Chapter 24 Logan
LOGAN
In theory, a four-hour bus ride with twenty guys should be fun as hell.
It’s one of my favorite parts of playing hockey. The noise, the chirping, the sense that for a few hours, nothing outside this bus matters. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to family in a long time.
But it’s also cramped, smells vaguely like sweat, and Austin won’t shut up about pineapple on pizza.
“It’s elite,” he says, twisting around in his seat to face the rookie behind him. “The sweet, the salty.” He kisses his fingers. “Perfect combination.”
Miles—the rookie who never shuts up—gives Austin a disgusted look. “Why the hell would you want a sweet pizza?”
“Uhh… ever heard of sweet and sour sauce?” Austin throws back with a raised eyebrow.
Miles raises a brow. “Yeah, and I don’t put that on cheese either.”
Austin waves him off. “Whatever. It’s fruit. Fruit’s healthy.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Miles says with a scoff.
Austin just grins. “Still counts. Vitamin C or some shit.”
Coach sighs from the front. “Every damn trip,” he mutters.
Usually, I think Coach is a grumpy motherfucker, but goddamn, it’s six in the fucking morning, and I’m running on three hours of sleep, half a bagel, and my eyelids are heavy as hell. I don’t understand how Austin has so much energy this early in the morning.
I try to head down the aisle, but Ryan blocks it with his long-ass legs, arguing with Isabella over who beat who on Mario Kart. I shove his foot out of the way and keep moving.
My eyes quickly glance to Cole, who’s sitting by the emergency exit, his hood up and eyes on his phone.
The rookie ahead of me clearly values his life because he doesn’t even glance at the seat next to him.
I let out a scoff.
Smart kid.
I keep moving down the aisle until I spot Nathan a few rows back, his head tipped toward the window, hoodie up, and headphones on like always.
For a second, I just stand there, watching him.
A few months ago, that seat beside him meant hours of awkward silence. Me cracking jokes he refused to laugh at. Him pretending I didn’t exist.
Now? It’s the only seat I want.
I toss my duffel into the overhead bin, then drop into the space beside him. “Move over.”
He startles, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting,” I say, leaning back, my shoulder brushing his. “Bus is full.”
“It’s not,” he says flatly, glancing around at the half-empty rows.
“Yeah, but none of them have your charming company.” I grin, stretching my legs out until my knees press against the seat in front of us. “Besides, I like this view.” I gesture toward the window like I wasn’t staring at him five seconds ago.
“Logan,” he says under his breath, his eyes flicking over the aisle. “People are gonna notice.”
“Nobody cares where I sit,” I assure him. “And unless I start licking your neck, I don’t think they’ll notice.”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t move away, and his shoulders drop a fraction.
I glance around the bus, watching as the rookies around us pull out their phones and earbuds.
Nobody’s watching us. Nobody’s paying attention. So I let my hand drop between us, brushing against his.
He goes still, exhaling slightly as he glances around the bus again. His fingers shift against mine and my pulse stumbles because he isn’t pulling away.
I shift slightly, pretending to adjust, and let my pinky hook around his.
He glances over at me and our eyes meet, a silent moment passing between us. He’s nervous—I can tell—but he also likes it. Fuck, so do I.
The bus starts to move and I bump my knee against his. “You nervous about the game?”
Nathan meets my eyes and shrugs. “Not really.”
I grin. “You liar.”
He huffs, shaking his head, that quiet laugh that always gets me. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
“So, you still get nervous?” I ask.
His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“I dunno,” I say with a lift of my shoulder. “I figured you wouldn’t care whether we win or lose since you don’t like hockey.”
He sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I grew up on it. It’s what my dad, my sister, and I bonded over while growing up. I could never hate it. I just…”
“Don’t like the pressure,” I finish for him.
His eyes flick toward me. “Yeah.” He exhales hard. “I don’t want it to be the only thing I do. I don’t want it to define me or be my whole life.”
I nod, rolling my lips together. “Yeah. I get that. I mean, I love hockey. Love it so much I was ready to skip college and go pro straight out of high school, even if it meant joining some crap team in the middle of nowhere.” I drag a hand through my hair.
“But sometimes I wish I’d picked up something else along the way.
” My jaw ticks. “Sometimes I wonder how it’s gonna work, you know?
With me being bi. It’s one thing here, but if I actually make it pro…
that’s a whole different world.” I let out a harsh breath.
“Most guys just keep their heads down and act like it’s nobody’s business.
I get why, but I don’t want to do that,” I admit, glancing at him.
“I don’t want to hide, even if it means dealing with a bunch of assholes who have opinions about it. ”
“You shouldn’t have to hide who you are just to play hockey,” he replies. “I mean it. I admire you for that. For being so… unapologetically you.” His eyes dip slightly. “I wish I could do the same.”
That admission makes my stomach dip and I lock eyes with him, seeing him swallow hard. I huff a laugh and steer the conversation away. I know he’s still questioning shit and I don’t want to add to the confusion.
“Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m that good at it,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just the only thing I know how to do.”
He shakes his head, frowning at me. “That’s bullshit. You’re talented as hell out there, Logan.”
I feel like a damn teenager whenever he looks at me like that.
I smirk, covering it. “Oh yeah? I just need a little discipline, right?” I nudge his shoulder, reminding him of that first conversation months ago.
The corner of his mouth curves. “Wouldn’t hurt. You could use someone to keep you in line.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Uh huh. That’s why you made up that crap about me being a party boy, huh? You just wanted to keep an eye on me.”
He shoots me a glare. “No. I couldn’t stand you back then.”
“Please.” I laugh. “You were totally into me.”
He doesn’t reply, but his pinky tightens around mine, and my pulse spikes.
Those eyes. That look. I swear it does things to me I don’t even want to think about.
I clear my throat, trying to play it off. “You’re gonna do great tomorrow,” I say quietly. “Even if the spark’s not the same for you, you’re still one of the best goalies I’ve ever seen.”
His fingers shift closer, until our hands are fully touching and this time, when my thumb brushes across his knuckles, he doesn’t move away and intertwines our fingers together.
If someone had told me back in October that I’d be sitting here—with his hand in mine—I would’ve laughed them off the rink.
Nathan’s mouth curves. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you nervous?”
“About the game?” I lean my head back against the seat. “Not really. I mean, yeah, I wanna win, obviously. But mostly I wanna sleep for about twelve hours.”
He shakes his head and lets out a low laugh. The noise of the road blends with Nathan’s steady breathing beside me, and before I know it, my eyes slide shut.
I must’ve dozed off, because when I blink them open again, the windows are a little foggy from the cold air, and Nathan’s leaning against me.
I glance around, just to be sure, but the guys are all still asleep.
But my heart is racing all the same, because—holy fuck—Nathan’s head is on my shoulder, and it’s the most contact we’ve had in public… ever.
I know he would freak out and move away if he was awake, but I don’t move. I don’t even breathe.
I adjust just enough so that he’s more comfortable, and he lets out a low hum and shifts his head on my shoulder.
My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I glance down, watching as his lashes rest against his cheeks. He looks so… peaceful. Which isn’t something I ever get to see.
So I stay still, afraid to ruin the moment.
Because this is—fuck—this is new.
Him choosing to rest on me. Letting his guard down. Trusting me enough to fall asleep like this.
I stare straight ahead, a smile tugging at my mouth.
My fingers itch to reach for him, to lace through his again, but I settle for his head on my shoulder, pretending it’s casual when it feels like anything but.
I breathe in slowly, catching the faint scent of his shampoo and the warmth of his skin seeping through his hoodie.
A few minutes later, I hear footsteps moving up the aisle and look up to find Austin standing there, grinning when he sees us.
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he can get a word out.
“If you wake him up,” I say flatly, shooting him a glare, “I’ll kick your ass.”
Austin freezes. “Damn,” he says, holding his hands up. “Sorry.”
“Walk away, Rhodes.”
He chuckles under his breath and keeps moving toward the bathroom.
I glance down again, relieved that Nathan hasn’t moved. He’s still out cold, his perfect mouth parted slightly, a tiny crease between his brows.
I want to reach up and smooth it out with my thumb, but I don’t. I’m scared he’ll wake up, pull back, remember that we don’t do this in public.
So I just sit there and let the bus hum around us, closing my eyes to catch up on some sleep, wishing I could freeze time and just stay like this forever.