Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
I waited at the arrivals curb, parked near the exit where Logan would appear. Travellers streamed out with bulging backpacks and luggage. I tried to ignore the pit in my stomach, but it was impossible. The picture from the paper was seared into the back of my eyelids, and I couldn't unsee it.
After a few minutes, Logan burst through the doors, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. My heart rate spiked. It should've been because I was excited to see him, but as he crossed the sidewalk, my gut twisted into knots.
He grinned when he saw me, then threw his gear and luggage into the back and approached the driver’s side. He reached for the handle. I popped the locks and slid over to the passenger seat.
Logan jumped in. "Hey, you." He leaned over the console and kissed me. I let him. I didn’t know what else to do. "What? No 'I missed you'?"
"Of course I missed you!" I tried to keep my tone light. "I just thought you’d want to get out of here. It's a zoo."
"Good point." Logan turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. "So, the Czech Republic was insane. The rinks there are so different. They have a wider playing surface. Some of those guys, I don’t even know. Their puck handling is off the charts.”
I tried to keep up, but Logan was talking a mile a minute.
He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer, a little wavier then it was when he’d left. “And the fans! I've never seen anything like it. They were chanting and waving flags. The whole place smelled like sausage and beer. I should've asked you to come with me. You would've loved it. I mean, the games were intense, but the city was amazing. You would've loved the architecture. We stayed in this old hotel with these massive wooden beams. The food was a bit of an adventure, like I said. I had no idea what I was ordering half the time. And the coffee? Strong enough to wake the dead.”
I stared at the dashboard, nodding at the appropriate moments. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, not when I was replaying the scene from the paper over and over in my head.
"I'm so glad you came to pick me up. It's been torture not seeing your face for the past two weeks." Logan reached over the console again, his fingers brushing my arm. I flinched, and he pulled back, confusion etched on his face.
"Sorry, I'm just . . . tired." I forced a smile and turned up the radio. "Look, Christmas music! It's still technically the holidays, right?"
Logan's eyes softened. "Of course. You must've been busy with finals and your family."
"Yeah, it's been non-stop." I kept my tone casual, even though my pulse was racing.
We stopped at a red light, and Logan leaned in, his eyes searching my face. "I missed you, Sharla. So much."
My heart clenched. I wanted to believe him, but the ghost of that picture stood between us. I turned my head as he came in for a kiss, and his lips landed on my cheek. "I missed you, too." I managed a smile and reached for his hand. "You probably want to get home and sleep."
Logan shook his head. "I'm wide awake. I slept on the plane." He ran his thumb over my wrist. "Maybe you can help me burn off some energy when we get home?"
I let out a nervous laugh. Hopefully he’d pass it off as flirty? "Maybe." I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat, letting Logan's voice wash over me as he continued to talk about the tournament.
I wasn't going to bring up the picture. Not yet. For all I knew, it was probably nothing. Just a fan who'd gotten too close, and Logan hadn't wanted to be rude. He was a Canadian boy, after all.
So I told myself to relax. To match Logan's enthusiasm. He didn’t seem to notice my internal struggle. He was too wrapped up in his own world, and to be fair, it was a world worth being wrapped up in.
“The tournament level of play was next level. Those European teams, they don't mess around. I mean, I've played against tough competition before, but this? This was on a whole other level. The speed, the skill, the intensity. I had to up my game just to keep up. And the strategies.” Logan ran a hand over his jaw. “The way they moved the puck, it was almost like they were reading each other's minds. It was a wake-up call, that's for sure. I knew I had to push myself harder, be more aggressive, more strategic. And it paid off. I scored in every game except the first one. That was just a warm-up, though. Getting used to the rink and the different ice. But after that, it was like something clicked. I was in the zone.” He glanced over at me, his eyes alight with excitement. “You would've loved it."
I nodded. "I'm sure I would've."
"And the country itself, Sharla. It's beautiful. I mean, I'd seen pictures and stuff, but being there in person? It was like stepping into a postcard. The architecture, the landscapes, the people. Everything felt so different from here. It was like stepping into a different world, you know?"
I couldn't focus on his words. I tried to pull myself back into the moment, but it was like trying to swim through molasses. Logan kept talking about the games, the plays, the goals, and I kept nodding and smiling like a bobblehead on speed.
This should’ve been where the excitement kicked in. Where I imagined this life he was describing. The teams, the fans, the success. In the past, I was always there next to Logan’s side. He was thanking me when he signed contracts, coming home to me after he won or lost, talking to me about his goals, waving to me in the stands.
This time, I couldn’t see it. The future stretched before me in a blurry mess, and that scared me more than a picture in the paper.
Logan took a breath. "And then, after that game, I checked my email, and there were messages from NHL agents. Coaches. Sharla, they're interested in me."
Hm. Interesting. He checked his email. I wondered if he wrote them back?
I forced a smile. "That's incredible, Logan. I'm so happy for you."
We turned onto Memorial Drive, and the Bow River ran alongside us, its surface frozen and covered in a thin layer of snow. And then in less than five minutes, we were turning onto our street, and the townhouse came into view.
Logan pulled up against the curb and killed the engine. He turned to me, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Home, sweet, home."
We took in his bags and gear, and as soon as we dropped them in the entryway, Logan didn't waste any time. He tossed his keys on the counter and turned to me. "Come here, babe." His hands found my waist, and he pulled me close. His breath was hot against my neck as he kissed me, his lips insistent.
I tried to reciprocate, but my thoughts were a tangled mess. The photo of that girl. The unanswered questions. I placed a hand on Logan's chest and gently pushed him back. "Wait, wait." I forced a laugh, scrambling for some way to stall. "I want to give you my Christmas gift."
Logan groaned. "Couldn’t we do that later?”
I shook my head, wriggling out of his grasp. I ran into my room and grabbed his present, then walked back out to find Logan searching through his bag.
“Mine isn’t wrapped.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“I don’t care.” I sat down on the couch. Logan walked over, holding something behind his back. Blood rushed in my ears. The last time I’d seen someone stand like that, it was Rob holding his letter.
I thrust Logan’s present into his free hand. "Here. I hope you like it."
Logan sat next to me, hiding whatever he had behind him on the couch, then unwrapped my gift. When he saw the signature, he looked up at me. "Is this . . . ?"
I nodded, a nervous smile tugging at my lips. "Doug Gilmore. The real deal."
Logan shook his head, his expression incredulous. "Sharla, this is incredible. How did you even find this?"
"I have my ways."
Logan's grin spread wide as he stared at the puck, his eyes tracing the signature over and over. "Thank you. This is the best." He leaned in and kissed me, then pulled back and motioned for me to stay put. "Okay, my turn."
He set down the puck and pulled my present out in cupped hands. "I got this at one of the Christmas markets." He opened his fingers, revealing a small wooden box. I ran my fingers over the smooth surface. The wood was dark and polished, with intricate carvings that wrapped around the edges. I lifted the lid and was met with the scent of pine and varnish.
"It's for your bracelet," Logan said. "I wanted you to have something special to keep it in."
The bracelet. My heart sank. Where was it? It had been in the pocket of my jeans, but had I ever taken it out?
The box was beautiful. It was kind that he thought of me. But that box could’ve been for anyone, and the bracelet was more for Logan than for me. He didn’t see me, and for the first time, I wasn’t dying to pretend he did.
I closed the box and set it on the coffee table. “Logan?—"
"Wait, where’s Rob’s blanket?" Logan frowned, searching the living area.
I blinked. “He didn’t tell you?”
Logan's eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Rob moved out? He's gone?"
I nodded. “He moved in with Brayden and Rory.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair. "I guess it's just us, then." He laughed, but it sounded forced. "Damn. Double rent."
It was that statement, that exact moment that the threads unravelled. Just like those seconds with Rob on stage in the darkened concert hall, I knew. I could never look at Logan the same.
I'd spent my entire life pretending. Pretending I didn’t care that my mom wouldn’t let me wear baggy pants with boxers showing out the top to school. Pretending it was fine that we ate at the Italian place even though I much preferred Asian. Pretending I was friends with Eric in the summer.
I'd become a pro at it. Pretending I didn’t have problems so Logan wouldn’t be distracted. Pretending that I didn't care if Logan didn't attend my concerts because of hockey. Pretending like I wanted to have sex when I was exhausted, and it didn’t even feel that good.
And now I was pretending like I didn't want to scream and cry and throw crap across the room after seeing that photo in the newspaper. I was pretending like I loved this gift and that I was excited for him to put his hands on me when all I wanted to do was shove him into the wall and ask him why the hell he thought it was okay to let another girl drape herself over him like a shawl.
I wasn't a marionette. I was a real, live girl, and I was done pretending. "Logan, who was the girl in the newspaper?" I blurted.
Logan frowned. "What girl in the newspaper?"
I clenched my hands into fists, trying to steady my breath. I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to remember the image, but it was seared into the back of my eyelids. "She was blond. She was playing with your medal, and you had your arm around her waist."
Logan's eyes widened. "Oh. That was in the paper?"
“The school paper.”
He laughed and leaned toward me, but I held out a hand. He stilled, raising his hands in surrender. "I think you're talking about Marta. She was one of the translators for our team. We were all at the bar after our match against Sweden."
"Why was she playing with your medal?"
He shifted his weight, his hands flexing at his sides. "I don't know. She was just having fun."
"And you had your arm around her."
Logan's lips pursed. "It was no big deal, Shar. We were just celebrating."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Celebrating."
Logan nodded. "Yeah, we were all buzzing after the win. She was excited for us."
"She was excited and you were . . . buzzing."
Logan reached for my hand. "I missed you, Sharla. I'm here now, okay? Whatever you saw in that picture, it didn't mean anything." I tried to pull my hand back, but Logan held on. "Hey, it's okay." He brushed his lips over my knuckles.
I pulled my hand away. "Logan, I can't."
He frowned. "What do you mean you can't? I’ve been gone for over two weeks. I missed you."
I swallowed, my mind racing. What did I mean? I stood and stepped away from the couch. I needed air.
Logan jumped up and stepped forward, putting his hands on my hips. “Babe.” He pressed his lips to my neck, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. "I want you."
I pushed him back. "Logan, stop."
He frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. "Sharla, what the hell?"
I drew a deep breath and met his eyes. "Were you with other girls over there?"
“With?” Logan scoffed. “No, I wasn’t ‘with’ other girls.”
My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t meeting my eyes. “Let me be a little more specific. Did you touch other girls like you did Marta?”
He gave me a look. “I told you?—”
“I sent you emails. I told you real, difficult things that were happening in my life, and you never wrote me back. So. Now that you’re right in front of me and not busy, I’m asking you a question, and I expect a real answer. Did you kiss her?”
His face blanched. “Babe?—”
“Answer the damn question, Logan.”
Logan blew out a breath. "Sharla, I was drunk. It was just a kiss."
I blinked back tears. Just a kiss.
Logan's shoulders sagged. "I didn’t?—"
"How many?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper. I didn’t need to ask how it happened or why. That much was obvious. But he was still squirming, which meant I still didn’t know the whole story.
He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Sharla, it didn't mean anything."
I swallowed hard. "How many, Logan?"
He groaned. "Two. Okay? There were two."
My heart felt like it was going to burst through my chest. "Two girls." Did he even hear himself?
Logan’s grip tightened on my waist. "I was lonely, Sharla. I was there for weeks, and after the games, the whole team was pumped, and these girls . . ."
I shook my head. "So it’s their fault?”
Logan looked at me like I was the one who didn’t understand. "I didn't sleep with them, Sharla. It was just fun."
"Fun." I tried to keep my voice steady. It was an impossible task. "Logan, do you think it would be okay if I kissed two guys? To have fun?"
Logan's jaw tightened. "You're not . . . I mean, Sharla, you wouldn't?—"
"No, I wouldn't." I slapped his hands away and took a step back, my heart aching. I was lonely, too, but I’d walked away. When I felt things with Rob, I made a damn choice.
Logan reached for me, but I stepped back again. "Sharla, please. It was a mistake. It won't happen again. I promise."
Rob’s words in the hall outside the locker room came back to me, this time with a completely different meaning. She doesn’t understand the kind of dedication and commitment this takes, bud.
I didn’t understand. If this was what it meant to be dedicated to hockey, then I was going to take away his focus. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit at home while my boyfriend travelled to different cities to celebrate and “have fun” with his adoring fans.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would scream. Or cry. Or both. I turned and walked down the hall.
Logan followed me. "Sharla, please. Let's talk about this."
I stopped in front of my door, my hand on the doorknob. "Talk? You want to talk now?" I turned to face him. "Logan, you didn't even talk to me when you were gone."
Logan looked away. "I was busy?—"
"Bullshit." I spat the word. "You were out at bars with your team. You were out kissing random girls. You could've made time for me." My voice cracked, and I hated how weak it sounded. "I made time for you, Logan, and I gave you so much credit, I can’t—” I stopped myself, searching for my suitcase.
Logan tried to reach for my hand, but I pulled away. "You can’t, what?”
I shook my head. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."
He stepped closer. "What were you going to say?"
I clenched my jaw. "I can’t believe you didn’t make those pancakes."
Logan looked at me. "You’re pissed about the pancakes?"
I pursed my lips. “It’s not about the pancakes.”
“Well it sounds like?—”
“It’s about everything, Logan. You didn’t wash out my water bottles, you didn’t make the pancakes, you didn’t come to my concerts, and you sure as hell didn’t make me that mix tape.”
Logan blinked. "What?"
I forced myself to draw a full breath, then slowly let it out. “Why didn’t you tell me about the mix tape?”
Logan sat down on the bed. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Hmm.” I nodded once. “It seems you don’t think a lot of things matter.” I turned and opened up my dresser drawer, grabbing out a few pairs of underwear and socks, then moved to the closet.
I expected the wave of emotions to keep swelling, building within me until the dam broke, but as I pulled out a sweater and a pair of jeans, the opposite happened. The storm inside me calmed.
Logan wasn’t any different now than when he’d left.
I was the one who’d changed.
As messed up as it sounded, a little compassion trickled through me. Logan was expecting to come home to the same girl he’d left. The one who shoved everything in her life to the side to make sure every single one of his needs was met. The one who worshiped the ground he walked on. The one who needed his attention to feel whole. To feel special. To feel worthy.
Logan was used to being able to do exactly what he wanted. In no way did that excuse the behaviour he was rationalizing. But it did make sense. He wanted a hardcore fan. I wanted a relationship.
I dropped my clothes in the suitcase and looked up at Logan, resting his head in his hands. “I changed while you were gone.” Logan looked up. “I still care about you, Logan. I do.” Logan started shaking his head, but I put up a hand. “You are an incredible hockey player, and I know you’re going to have every opportunity after all this. I’m so happy for you. But I need to be more than the tagalong.”
“Shar, you were never the tagalong.”
I zipped up the suitcase and walked into the washroom, scooping my toiletries into my case. I walked back into the bedroom and gripped the handle of my bag. “I’m taking your truck.”
I turned and exited the room, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run. I grabbed his keys from the island counter, then pulled my coat from the hook.
“Shar. I’m sorry. Take a drive, and I’ll have dinner ready when you get back tonight. We can talk about this and?—"
"I made you a week of dinners."
Logan sucked in a breath. “You did?”
“I did.” I gripped the suitcase handle. “I’ll come back for the rest of my things once I figure out where I’m staying.”
Logan’s mouth twisted. He pointed to Rob’s empty room. “You could stay there for now. You don’t have to leave.”
I looked at the open bedroom door, and my heart twinged. No. I couldn’t stay in that room. Because the only person I wanted to see right now had moved all of his things out of it.
Logan opened his mouth, but I shook my head. I couldn’t give him false hope. There was nothing he could say or do to fix this because it wasn’t just the girl in the paper that broke things.
I needed to rip off the Band-Aid. "We're done, Logan." I pulled the door open and dragged my suitcase out into the night.