Chapter 12 Nathan
NATHAN
Normally, I’ve got a system for these trips.
I put my noise-cancelling headphones on, pull my hood up, and zone out until we hit the hotel.
It’s how I keep my focus, making sure I’m locked in for the game, which I’m freaking the fuck out about since my thigh is still sore. But apparently, nothing about today is going my way.
First of all, my thigh is still sore as hell, even two weeks after I pulled it. But it’s not like I can just sit out. The team needs me, which means I need to suck it up and play the best I can.
Second of all, I had to take a cold ass shower this morning, because the guys decided to take their sweet ass time and the hot water pretty much ran out by the time I got in.
And third, every damn rookie on this bus decided to show up early and screw with my routine. By the time I climbed on, my usual spot was gone.
And as soon as I found another, someone dropped into the empty seat beside me.
Not just someone.
Logan fucking Gray.
He threw me a grin when he plopped down beside me and said, “Hope you don’t mind. We’re short on seats.”
I minded. A lot. But the bus was already moving, full to the max, and now, three hours had passed and I’m stuck here, pressed against the window, while Logan lounges beside me like he owns the damn seat.
Logan’s legs are sprawled wide, with a family-size bag of sour cream-and-onion chips open in his lap, crunching away while watching a movie on his phone—with the brightness cranked high.
It’s too loud to think. Too cramped to breathe.
I shift toward the window, the cold glass pressing into my shoulder, headphones doing absolutely nothing to drown out Logan existing. My knee bumps his as I try to move.
I knock his leg with mine, trying to reclaim an inch of space. “Move your leg.”
He glances up at me and arches a brow. “There’s plenty of room.”
I scoff. “Not for you and your ego.”
That earns me a quiet huff of laughter and he shifts—barely—but enough that I reclaim an inch of personal space.
I blow out a slow breath and stare at the blur of trees outside. Peaceful. Quiet. Exactly—
I force myself to stay calm when his leg touches mine again.
Deep breaths.
Homicide is frowned upon.
Across the aisle, Austin’s turned around in his seat, halfway facing Ryan. “Tell me that goal wasn’t sick,” he says, his hand slicing the air. “Top corner, baby.”
Ryan doesn’t even glance up from his phone. “You got lucky.”
Austin lets out a sigh. “No respect for greatness.”
“Gravity, you mean,” Ryan says with a scoff. “Trip and fall next time, maybe you’ll score two.”
Logan shakes his head, a laugh caught in his throat. “You ever notice they argue about the same shit every trip?”
I glance across the aisle where Austin’s still talking, and Ryan’s pretending not to listen. “You’d think they’d get tired of it.”
“Not a chance,” he says, with a smirk. “Rhodes could talk to a wall and still lose the argument.”
That earns a small scoff from me before I can stop it.
Logan hears it immediately, of course. “Was that a laugh, Hayes?”
God, I hate how smug he sounds. “No.”
He leans in just enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “Definitely was.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking over. Instead, I reach down and fiddle with the strap of my duffel like it suddenly needs adjusting. “You’re imagining things.”
“Or…” he says, dragging it out like he already knows he’s getting under my skin, “you’re just in denial that this might be your best road trip yet.”
I shoot him a look. “Why’s that?”
He grins. “Because you get to sit next to me, of course.”
My eyebrow lifts before I can stop it. “Pretty sure that’s what makes it the worst one.”
He laughs, annoyingly pleased with himself. “You say that, but deep down, I know you’d miss me.” He bumps his shoulder with mine, and it pisses me off, how he touches me like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been messing with my head for days.
I turn back to the window, tracking the blur of trees rushing past. Focus on that. Not him. Not whatever look he’s giving me. Not the heat sitting low in my stomach.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about him.
Don’t think about—
But my brain’s already gone there.
Back to the locker room.
Back to his hand on my thigh.
Back to the split second where everything in me just… stopped.
I drag in a slow breath and rub the back of my neck like I can erase the memory with friction alone.
It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
Just a reaction.
Just my body startled.
Just nerves. Muscle memory. Whatever excuse makes sense.
That’s the story I keep telling myself, anyway.
“Hey.”
Logan’s voice slices through whatever spiral I’ve managed to work myself into. I blink, turn my head, and he’s… offering me a chip.
For a second, I just stare at it. Then at him.
He’s lounging back in his seat, his hood half-off his head. His fingers are still outstretched, a chip balanced between them.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Truce.”
“Truce,” I echo, eyeing the chip.
“Jesus, Hayes. It’s not poisoned,” he says with an eye roll. “I just… I know you like to sit alone and I’m probably the last person you’d pick to sit next to.”
My pulse jumps, wanting to tell him he’s right and so fucking far from the truth at the same time.
“So,” he adds, chip still hovering between us, “here. You haven’t eaten the whole ride, and it’s kinda freaking me out.”
I glance down at the chip, then back at him. He tilts his head slightly, waiting for me to take it.
I sigh, shake my head, and take it from him anyway. He grins instantly, his eyes lighting up.
I toss the chip into my mouth, mostly to shut him up.
He leans back with this satisfied little smirk, draping his arm over the seat.
I turn toward the window, press my temple into the cold glass, and pray it cools whatever the hell is happening to my neck.
The bus hisses to a stop in the hotel lot, brakes screeching loud enough to wake the three freshmen drooling against their windows.
Austin’s already unbuckled before we’re fully stopped. “Finally,” he groans, grabbing his duffel. “If I sit here another minute, my ass is going to turn square.”
“Stay seated,” my dad barks.
Naturally, no one does.
Hockey bags get yanked down from overhead as soon as the bus comes to a stop.
“I call the biggest room,” Austin announces, already halfway out of his seat.
Ryan glances over at him. “You can’t call a room you haven’t seen.”
Austin twists around, smirking. “You’re just grumpy as fuck because you won’t be able to fuck your girlfriend for the next two nights.”
My dad pauses mid-step and slowly turns, narrowing his eyes down at Austin.
Ryan’s already rubbing a hand down his face. Isabella’s cheeks flush red, and she ducks behind her cup. I grind my teeth, my brain attempting to block those words. Because—Jesus Christ—I do not need visuals of my sister’s sex life.
Austin seems to realize exactly what he’s done, because all the color drains from his face. “I meant—uh—sleep,” he blurts. “Like… quality bonding time.”
“Fucking hell, just shut up,” Ryan mutters. “You’re making it worse.”
Austin throws his hands up. “Kidding! Obviously. Would never say that in front of you, Coach. Total respect. Big fan of your daughter. Shit—not like that.”
I drag a hand down my face. “He’s actually still talking,” I mutter under my breath.
“Rhodes.”
Austin blows out a breath. “Yes, coach?”
“If I hear one more sentence out of your mouth that makes me want to bleach my eardrums, you’re sleeping in the parking lot.”
Austin nods solemnly. “Understood. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Can’t promise about Ryan’s, though.”
Ryan groans and Isabella practically chokes.
Dad pinches his nose. “Off. All of you. Before I lose what’s left of my sanity.”
I get up and smack the back of Austin’s head as I go.
“Ow,” he yelps, rubbing it as he twists around. “What the—”
“You ever bring up my sister and sex in the same breath again, I’m shoving you out the emergency exit.”
Austin winces, raising his hands. “Totally fair. Forgot she’s your sister for a sec.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, grabbing my duffel. “Don’t.”
The bus doors hiss open, letting in a blast of cold air. Guys start grabbing their bags, bumping shoulders and tripping over each other in the aisle.
Austin keeps his head down this time, mumbling something about needing a helmet. I shake my head and follow him off the bus, doing my best to erase that entire conversation from my brain before it traumatizes me for life.
It’s cold as hell outside, but once we enter the lobby, the heat hits me hard.
I unzip my jacket while my dad heads straight to the front desk, checking us in and grabbing our keys.
He turns, facing us with his clipboard pressed to his chest. Of course he brought it.
He’s been attached to a clipboard since before I could tie my skates.
Even back then, he’d have a whistle around his neck and a clipboard tucked under his arm, as Izzy and I raced laps on the ice while he’d time us.
She’d always start early, cheat by half a rink and he’d pretend not to notice…
then make me do push-ups for “falling behind.”
To this day, I’m still not sure if he was trying to toughen me up or if he just found it funny.
“Alright,” he says, striding back toward us with the keys held together by a rubber band. “Room assignments are set. No swaps. No whining. If you don’t like your roommate, sleep on the bus.”
“Better than with Rhodes,” Ryan mutters.
“I heard that,” Austin fires back, elbowing him. “You’ll be begging for my body heat when the room gets cold.”
Ryan looks him dead in the eye. “I’d rather die.”
Austin just grins. Guess you can’t embarrass a man who was born without shame.
Coach pulls off the rubber band and starts handing out keys as he calls names.
“Reed and Rhodes.”
Ryan sighs, catches the key Coach tosses him and gives Austin a flat look. “Just so we’re clear,” he says, “you’re not cuddling me.”
Austin blows him a kiss. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll keep you warm.”
“Try it,” Ryan says, “and I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”
Austin just grins wider. “See? This is why we work.”
Beside him, my sister chuckles. Ryan narrows his eyes at her, but there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Taylor and Moore,” Coach calls out next, the two freshman fist bumping each other.
“Ellis and O’Connor.”
Cole doesn’t say a word. He just grabs the key, pockets it, and heads straight for the elevators. Probably pissed he drew a rookie. I don’t blame him.
I watch as O’Connor follows him, looking a little terrified.
Coach keeps reading names, and beside me, Logan’s shoulder brushes mine.
“Wanna bet we’re rooming together?” he murmurs.
I cut him a sideways look. “We’re not.”
He laughs under his breath, and I have the urge to shove him into a potted plant. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Coach flips to a new sheet, his eyes skimming the list. “Hartley and Delgado.”
A couple of guys at the back clap each other on the shoulder before they step forward to grab their key.
Coach glances down again. “Gray and Hayes.”
My head snaps up so fast my neck clicks.
Logan’s already turning toward me, that slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
I step forward. “Coach—”
My dad doesn’t even let me finish. He shakes his head as he hands over the key.
“No changes,” he says firmly. “You two live together. I know he’s a pain in the ass—”
“Hey,” Logan mutters.
“—but you haven’t killed each other yet, so I think you’ll survive forty-eight hours.”
My stomach sinks.
Logan bumps my arm, still grinning like an idiot. “Try to sound more excited, roomie.”
“I’m thrilled,” I deadpan.
He nudges me again. I don’t shove him into a plant. So really, I deserve an award.
“Good. I was starting to feel rejected.” Logan leans in. “FYI, I sleep basically naked.” He shoots me a wink before grabbing the keys and heading toward the elevators.
Fuck my life.
Coach calls for the rest of the keys and the group breaks apart, heading toward Izzy as she hands out the schedules for tomorrow.
I weave through the crowd and grab one off the top. “Change rooms with me,” I beg her.
She glances up, raising a brow. “Dad said no changes.”
What a fucking goody-two-shoes. “Come on, Izz. I’m your brother. Doesn’t that count for something?”
She narrows her eyes—the exact look Dad gives when a player mouths off. “After you punched my boyfriend? No.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That was literally fucking ages ago. C’mon. I’ll pay you.”
She lets out a laugh. “With what money?” she says, handing another sheet to one of the rookies, “Stop being so dramatic. Logan’s harmless.”
She turns away when someone calls her name, and I’m left standing there with the stupid schedule in my hand, trying not to overthink it.
It’s two nights. That’s all.
We’ve shared space before— Hell, we share space every day. But this is different.
A hotel room’s different. It’s small, quiet, and there’s no escape from him.
I can already picture him stretched out on the bed in nothing but boxers, because he’s allergic to shirts, and I’ll be there, doing what I always do. Pretending it doesn’t bother me. Pretending I don’t loathe myself for noticing everything about him.
I’ve been doing a decent job keeping my head straight. Keeping my distance.
Except now we’ll be stuck in a room together.
And I have a bad feeling two nights might be all it takes for him to notice just how much he gets to me.