Chapter 28
Logan
The sky is barely lightening to a murky blue-gray as I stand outside Reese's door, about to knock. My knuckles are sore from punching the wall. I haven't slept much. Haven't shaved. I knock three times, the sound sharp in the early morning quiet, and wait, holding my breath.
Maybe she's still asleep. Maybe she's seen me through the peephole and decided not to answer. Maybe—
The door opens just enough for me to see her standing there in a faded t-shirt, her hair a wild tangle of curls. She doesn't look surprised to see me, but she doesn't look particularly happy about it either.
"Logan." She says my name like it's a word she’s not sure how to pronounce.
"I know it's early," I say, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "I'm sorry, I just—I needed to see you."
She doesn't move from the doorway, doesn't open the door wider to let me in. "It's been weeks," she says, and the quiet hurt in her voice cuts deeper than anger would have.
"I know."
"Three weeks of nothing. No calls, no texts."
"I know."
Her eyes drop to my banged up hand. "What happened there?"
"I put my fist through a wall." No point in lying. Not anymore.
She studies me for a long moment, jaw working like she's chewing words she won't say. Her eyes dart away, then back.
"You look like shit," she finally says.
"Feel like shit." I try to smile but it doesn't work.
"Can I come in?"
"No." She crosses her arms, the barrier between us as solid as the door. "Why are you here?"
A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I hadn't planned this out. But standing here now, I know exactly what I need to say.
"I was wrong. I thought I had to choose—Tyler or you, father or partner, captain or boyfriend.
I thought I was protecting everyone by keeping the pieces of my life separate.
I thought—" My voice cracks, and I have to take a breath before continuing.
"I thought I couldn't be everything everyone needed me to be at once, so I had to pick what mattered most."
Her expression doesn't change, but her energy does.
"Instead, I fucked everything up. Tyler misses you. I miss you. I’ve been a shit hockey player.
And I—" I press my palm against the doorframe to steady myself.
"I haven't been sleeping for shit. Can't eat.
Can't think straight. I thought I was making the noble choice, but I was wrong. Running away from what scared me most."
"Which was what?" Her voice is so soft I almost miss it.
"Being happy," I admit. "Having things I thought I didn’t deserve. A family. You."
She uncrosses her arms but still doesn't invite me in. I can see the hurt in her eyes.
"You cut me out," she says, and there's a tremor in her voice. "You didn't ask what I wanted. You decided for both of us."
"I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I could protect you that way."
"That wasn't your choice to make." Her eyes flash with sudden heat. "I'm a grown woman, Logan. I can decide what battles I'm willing to fight. What shit I'm willing to put up with. What pain is worth it to me. You took that away when you walked out."
She's right, and I know it.
"I did," I acknowledge, meeting her gaze directly. "And I was wrong."
"Do you know what it's been like?" She's not yelling, but her voice carries an intensity that pins me in place. "Seeing you struggle on TV? Losing my job and then having the only other things that mattered ripped away too?"
I shake my head, unable to find words.
"It was cruel," she continues. "Making that decision for yourself was cruel, Logan. Even if you thought you were being noble."
"I know," I say, the words barely audible. "I'm so fucking sorry, Reese."
She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "If—and it's a big if—we try this again, I need something from you first."
"Anything." The word comes instantly.
"No more running when things get hard," she says, each word clear and deliberate. "No more you deciding for both of us. If something affects me, affects us, we talk about it. Together. Always."
I nod, feeling my shoulders relax slightly. "Never again," I promise. "No more separate boxes for different parts of my life. Just me. All of me, all in."
"I mean it, Logan. I won't do this again. I can't. You’ve pushed me away for the last time."
"I understand." I reach for her hand, but stop myself, afraid to push too far too fast. "I'm not asking you to forget what I did—ever. I'm just asking for a chance to show you I've learned my lesson."
For a long moment, she stands perfectly still, her eyes searching mine. Then, so slightly I almost miss it, she nods and steps back, opening the door wider.
"Come in."
The two simple words feel like a gift. I step across the threshold, careful not to crowd her space, but she surprises me by closing the distance between us, her arms wrapping around me, her face pressing against my chest.
I freeze for a split second, then pull her close, burying my face in her hair and I breathe her in. God, I missed this, how perfectly we fit together, the way her head tucks just under my chin.
"I missed you," I whisper against her hair.
"I missed you too." Her words are muffled against my shirt. "Don't ever do that to me again you stupid jerk."
"Never," I promise, holding her tighter.
We stand like that for a long time, just breathing each other in, reconnecting without words.
Finally, she pulls back just enough to look up at me, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. "You have your hearing today, don't you?"
I nod, surprised she remembers. "In a few hours."
"Are you ready?"
"I think so." I brush a curl from her face, letting my palm linger against her cheek. "I know what I'm fighting for now."
She steps back, creating a small space between us. Not a rejection, just a reminder that we're not instantly fixed, that there's still work to do.
"I should go soon," I say reluctantly. "Need to shower, change before court."
"Logan?" She catches my hand as I turn toward the door, her touch gentle against my bruised knuckles. "Another chance?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything unsaid. I look at her—really look at her—and see the strength it took to open that door this morning, to hear me out, to let me back in even a little.
"I don't deserve it," I admit. "But I'm asking anyway."
She squeezes my hand once, then lets go. "Go," she says softly. "Do what you need to do. I'll be there tonight."
I nod, understanding what she's saying. Game 7. She'll be there. Not just for the team, not just for hockey, but for me—all of me. Somehow, that promise feels like more than enough to face whatever comes next.
The wooden chairs in the courtroom creak as I shift my weight.
It’s hushed in here, like a church. I adjust the knot of my tie for the third time in five minutes, earning a gentle hand on my arm from Patricia.
"Stop fidgeting," she whispers. "It makes you look nervous.
" She's right, of course, but knowing that doesn't still my leg bouncing under the table or ease the dryness in my throat.
I am nervous. Across the aisle, Jessica sits beside her attorney, her posture perfect, expression carefully neutral and straight ahead.
Patricia slides a notepad between us. "Remember," she writes, "let me do the talking. Short answers if the judge addresses you directly. Stay calm." I nod, though staying calm feels impossible.
The bailiff calls the court to order as the judge enters, a stern-looking woman with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. Judge Wilson. Patricia has told me she's fair but no-nonsense, with little patience for using children as pawns in adult disputes.
"Case number 22-FC-4978, Stone versus McCoy," the clerk announces. "Emergency motion regarding custody modification."
Jessica's lawyer stands first—a polished woman in her fifties whose expensive suit and confident posture telegraph that she’s not cheap.
"Your Honor," she begins, "we've filed this emergency motion out of genuine concern for the minor child's well-being. Since being offered shared custody, Mr. McCoy has demonstrated a pattern of erratic behavior and poor judgment that creates an unstable environment."
My face feels hot as she continues, laying out her case like she's describing some stranger, not me.
"Mr. McCoy has engaged in a romantic relationship with a woman he's encouraged the child to become attached to, resulting in confusion about parental roles.
The child has begun referring to this girlfriend as his 'bonus mommy'—language that undermines the child's understanding of family structure and creates unnecessary emotional complications. "
Patricia's hand moves to my knee, applying gentle pressure as if to say "stay in your shoes." I take a deep breath through my nose.
"Furthermore," Jessica's lawyer continues, "Mr. McCoy has displayed concerning aggressive behavior, including a highly publicized incident where he physically confronted a photographer and destroyed property in front of the minor child.
This assault, combined with his high-profile status and the pressures of his professional career, creates an environment that is potentially harmful to the child's development. "
She hands the judge a folder of exhibits—photos from that night outside the restaurant, screenshots of news articles about my "meltdown," even printouts of my stats from recent games to support claims about my "unstable mental state."
"We're asking for temporary supervised visitation only, with no overnight stays, and specifically, no contact between the child and Mr. McCoy's girlfriend until a full psychological evaluation can be completed."