Chapter 18
Logan
The ballroom at the Drake Hotel glitters with silver and gold, New Year's Eve spelled out in giant balloons against the far wall.
I adjust my tie as we step through the double doors, Reese's hand warm in mine, Tyler bouncing between us like he's got springs in his tiny dress shoes.
The team's annual family party—and for the first time, I have a family to bring.
"Wow, it's so sparkly!" Tyler's eyes widen at the decorations, the lights reflecting in his irises. He tugs on my hand. "Can I have a balloon?"
"Let's find our table first, buddy," I tell him, spotting Tuck waving at us from across the room. He's at a table with Sully, their chairs angled toward the dance floor where younger kids already chase each other in circles.
Reese squeezes my hand. "I've never seen so many hockey players in suits at once."
"Enjoy it while it lasts. Most of them will have their ties off before dinner's even served.
" I guide them through the crowd, nodding at coaches and management.
Our PR Director catches my eye, her professional smile warming when she sees Tyler.
The GM's wife stops us to introduce herself to Reese, complimenting her dress.
"Daddy, look!" Tyler points at Petey's twins, who are building a tower with water glasses. "Can I go play?"
Before I can answer, Schmitty's daughter Maddie—eleven going on thirty—appears at my elbow beside us. "I can watch him, Mr. McCoy?" she offers, already reaching for Tyler's hand. "We've got coloring books and the twins have LEGOs."
I hesitate, scanning the distance to the kids' area, calculating sight lines.
"I'll keep him right where you can see him," she adds, reading my expression perfectly.
"You remember what we talked about, T-Rex?" I crouch to his level. "Indoor voice, gentle hands, and—"
"Stay where you can see me," he finishes, bouncing on his toes. "I know, Daddy."
"Okay then. Have fun."
Tyler races off with Maddie, who immediately introduces him to the other children. Within seconds, he's been handed a crayon and is scribbling with intense concentration.
"He's fine," Reese says, reading my thoughts. Her hand finds the small of my back, warm through my suit jacket. "And we can both see him perfectly."
"I know, I just—"
"—worry. It's what parents do." She brushes a strand of my hair into place.
We find our seats, and I'm immediately pulled into conversations about our upcoming road trip, the standings, Kovy's injury timetable.
Reese slips easily into conversation with Sully and Tuck's girlfriend, laughing at something I can't hear.
The room presses in—champagne flutes clinking, bass notes thrumming, children's shrieks punctuating it all.
Every few minutes, my eyes find Tyler. He's showing his dinosaur to a younger boy, then helping Maddie build something with LEGO blocks, then getting his face painted with a tiny hockey stick on his cheek.
"He's thriving," Sully says, following my gaze. "Stop hovering, Dad."
"That obvious, huh?"
"Only to someone who's been there." His eyes crinkle. "Good to see you happy, Mac."
Before I can respond, the team's social media photographer approaches our table, camera already raised. "Family photos for the New Year's post! Just a few quick shots of everyone."
She starts with Sully's family—his grown kids with their partners. Then Tuck's group, his girlfriend still looking slightly shell-shocked at being thrust into team functions. When she turns to us, I feel a flutter of anxiety. This will be the first official team photo of the three of us.
"Let's get the McCoy family," she says, waving us together.
Family. The word floats between us, uncontested.
I catch Reese's eye as she stands. She's wearing her kindergarten teacher smile—warm and approachable—but I see the question in her eyes. Are we ready for this?
"Tyler, come here buddy!" I call. He sprints over, crayon still clutched in his fist, face paint slightly smudged.
"Picture time!" He throws himself at Reese, who catches him with practiced ease, lifting him to her hip.
Tyler's arm immediately circles her neck, his other hand touching her cheek to turn her face toward his. He grins, gap-toothed and radiant, and whispers something that makes her laugh, her head tilting back. The photographer catches it—that perfect, unguarded moment of connection.
I step in behind them, my hand finding the small of Reese's back. Her dress is silky under my palm, her body warm and solid. Tyler reaches for me with his free arm, creating a circle, the three of us linked.
"Perfect!" the photographer says. "Just like that."
The flash catches us smiling, Tyler between us, Reese's curls brushing my cheek. Another flash. Another moment preserved—evidence of us growing stronger.
"One more!" Tyler insists, planting a kiss on Reese's cheek. Flash.
The photographer shows us the preview on her camera.
The images look like something from a catalog—beautiful, polished, almost too perfect.
Except for the realness in our eyes, the way Tyler's fingers clutch at both of us, the casual intimacy of how Reese's body leans back into mine.
It looks like we've been doing this forever.
"These are going to be great for the New Year's post," the photographer says, already moving to the next family.
"Can I go back to playing?" Tyler asks, squirming to get down.
"Sure, bud." I watch him race back to the kids' table, immediately absorbed in whatever game they're playing.
Reese's hand finds mine. "You okay? You look... I don't know, intense."
"Just thinking about how this will look. On Instagram, I mean."
Her eyebrows draw together. "You're worried about Jessica seeing it."
"A little." I squeeze her hand. "But not enough to hide this—us—anymore."
She studies me, those dark eyes seeing straight through me. "You're sure?"
I pull her closer, not caring who's watching. "I'm sure about you. About us. The rest, we'll figure out."
The DJ announces dinner, and Tyler comes running back, throwing himself against my legs. "I'm STARVING!"
"You're always starving," I laugh, ruffling his hair.
As we take our seats, I look around the table—Reese helping Tyler with his napkin, Sully passing the bread basket, Tuck already loosening his tie—and the tension I've been carrying loosens. This is what I've been missing. Not just hockey, not just Tyler, not just Reese, but all of it together.
Reese catches me staring and raises her eyebrows in question. I lean over, kiss her temple. "Happy New Year," I whisper.
"It's not midnight yet," she reminds me.
"I'm getting an early start."
She grins, and I'm done for. Tyler chatters between us about what color the fireworks might be at midnight, and I don't tell him he'll be asleep long before then. Some moments are worth preserving, uninterrupted by reality.
Even if it's just for tonight.
The penthouse is dark when we arrive home, just city lights filtering through the windows.
I carry a passed-out Tyler from the elevator, he’s like a warm bag of sand on my shoulder, his little penny loafers dangling.
Reese follows quietly, heels in one hand, her other hand lightly touching my back as we move through the silent apartment.
Reese pulls off his shoes. Tyler mumbles something about fireworks as I ease him onto his bed, no longer stirring as Reese helps me wrestle him out of his party clothes and into his pajamas.
"He's completely out," she whispers, carefully tucking his favorite stuffed animal under his arm. Her fingers brush hair from his forehead with such tenderness it makes my throat tight. "Didn't even make it to nine-thirty."
"New Year's champion," I murmur, leaning down to kiss his warm and impossibly soft cheek.
We move quietly from his room, pulling the door until just a crack of light remains.
Our eyes meet in the dim hallway, and the air changes between us—no longer parents focused on a sleeping child, but us again.
My hand finds hers in the half-dark, our fingers intertwining like they've been doing this forever.
"Want a real drink?" I ask. "Since we couldn't exactly indulge at the party."
She shakes her head no, already stepping backward toward my bedroom, tugging me with her. "I just want to get out of this dress.”
“I’d like to help.” I say, grinning mischievously.
We move through the doorway into my—our?—bedroom. When did it become ours? I can't pinpoint the exact moment, but the evidence is everywhere: her books stacked on the nightstand, her robe, the mint and lavender scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.
I loosen my tie while Reese disappears into the bathroom.
When she emerges, she's removed her makeup, face fresh and scrubbed.
The elegant updo from earlier is gone, replaced by her natural curls falling around her shoulders.
She's still in her dress, though, moving to my dresser where she starts removing her earrings.
I watch her reflection in the mirror—the practiced way she unclasps each earring, sets them in the small dish that appeared there weeks ago. My dress shirt is half-unbuttoned, forgotten as I'm caught by the simple intimacy of watching her nightly ritual in my space.
"What?" she asks, catching my gaze in the mirror. Her smile is soft, questioning.
"Nothing." I resume unbuttoning, but can't stop looking at her. "Just... I love watching you do little things."
Her reflection smiles wider.
She reaches back, trying to find her zipper, and I cross to her. "Let me."
My fingers find the tiny metal tab at her neck, sliding it downward. Her skin appears inch by inch, pale in the low light. I place a kiss at the nape of her neck, feeling her shiver under my lips.
"Cold?" I murmur against her skin.
"Not even close."
The dress loosens, and she holds it against her chest, turning to face me. This close, I can see the golden flecks in her brown eyes and a slight flush across her cheekbones.
My hands move of their own accord, finding her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the silk. I pull her closer, and her free hand rises to my chest, palm flat against my heartbeat. I wonder if she can feel how hard it's pounding.
"I've been thinking," I say, my voice rough even to my own ears.
"Dangerous." Her smile is teasing, but her eyes remain serious, watching me.
I swallow, suddenly nervous. I've faced down enforcers twice my size, played in Stanley Cup finals, given countless interviews—but this moment, standing in my bedroom with this woman feels more terrifying than all of that combined.
"About us," I continue, one hand rising to cup her cheek. Her skin is warm under my palm. "About how much has changed. How much you've changed me."
Her smile fades, replaced by something deeper, more intent. "Logan—"
"I love you." The words come out steady despite my racing heart. Simple. True. "I'm in love with you, Reese."
Then silence. For one terrible second, she's perfectly still, and I worry I've overstepped, rushed things, misread everything. My stomach drops.
Then her eyes fill, gleaming in the dim light. "I love you too." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but firm. Certain. "Logan, I love you so much."
Relief floods through me so intensely my knees almost buckle. I pull her against me, dress and all, burying my face in her hair. She wraps both arms around my chest, pressing herself to me like she's trying to eliminate any space between us.
"How long have you known?" she asks against my chest.
"Weeks. Maybe longer." I pull back enough to see her face. "I think I started falling that day at the Children's Museum with Tyler. When you turned that broken cookie into two elephants and saved us both."
She laughs,"That's when I knew too. I knew I was in deep trouble."
"Trouble?"
"I was falling for both of you. A package deal." Her hand rises to my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "A complicated, wonderful, messy package deal."
I kiss her then, trying to pour everything I feel into it—gratitude, desire, love, fear, hope. Her mouth opens under mine, her body melting against me. The dress slips down, trapped between us, and I feel her skin, warm and smooth under my hands.
When we break apart, she's breathless, eyes dark. "Say it again," she whispers.
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Reese Thompson." I press my forehead to hers. "I love how you handle Tyler's meltdowns. I love that you wear my clothes and love how I smell. I love watching you in my kitchen in the morning, stealing my coffee."
She laughs, fingers tangling in my hair. "I love you, Logan McCoy. I love your ridiculous superstitions. I love how gently you hold Tyler's hand. I love when you get that crease between your eyebrows when you're worried."
We stand there, trading confessions like secrets, until she shivers for real this time. I help her step out of the dress, retrieving a t-shirt from my drawer—the one she's claimed as her favorite, worn soft with washing.
In bed, she curls against my side, her head on my chest, leg thrown over mine. Outside, fireworks pop and crackle—it must be midnight. I pull her closer, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me, how her breathing has become the rhythm my own follows.
"Happy New Year," I whisper into her hair.
"It is now," she murmurs back, already half-asleep.
I lie awake long after her breathing evens out, watching shadows play across the ceiling, feeling the warmth of her against me. I love you. Three words I've said to exactly three people in my adult life—my mother, my brother, and now Reese.
I love you. I'm terrified but I'm certain.
In his room down the hall, Tyler sleeps surrounded by dinosaurs, unaware that tonight, everything changed. Or maybe nothing changed at all—maybe this is just the moment we finally acknowledged what's been true for months.
Either way, there's no going back now. I wouldn't want to.