Chapter 2
TWO
Violet
There’s something about fresh starts. The blank slate. The endless possibilities. The thrill of stepping into something new and completely unknown.
That’s what this is. A fresh start. A chance to prove myself. A step into the future I’ve been working toward for years.
Maple Creek hasn’t changed much since I left. The coffee shop on the corner, the bookstore I used to escape to on weekends, even the little ice rink near the park where Declan used to drag me to skate—it’s all still here.
Nostalgia hits me like a wave, but I push it aside. This isn’t a trip down memory lane. I’m here to work, to make a name for myself and finally be taken seriously in this world of hockey players and locker room politics.
And speaking of hockey players…
I already know my job isn’t going to be easy.
The Thunder are still recovering from last season’s scandal, and management wants a new, polished image.
That means I need to highlight the team’s best moments, show the fans why they should still believe in their players, and—most importantly—stay out of any unnecessary drama.
Easy, right?
Except I know better because drama follows this team like a shadow, and unfortunately for me, part of that shadow comes in the form of one Logan Carter.
My stomach twists at the thought of him. Logan has been a fixture in my life for as long as I can remember. He and Declan have been best friends since they were kids, which means I’ve spent years orbiting around him—always just out of reach.
I don’t know when my stupid crush on him started.
Maybe it was when I was thirteen, and he helped me lace up my skates at one of Declan’s practices.
Maybe it was when I was sixteen, and he pulled me out of a snowbank after I fell face-first during an impromptu hockey game.
Maybe it was every single time he looked at me like I was nothing more than his best friend’s little sister, completely unaware of the way my heart sped up whenever he was around.
Not that it matters. Logan Carter is disciplined, serious, and completely off-limits. And I have more important things to focus on.
Like finding somewhere to live that isn’t Logan’s guest room.
I pull into the parking lot of the Thunder’s training facility, shut off my engine, and take a deep breath. I spot my brother’s car pulling in nearby and hop out, hurrying to catch up with him.
Declan groans, rubbing a hand over his face as he heads toward the Thunder’s facility. “Don’t start.”
I fold my arms, raising an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that after years of keeping me away from your team, you’re just handing me over to Logan Carter?”
“It’s temporary.”
“You realize he hates me, right?”
Declan scoffs. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“He barely tolerates me.”
“That’s just how Logan is.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Declan sighs. “Look, my condo’s under renovation. I don’t have anywhere else for you to go. It’s just for a few days. We’ll go look at places this afternoon after practice.”
I exhale, weighing my options. It’s not like I have a long list of places to crash, and as much as I hate to admit it, staying with Logan might not be the worst idea. I can focus on work, save money, and maybe—just maybe—get under his skin a little.
A slow smile creeps onto my face.
Declan groans. “No.”
“What?”
“You’re thinking something. I don’t like it.”
“I’m just saying…” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “If Logan Carter is going to be my roommate, I might as well make it interesting.”
Declan mutters something under his breath, but I’m already heading for the door.
Maple Creek, get ready. Violet Hayes is back.
And I have a grumpy captain to torment.
I somehow make it through my orientation, meeting with HR, and tour without bumping into my brother or Logan. I’m guessing they’re in the locker room so I send a quick text to Declan that I’m headed home for the day and to text me when he’s out of practice.
Then I head back to Logan’s place.
The apartment is actually the penthouse and one of Maple Creek's older and more respectable buildings. It fits Logan to a T. The place is museum level clean and organized.
I let myself in and hang my purse on the hook by the door. He shouldn’t be home for a bit, depending on when practice is over, so I decide to make myself at home.
I shower, then turn on the TV and lounge on his couch while I do some work. I need to pull analytics of all their social media accounts from the past few months.
I get lost in my work and barely notice when Logan walks through the front door.
“Hey,” I chirp.
He grunts in response, and I bite back a smile as he heads to shower and change. My stomach growls, and I realize that I somehow skipped lunch and dinner. I get up to see what’s in his fridge and smile when I spot the cheese. A grilled cheese sounds perfect right about now.
There’s something weirdly satisfying about making a grilled cheese in a man’s pristine kitchen. Especially when that man is Logan Carter—captain of the Maple Creek Thunder, king of grump, and now sitting at his spotless kitchen island watching me like I’ve broken every law of his sacred household.
I hum as I flip the sandwich in the pan, the scent of sizzling butter filling the room. Logan’s still glaring at my choice of dinner like it’s offensive. I guess he’s used to protein powder and sad chicken.
“Want one?” I ask him.
“No,” he says, but I can see him staring longingly at the pan.
I pull out the ingredients for another sandwich.
“You’re really not going to eat one?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
“I have chicken and rice,” he says like it’s a badge of honor.
I make two sandwiches anyway.
And try to hide my smile when he eats it.
That’s the thing about Logan Carter—he acts like he’s made of stone, but a very human, very real guy lives underneath all that stoicism.
I’ve seen glimpses of him over the years.
Little cracks in the armor. The way he looks after my brother.
The way he carried our golden retriever to the car when she sprained her paw on a hike.
He might be cold, but he’s not heartless.
And now I’m living with him.
For a few days, I remind myself.
It’s not a big deal.
Except that it is.
Because I’ve had a thing for Logan since I was seventeen and he walked into our house for the first time.
All quiet intensity and broad shoulders, trailing my brother like some aloof shadow.
And now I’m crashing in his guest room, sharing grilled cheese and trying not to stare every time he walks by shirtless.
He’s not shirtless now, but his fitted black T-shirt isn’t helping. The man is annoyingly built.
When we finish eating, he rinses his plate and dries it immediately. Like, full scrub, towel dry, and return to cabinet. I leave mine in the sink to see if his eye twitches.
It does.
“You’re going to hate living with me,” I say cheerfully.
He doesn’t respond. Just walks toward his bedroom like he can’t wait to be rid of me.
I sigh and rinse my plate, then retreat to the guest room.
It’s cozy, in that minimalistic, Logan Carter way.
Everything is gray or navy, with the occasional plant that I’m ninety percent sure is fake.
Still, it smells like him—clean and woodsy, with a hint of whatever cologne he wears that should probably be illegal.
I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I officially start my new job. I should be nervous, but all I can think about is the look on Logan’s face when I hugged him yesterday—like I short-circuited his brain.
Maybe this temporary setup won’t be so bad after all.
Morning comes way too early, mostly because Logan is apparently incapable of using a regular alarm. Instead, he’s up at five, doing god-knows-what in the kitchen. There’s clanking, footsteps, and the smell of coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
I groan into my pillow, then drag myself up and shuffle to the bathroom. The mirror reveals a pillow-creased cheek, a messy bun, and sleepy eyes.
Perfect.
By the time I’m dressed and halfway through fixing my makeup, there’s a knock at the door.
“Yeah?”
“You want a ride?” Logan’s voice is muffled but unmistakable.
I blink at the door. That was... weirdly nice of him.
I pull it open. He’s already dressed in his Thunder jacket and jeans, keys in hand.
“You’re offering me a ride?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You work for the team. I’m going there anyway.”
Wow. So warm.
Still, I smile. “Sure. Let me grab my bag.”
The drive to the arena is quiet but not uncomfortable. I steal glances at him when he’s not looking. He’s got that early-morning focus—brow furrowed, jaw set. I wonder if he’s always like this or if the captain role has hardened him.
He parks and turns to me when we pull into the staff lot. “Don’t be late leaving. I’m done at four.”
“You’re picking me up, too?”
He gives me a dry look. “Or you can walk.”
I smirk. “Four it is.”
The first day goes fast. I meet the media team, set up my desk, and spend the afternoon brainstorming content ideas. I already have a few in mind—things fans would love. The team has a solid following, but it needs personality. Heart. Something real.
And, well, Logan Carter might be a walking wall of grump, but he’s exactly the kind of brooding enigma the internet eats up.
I pull up one of the clips I recorded at a family BBQ years ago. It’s Logan reluctantly playing cornhole with Declan, scowling the entire time—until I catch him smiling when he thinks no one’s looking.
It’s perfect.
I grin as I start to edit.
Let’s give the fans something to talk about.
At 3:59, my phone buzzes.
Logan: Outside.
Of course he is.
I grab my bag and hurry out, sliding into his truck with a grin. “You’re punctual.”
He grunts.
I take that as a win.
On the way home, I try not to fidget. I’m used to making conversation, to filling silence. Logan... not so much.
So, I talk about my day. About the video.
“I found this old clip of you playing cornhole. It’s gold. I think I’m going to post it tomorrow. You look like a tortured soul.”
His jaw flexes. “Don’t post anything of me without approval.”
“Relax, Captain. It’s cute.”
“I’m not here to be cute.”
I smirk. “Tell that to your fan club.”
He shoots me a look, but his cheeks are...flushed?
Interesting. Very interesting.
That night, I sit on the couch editing more clips. Logan walks by and pauses when he sees one of himself on screen.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Team archives. I have a gift for finding the good stuff.”
He watches for a second. It’s a shot of him helping a little kid tie their skate laces at a fan event.
His face softens.
Then he walks away, but he doesn’t tell me to delete it.
I think that’s his version of approval.
Maybe this season will be more interesting than either of us expected.