”
“Can't it wait until Sunday? I could drive out after the game.”
“He specifically said tonight. The whole family together. Whatever plans you have, they can wait.”
Whatever Dom wants to say must be important.
I sit on my couch and stare at the phone. Jasmine's last text is still on the screen from this morning. A photo of raw chicken pieces in a bowl of marinade with the caption: This is marinating for eight hours. You better show up hungry.
I type and delete three messages before I settle on one.
Something came up with family. Nolan's in town for one night and my dad wants everyone there. I'm really sorry. Can we do tomorrow instead?
I press send, put the phone on the coffee table, and go back to the game film. I watch the same Boston zone entry four times without absorbing any of it.
Jasmine’s reply comes twenty minutes later. No worries. Have fun with your family.
Jasmine understands. She's a reasonable person. My brother is in town for one night. This isn't a big deal.
I shower and drive to Long Island.
The dinner is fine. Nolan is in good form.
“So we check into this hotel in Tampa,” Nolan says, waving his fork.
“And I go to the bathroom, and there's a roach on the wall the size of my fist. I'm talking massive.
I call the front desk, and the guy says Sir, that's a palmetto bug, not a roach.
' I said, 'I don't care what his name is, get him out of my room. '“
Dom nearly chokes on his water. Dom and Sarah are sitting across from me. Sarah is in a deep blue dress that suits her.
“That's a great dress, Sarah,” I say.
Her whole face lights up. “Thank you, Logan. I found it at this little boutique in the city.”
Dom clears his throat and puts his fork down. “Actually, since we're all together, Sarah and I have some news.”
The table goes quiet. Mom stops mid-reach for the salad bowl, and Dad sets his glass down.
Dom takes Sarah's hand on the table. “I proposed last weekend. Sarah said yes.”
Sarah raises her left hand, and a diamond catches the light. It's small and elegant and perfect for her. Her face is flushed, and she's smiling so wide it takes over her entire face.
“Congratulations,” I say immediately, reaching across to shake Dom's hand and squeeze Sarah's. “That's incredible news.”
“About time,” Nolan says. “I was starting to think you were going to date this woman forever without making it official.”
“When's the wedding?” I ask.
“We're thinking something small and intimate,” Dom says. “Close family, a few friends. Maybe spring.”
“Spring of next year?” Mom says. Her smile is in place, but her eyes are tight. “That's very soon.”
“Spring of this year, Mom,” Dom says. “We don't see the point in waiting.”
Mom puts the salad bowl down. “Don't you think you're both a little young for marriage? You're twenty-three, Dominic. You haven't even finished your masters. Maybe a longer engagement would give you time to—”
“We know what we want, Mom.” Dom's voice is calm but firm. “We've known for a while.”
“I just think that rushing into something this big without—”
“It's not rushing. We've been together for three years.”
The table is quiet. Dad is clearly determined to stay out of it. Sarah's smile has dimmed.
I want to stand up and cheer for my little brother. For the kid who quit hockey and chose his own path and fell in love with a woman who makes him happy. I’m proud that he’s telling all of us how his life is going to go, whether they approve or not.
Dom has more guts than I've ever had.
“Well,” Mom says after a long pause. “I suppose a long engagement isn't for everyone.”
“No,” Dom says. “It's not.”
I lean forward. “I'm happy for you both. And I'm ready for best man duties whenever you need me.”
“Hey,” Nolan says, straightening up. “That's my job.”
“You live in Florida.”
“And? I'll fly in. I'm the fun brother. Best man has to be the fun brother. That's the rule.”
Dom laughs, and the tension breaks. “We'll figure it out. Maybe I'll have two.”
“You can't have two best men,” Nolan says.
“It's my wedding. I can have whatever I want.”
Sarah laughs. I’m glad to see that color has returned to her face. She deserves this. She’s tolerated my mother’s indifference and still showed up for family dinners.
Mom starts clearing plates for dessert. The conversation moves on, but the air in the room has changed. Dom drew a line tonight and held it, and I'm proud of him in a way I don't have words for.
Over dinner, Dad talks about the Renegades' winning streak. He tells me my positioning has improved and that my partnership with Blake is the strongest defensive pairing in the conference.
Three months ago, I would have absorbed every word and carried it around like a trophy. Tonight I keep checking my phone.
Nolan catches me looking. “Expecting a call?”
“No.”
“Then put the phone away.”
Dom asks about the plane scare, and I give them the version I've given everyone — it was rough, the pilots handled it, everyone's fine. Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand and says she thanked God every day that week.
By nine, I'm restless. I say my goodbyes. Mom hugs me at the door. “You've seemed different lately, Logan. Happier.”
“I'm playing well. The team's on a streak.”
She holds my face in her hands. “I'm glad.”
I kiss her cheek and walk to my car. On the drive back to Manhattan, I text Jasmine.
Just got in the car. Dinner was good. Nolan says hi. How was your night?
Her reply comes in three minutes.
Quiet. Glad you had a good time.
I stare at the screen at a red light. Quiet. That's all she's giving me. No warmth.
I text again. What did you end up doing?
Jasmine: Ate dinner. Watched a movie. I’m off to bed. Goodnight.