Chapter 29 #2
He doesn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he transitions from defense to offense, drawing the lone defender toward him before threading a perfect pass to Kovy streaking down the wing. Kovy cuts to the middle, dekes once, and fires the puck past the goalie's outstretched glove.
3-2 Blades.
The United Center explodes. I'm hugging Elena and Natasha simultaneously, all three of us screaming incoherently. Kovy's wife is sobbing and laughing at the same time, accepting embraces from everyone within reach. The crowd noise is overwhelming.
The final two minutes are torture. Colorado pulls their goalie, sending six attackers against our five defenders.
Logan blocks a shot with his leg, grimacing but staying in the play.
Our goalie makes an impossible save with thirty seconds left.
The clock counts down, each second passing with glacial slowness.
When the final horn sounds, the Blades pour over the boards, throwing their gloves and sticks into the air, colliding in a massive celebration at center ice. Logan is in the middle of it all, his teammates mobbing him, pounding his helmet, screaming in his face.
Western Conference Champions.
I stand frozen, Logan just won the Western Conference Finals. We're going to the Stanley Cup Finals. The players form a handshake line with the defeated Colorado players, which I think is one of the coolest traditions in sports.
And then Logan is skating back toward his celebrating teammates, helmet off now, his face visible. But instead of joining them immediately, he turns toward the stands, eyes searching with unmistakable purpose. Finding our section. Finding me.
His face transforms with a smile that holds everything—triumph, relief, love, promise. He points at me, as if to say, “This is for us. We did this together.”
Once my mind snaps back, I notice all the wives and girlfriends are gathering purses and jackets, preparing to head down to meet their men. Elena tugs at my arm gently.
"Come on," she says. "Let’s go. Nate and Logan need us."
I follow her, still dazed by the roller coaster of the last three hours. The hallways blur as we navigate toward the locker room area, my mind replaying that final moment with Logan's eyes finding mine.
Logan gets back to his place well after midnight.
He looks wrecked in the most beautiful way—hair damp, face flushed from celebration, eyes bright but heavy-lidded with exhaustion.
I stand from where I've been waiting on his couch in nervous anticipation.
We've seen each other, touched briefly in the chaotic family room after the game, but this is different.
This is us, alone, with nothing and no one between us for the first time in weeks.
Then he smiles a big beautiful smile. He drops his bag by the door and crosses the space between us in three long strides. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest with a gentle desperation. I breathe him in— the faint musk that's uniquely him, and a hint of champagne and beer.
"You're really here," he murmurs into my hair.
"I'm really here."
We stand still, not moving, neither of us willing to be the first to let go. He pulls back just enough to study my face.
"Come sit with me?" he asks, gesturing toward the couch. "I can barely stand up."
We settle into the familiar cushions, my body finding its place tucked against his side as if we were never apart. His arm drapes around my shoulders, fingers idly stroking my upper arm. The gentle touch sends shivers across my skin.
"So," I prompt when he remains silent, "tell me about the hearing."
He exhales, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. "It was... not what I expected. Jessica withdrew the emergency motion."
I lift my head to look at him, surprised. "Just like that?"
"Not exactly." A smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
"The judge asked me directly about the 'instability' in my home, and I just..
. told the truth. All of it. About trying to compartmentalize my life—being one person with Tyler, another on the ice, another with you.
And how that approach was actually causing the instability. "
His fingers find mine, intertwining. "I said Tyler needs me whole—the same person everywhere. And that you're part of that wholeness."
God, I needed to hear that.
"What did Jessica say?"
"That's the crazy part. She pulled me aside after and said Tyler's been asking for both of us every day.
'When can I see Daddy and Reese?' And then she said what I'd said about being whole made sense.
" He shakes his head slightly, still disbelieving.
"She said she wasn't against me, just worried I couldn't be the dad Tyler needs. "
"That's..." I search for the right word. "Huge."
"Yeah." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "She wants mediation instead. Clear boundaries, expectations. But she's not fighting me anymore."
I process this information, the implications slowly sinking in. "Tyler asked about me?"
Logan's expression softens. "Every day, apparently."
I swallow hard. "I miss him too."
"I know. And I'm so sorry I tried to keep you apart. Both of you." His free hand gently turns my face toward his. "I was scared, Reese. So fucking scared of having everything I never thought I deserved."
"You were yourself again out there tonight," I tell him, changing the subject before emotion overwhelms us both. "I could see it in every move you made. That play at the end—the turnover, the pass to Kovy—that was the Logan I know."
He smiles. "Because I stopped fighting myself. No more compartments. No more walls."
"I want all of you," I say, shifting to face him fully, my hands rising to frame his face. "The fears, the struggles, everything. That's the deal."
"Deal," he whispers, eyes locked on mine.
And then we're kissing—not the frantic collision I half-expected, but more deliberate. His lips move against mine with careful intention. I part my lips, inviting him deeper, and his tongue meets mine in a slow, thorough exploration that makes my parts tingle.
His hands slip beneath my shirt, palms warm against my skin as they trace the curve of my waist, the ridge of my spine.
I tug at his shirt, needing to feel him, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.
The sight of his bare chest—familiar yet somehow new again—and I’m getting wet.
"Bed," he murmurs against my throat, where his lips have found the sensitive spot just below my ear. "I need you in our bed."
Our bed. I like the sound of that.
Logan stumbles into the bedroom on sore exhausted legs and pulls the bed covers down in one motion with pillows going everywhere.
He grabs me and lays me down, and climbs on top of me, pushing me deliciously into the mattress.
Our clothes disappear in a slow unveiling, each newly exposed inch of skin worshipped with hands and lips.
"Missed you," he whispers, trailing kisses slowly down my stomach. "Missed this so much." He kisses the insides of my thighs while he simultaneously massages them, then he moves higher, making me arch and gasp. "I missed hearing you make that sound."
His tongue finds my clit—one flat, deliberate lick that makes my hips jerk off the mattress.
'Please,' I whimper, but he holds me down with one forearm across my hips, tongue circling without increasing pressure.
Torture. Perfect torture. My fingers twist in his hair, thighs shaking as pressure coils tighter in my core. 'Logan, I'm going to—'
He pulls back, breath hot against my wet pussy, and the denial makes me whine.
“Logan, please. Oh my god, don’t stop.”
He moves back up my body, positioning himself between my thighs, cock hard on my entrance. I’m aching.
'Look at me,' he directs. When my eyes lock with his, he pushes inside in one slow, deep thrust that stretches me perfectly, both of us gasping at the sensation of finally, finally being joined again. He stays still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, our breath mingling.
"I love you, Reese. All of me loves all of you."
"Mine," I whisper, nails digging into his shoulders. It's possessive and raw and honest. "You're mine, Logan McCoy."
"Yours," he agrees, beginning to move with slow, deep strokes that gradually increase in intensity. "Always."
We move together slowly, staring into each other’s eyes. So intense, so connected.
I build and build and build. When I come, it's overwhelming. My thighs shake, my core clenching rhythmically around his cock which pushes Logan over the top and he comes too.
He collapses on me and we lie tangled together in the dim light of his bedroom, my head on his chest, his heartbeat strong beneath my ear. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back as our breathing slows and steadies. The silence is easy. Nothing else needs to be said.
"Tired?" he asks, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Exhausted," I admit. "But good exhausted."
His arms tighten around me, secure and protective. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I've got you."
As I drift toward sleep, I listen to his steady breathing, and feel the solid warmth of his body.
The world outside this room is waiting—the Cup Finals, co-parenting negotiations, all the complications of our intertwined lives.
But for now, in this moment, we're whole again.
Just us, facing whatever comes next together.