Chapter 11
Reese
Elena's arm keeps me upright through her apartment door. My heel snags the threshold and I stumble forward.
"Easy." She steers me toward the couch.
Jessica standing. The toddler on her hip, arms reaching for Logan. Logan's face going white under the stage lights.
A son.
I press both palms against my sternum. Breathe in. Out. In again.
Logan has a son he never mentioned.
"Sit." Elena disappears into the kitchen.
I sink into the cushions. My evening bag hits the floor. The burgundy gown bunches around my thighs—I don't smooth it. I can't. My hands lie useless in my lap.
Elena returns with water, presses the cold glass into my fingers. "Drink."
I manage two sips. Taste nothing. The TV across the room reflects us in its black screen—Elena hovering, me folded forward.
Elena picks up the remote. "You want to see?"
I nod. I shouldn't, but I need to know.
The screen flickers. A news anchor's severe expression fills the frame, then cuts to footage from tonight—Logan mid-speech at the podium. The camera swings to Jessica rising from her seat, Tyler squirming in her arms.
They zoom in on Logan's face. His expression shatters in real time. Confusion. Recognition. Horror.
I set the water down hard.
The caption reads: "Shocking revelation at tonight's Chicago Blades Foundation Gala."
Elena unmutes as they replay Jessica's words: "It's rich hearing you talk about role models when you've never spent a day with your son."
I flinch like she slapped me.
The camera finds Tyler's face. He has Logan's jaw. Logan's eyes. Even the way his mouth purses when he's confused—I've seen Logan make that exact expression.
"Jesus." I mutter.
"Yeah." Elena sits beside me.
The anchor reappears, speaking in that practiced concerned tone while Logan's team headshot appears in the corner—confident, composed. Nothing like the man I just watched fall apart on stage.
Elena's already scrolling her phone. "It's everywhere." She turns the screen toward me.
Headlines blur together:
"BLADES CAPTAIN'S SECRET CHILD REVEALED"
"MCCOY BLINDSIDED BY PATERNITY BOMBSHELL"
"HOCKEY STAR'S HIDDEN SON"
The comments beneath:
"Another deadbeat athlete"
"How do you not KNOW you have a kid?"
"Poor little boy"
Each one hurts. I yank the phone from Elena's hand and fling it onto the couch cushion between us.
"Hey—"
"What kind of man doesn't follow up?" My voice comes out sharp, jagged. "Doesn't check in? Doesn't make sure she's okay after they—" I can't finish. My throat closes.
Elena retrieves her phone calmly. "You don't know what happened."
"I know he has a three-year-old son he's never met." I'm on my feet now, pacing. I kick off both shoes. "Zero birthdays. Zero first steps. That little boy has been out there his whole life and Logan just—what? Kept living his? Dating women? Building his perfect image?"
"Reese—"
"He didn't tell me, El." I wheel around to face her. "We've been seeing each other for weeks. He's met my students. I've been to his place. And not once—not ONCE—did he mention a child."
Elena leans back, arms crossed. "Because he didn't know."
"How?" The word bursts out too loud. "How does someone with his resources, his visibility, not know? You don't just lose track of women you sleep with."
"Actually—"
"Don't." I hold up one hand. "Don't tell me it happens all the time with athletes. I don't care what's normal in that world."
"That's not what I was going to say." Elena's voice has an edge now. "I was going to say you're spiraling."
"I'm processing."
"You're spinning worst-case scenarios." She stands, moves to intercept my pacing.
"You didn't see what I saw."
"What did you see?"
"A man who had no idea that kid existed." Elena plants herself in my path. "My dad's worked in hockey for thirty years. You think I can't spot someone faking surprise? Logan wasn't faking."
I sidestep her, resume pacing. "Then he was careless. Reckless. He slept with Jessica and never bothered to—"
"To what?" Elena challenges. "You want him to follow up with every woman he's ever been with? Run paternity tests just in case?"
"He should have made sure she was okay!"
"Maybe he did. Maybe she told him everything was fine. Maybe she didn't want him involved." Elena's tone sharpens. "Maybe she never told him she was pregnant. You're condemning him without knowing a single fact about what actually happened."
I stop pacing and stare at her. "Whose side are you on?"
"Yours, you big dummy." Elena's expression softens slightly. "That's why I'm not letting you torch this without facts."
My phone buzzes on the coffee table where I dropped it. Logan's name lights up the screen—his photo from the farmers market, laughing, apple cider in hand, hair wind-tousled. That was two weeks ago. A different lifetime.
Missed calls (7): Logan
Text messages (12): Logan
I sink onto the couch. "What could he possibly say?"
"Maybe start by hearing him out before you decide."
The phone buzzes again. I pick it up, thumbs hovering.
Logan: Please Reese. Just let me know you're ok. I need to talk to you.
Three dots appear. He's typing.
Logan: I swear I didn't know. Please believe me.
"He says he didn't know." My voice comes out flat.
"Do you believe him?"
I remember his face when Jessica stood. The color draining from his cheeks. The way he gripped the podium like his legs might give out.
"I don't know." I set the phone face-down. "But even if he didn't know—El, that means he was so careless with Jessica that he created a life and then never followed up. Never thought to check."
"Or it means Jessica deliberately didn't tell him."
"Why wouldn't she?"
Elena shrugs. "Could be a hundred reasons. Maybe she wanted to raise Tyler alone. Maybe she thought Logan wouldn't care. Maybe she tried and couldn't reach him."
"Then why show up tonight? Why make it public like that?"
"Child support?" Elena says it matter-of-factly. "She's been doing this alone for three years. Logan's rich. She wants what's owed."
The calculation in Elena's tone steadies something in me. Makes this less about betrayal and more about... what? Logistics? Reality?
"I teach five-year-olds," I say quietly. "I see what custody fights do to them. The kids who get picked up late because parents can't coordinate. Who forget homework at Dad's house. Who shut down because they feel like weapons."
"Tyler's not your student."
"But he's someone's." I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them. My gown's fabric bunches awkwardly. "He's three years old and innocent and he deserves better than whatever mess the adults in his life are about to create."
Elena sits beside me. "You're already thinking about Tyler."
"Of course I am. I always put the kids first."
"Most women would be thinking about themselves. About Logan. About the relationship."
"I am thinking about those things." My voice cracks slightly. "I just—he's a little boy, El. He didn't ask for any of this."
Elena wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulls me against her side. "This is why you're good at what you do."
We sit in silence. On TV, they've moved to game footage—Logan on the ice, checking an opponent into the boards. The commentator's voice drones about his stats, his leadership, searching for clues to his character in the way he plays.
My phone vibrates against the coffee table.
Logan: Please call me when you can. I understand if you need space. But I need you to know I NEVER knew about Tyler. Ever. I would never have kept something like that from you.
I read it twice. "He keeps saying he didn't know."
"Then maybe he didn't." Elena squeezes my shoulder. "Maybe you need to hear the whole story before you decide he's guilty."
"And if there's no good explanation?"
"Then you walk away." She says it simply, like it's that easy. "But Reese? You're allowed to be upset and confused without having all the answers. You don't have to decide anything tonight."
I nod, even though every instinct screams for resolution, for clarity, for knowing whether to fight or flee.
"I really liked him." The admission hurts. "We were just figuring things out."
"I know."
"And now there's a child. Another woman who'll always be in his life. In my life, if I—" I stop. "God, we've only been dating a couple of weeks. This is insane."
"When did relationships ever follow a timeline?" Elena releases me, reaches for the remote. "You want me to turn this off?"
"Yeah."
The screen goes dark. Elena's apartment settles into quiet—just the hum of traffic far below, the radiator ticking as it cools. It smells like her vanilla candle and Lake Michigan through the cracked window.
My phone vibrates again. I let it.
"What if I can't do this?" I whisper. "What if it's too complicated?"
"Then you'll know. But you can't know without giving him a chance to explain." Elena stands, heads to her room. "I'm getting you something to sleep in. You're not going home tonight."
I don't argue. Don't have the energy.
She returns with sweatpants and a t-shirt, tosses them to me. "Change. I'll make tea."
I peel off the gown in her bathroom, scrub the makeup from my face. The woman in the mirror looks wrecked—smudged mascara, red-rimmed eyes, hair falling from its careful styling. I barely recognize her.
When I return to the living room, Elena's waiting with two mugs of chamomile, honey steam rising. Her crisis drink. I curl into the corner of her couch and wrap both hands around the mug.
"At the farmers market," I say after a long silence, "Logan told me he was scared because what was happening between us mattered. It wasn't casual."
"And?"
"I felt the same way." I take a shaky sip. "Like we'd found something real."
"Maybe you did. Maybe that hasn't changed."
"Everything's changed."
"Has it?" Elena tilts her head. "Or has the situation changed but not what's between you?"
I don't answer. I can't.
My phone lights up one more time. I don't reach for it.