Chapter 7
SEVEN
Logan
I’ve handled playoff pressure, brutal hits, and locker-room blowouts. I’ve played through injuries, fought through exhaustion, and faced down some of the toughest enforcers in the league.
None of it compares to the absolute hell of the internet deciding I’m its new favorite broody hockey boyfriend.
I can’t escape it. Everywhere I turn, my phone buzzes with new notifications, my teammates won’t stop laughing, and worst of all—Violet is thriving in this chaos.
I knew letting her stay here was a mistake.
I pace my kitchen, coffee in hand, while my phone vibrates on the counter. Another message. Another notification. I refuse to check it.
I made that mistake earlier this morning.
Opened my phone to find my face plastered all over Instagram and Twitter—slow-mo edits of me skating, a particularly aggressive hip check that fans have deemed dangerously attractive , and a never-ending thread of people discussing my ‘forbidden romance’ with Violet.
I barely made it out of practice alive.
CJ nearly lost it when someone sent him a meme of me labeled ‘Grumpy Captain in the streets, Soft Boyfriend in the sheets.’
Declan? He’s amused. Which is a miracle because if he actually thought there was something between Violet and me, he’d kill me where I stand.
And Violet?
She’s sitting at the counter, scrolling through her phone, sipping coffee like she didn’t just upend my entire life.
I drag a hand down my face. “How bad is it?”
She looks up, all innocent blue eyes and mischief. “Depends on your definition of ‘bad.’”
“Violet.”
She grins and sets her phone down. “Well, if you’re asking whether people are making fanfiction about you…” She bites her lip. “Yeah. That’s happening.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “What?”
“Oh, and an entire thread of people are debating if you secretly write poetry in a leather journal before games.”
I blink. “What the—no! Why would they think that?”
She shrugs. “You have the look.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I hate everything about this.”
She sighs dramatically. “You’re such a drama queen.”
I shoot her a look. “I’m the drama queen ?”
“You are literally stomping around like a tortured prince in a period drama.”
I take a slow breath, clenching my jaw. “You need to fix this.”
Violet leans forward on her elbows, smirking. “Why? It’s great PR. You should be thanking me.”
I stare at her. “You want me to be a meme?”
She grins. “It’s too late. You already are.”
Practice is a nightmare.
Guys grin at me everywhere I turn like they’re in on some inside joke. CJ nearly falls over laughing when he skates up beside me, phone in hand.
“Dude. Dude. ”
I ignore him.
“Logan.”
I keep skating.
He slides in front of me, blocking my path. “You have to see this.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, but you do .”
Before I can escape, he holds up his phone, showing me a tweet with a slow-motion edit of me knocking a guy into the boards. It’s overlaid with some romantic indie song, and the caption reads:
He’d body-check the world for her.
CJ is dying laughing. “Man, you’re not even a hockey player anymore. You’re a love interest. ”
I snatch the phone from his hand, scrolling through the comments. I instantly regret it.
I need him to ruin my life, respectfully.
The way he glares?? It’s giving ‘grumpy boss who secretly has a soft spot for his sunshine girl’ vibes.
Violet, blink twice if you’re okay.
If Logan doesn’t pick her up and carry her out of the rink in a protective boyfriend moment, I’m suing.
I shove CJ’s phone back at him. “This needs to stop.”
He slaps me on the shoulder. “Oh, buddy. It’s never stopping.”
By the time I get home, I’m running on fumes. I need food, sleep, and one night without the internet reminding me that I’ve been turned into some kind of hockey romance trope.
But the moment I walk through the door, Violet grins at me from the couch.
“So, how’s my favorite viral sensation?”
I exhale sharply. “Violet.”
“Logan.”
I cross my arms. “You need to get the fans off this.”
She hums, tapping her chin. “Hmm. Or… hear me out… I lean in and turn this into a full-blown campaign.”
I groan. “No.”
“Think about it—Thunder merch featuring your grumpy face. ‘Captain Carter: Hockey’s Most Eligible Grump.’ Limited edition jerseys that say ‘#SoftForViolet’ on the back.”
I throw my gloves onto the counter. “I swear to God, Violet.” She cackles, fully entertained at my expense. “Okay, okay, I’ll behave.”
I don’t believe her for a second.
Later that night, I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about Violet.
But that’s impossible.
Because the truth is, the fans aren’t completely wrong.
Yeah, it’s ridiculous. Yeah, it’s the last thing I want to deal with. But the reason this is all so damn irritating?
It’s because I do have feelings for her.
I have for a long time.
And now, thanks to the internet, it feels like the entire world is forcing me to face it.