21. Logan
I glare out the windscreen of my car as I make my way toward the address Spencer provided me. This will be the first time I’m entering their house, but I doubt it’ll be the last, especially since I’m serious about this group relationship dynamic and joining their pack. Tori’s house is cute, perfectly suited for her needs, but it lacks the space we would need for a full pack of five. And my apartment is hardly big enough for me, and my short-term lease isn’t going to provide Tori’s omega instincts with the stability she craves.
As I wait to make the last turn onto St. Charles Ave., I sigh, my mind torn. The little prank the casino boys pulled would have been funny in any other circumstance. I’ve even done it once or twice in my career, but not to a member of the coaching staff. There’s a part of me that wants to read them the riot act for disrespecting me and my authority, but I think I would have better luck trying to lecture the tide into not rising. Mostly because I know deep down that it had nothing to do with our coach-player dynamic.
This act of petty revenge had everything to do with them seeing Tori coming out of my office this morning, and whatever they think happened between us.
Pulling into a parking spot on the side street that runs next to their house, I take a deep breath before exiting the car and grabbing the grocery bag of ingredients from my backseat. As I make my way along the sidewalk, I crane my neck back to take in the whole structure, and a reluctant appreciation fills my gut. It’s beautiful, the siding a pristine white with dark hurricane shutters on every window. The main floor is elevated, allowing for a garage at ground level, the door currently closed with Tori’s car parked in the short driveway in front of it. I take the stairs two at a time up to the wide front porch, balancing the paper bag in my arms as I pull open the screen door to knock on the solid wood main door.
It only takes a moment for the slab to swing inward, and my whole body relaxes as my eyes land on Tori’s diminutive frame. She’s still dressed in her work clothes, her heels abandoned. When she steps back to allow me inside, I look around the space, soaking it all in. The stairs to the upper floor are in the back corner of the living room, and there’s an open gap in the wall across from the door leading into the kitchen and dining room. The furniture is clean, neutral colored, with relatively few personal touches to be seen. If it weren’t for the overwhelming scents of bergamot, spearmint, blackberries, and spruce, I wouldn’t be able to tell that the boys live here at all.
“Glad you found the place,” Spencer says, pulling my attention to the stairs and away from the decor.
I nod, a small smile on my face as I toe off my shoes and step out of the way for Tori to close the door behind me. As she moves, I allow my free hand to brush her shoulders, and I nearly purr as I feel her shiver. Jesus fuck, she’s so goddamn responsive. I need to get her alone again and soon, preferably somewhere I can make her scream as loud as she can. But that’ll have to wait for another day. Tonight, we’ve got some serious trust building to do.
Spencer leads the way into the kitchen, he and Tori chatting casually as I unload my bag and get organized before I start cooking in earnest, cracking one of the Abita beers I brought with me. It would have been easy to just order something and have it delivered, but we need the time it’ll take for me to cook and serve a meal.
“Do you need an apron, chef? We’ve got a gingham one with a ruffle,” Oli snarks as he enters the kitchen from the living room, closely followed by Eli.
Rolling my eyes, I snort a laugh. “I’m sure it looks lovely on you, but I’m good,” I toss back, making Tori giggle.
Oli’s answering growl is half-hearted, but he makes a point in scooping Tori to his chest and kissing her soundly, holding eye contact with me after they pull apart. I don’t give him the response he’s clearly looking for, instead turning to Eli.
“Mind showing me where you keep your fry pans and baking sheets?”
The Swede nods and lopes over, and I can practically hear Oliver’s teeth grinding from how hard he’s clenching his jaw, which makes me smirk. He’s trying to get under my skin, or challenge me for dominance, I can’t decide. Either way, it’s not why I’m here.
There’s a long, awkward pause in the conversation as I begin prepping the veggies for roasting, but I don’t break it. An undertow of anger runs through the room, and I can feel three sets of eyes locked on me, waiting. They want me to start something so they can finish it, but I’ve got better plans to really get to the heart of the problem.
“So, Tori, what did you and Logan get up to this morning?” Spencer asks pointedly.
I have to swallow my protective growl, knowing damn well it’ll only make things worse if I try to do anything. Though it does settle my instincts to find Tori glaring at him when I look up.
“We were working. Tony was using the main office to film, so I went to find somewhere else to work. Logan’s one of the few people who gets to the arena as early as I do, and he doesn’t try to distract me at every possible opportunity,” she says, then steps out of Oli’s arms to stand tall on her own.
The boys look at me incredulously, which I return with a mute nod. It was actually really nice to have her close while I worked. She kept to herself on my couch, not trying to carry on inane conversations like some of my assistant coaches. Her scent lingered on the cushions and throw blankets for a while, which soothed something deep in my instinctual brain.
“So you can have her in your office, but I can’t take her out to lunch? Make it make sense,” Oli retorts.
My hackles come up at his aggressive tone, but a glance at Tori has me backing off. She’s chewing on her lower lip, not looking at any of us as guilt swims in her mismatched eyes. And despite the purely alpha urge to dig my heels in and try to explain why it’s different, that’s not going to solve anything.
“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense,” I admit, setting down my knife and leaning on the counter with straight arms.
“Then why— Wait, what?” Eli cuts off his angry words as he processes my answer.
I chuckle and shake my head. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend that today wasn’t a huge risk. We were early, but it just takes the wrong person to turn something innocent into something scandalous. Though I don’t think any of you can judge me for wanting to spend time with Tori whenever I can.”
Three unintelligible, but reluctantly affirmative, grumbles float back to me as I resume chopping the last of the root vegetables before tossing them together on a baking sheet. Two generous drizzles of oil and honey, and then I shove them in the oven before turning my attention to the chicken thighs.
“I’m sorry for this morning. But we have to keep our personal squabbles separate from our professional lives. If you have a problem with something Logan, your future packmate, does, then you need to address that with me off the ice. Changing my skate blades is a funny prank—”
“You did what? Fucking hell,” Tori scoffs, pinching the bridge of her nose even as she tries to hide an amused smile.
“—if you pull it on another player. But I’m still your coach, guys. I know I was a hard ass today, but I can’t give you any special treatment. You know good and well that if anyone else had pulled that shit, they would have been benched. My instinct is to protect you, but I can’t compromise my authority as your coach.”
They have enough decency to appear admonished when I glance up from the cutting board. I set a pan of oil on the stove to preheat, waiting for their next move. When I look around again, there’s a new sort of tension in the air. But thankfully, this one is easier to fix.
“I’m sorry for making you do peanuts today,” I say sincerely.
“And I’m sorry for not thinking about the implications of working in Logan’s office,” Tori adds.
“I’m sorry for swapping your blades,” Eli mutters, roughing up his hair and avoiding eye contact.
“I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you both.” Spencer looks between me and Tori as he speaks, an apologetic smile on his face.
I look at Oli, keeping my expression neutral. I’m not expecting an apology from him, but he surprises me when he meets my gaze and nods.
“I’m sorry for not trusting you,” he says, first to me, and then to Tori, his amber gaze lingering for much longer on the omega’s face.
Something shifts in the room, a tentative truce resting between the five of us. But, from all my years building teams, I know that this won’t last if we don’t make an effort to reinforce it. I let out a breath before picking up my beer, lifting it to my lips to drain it in a handful of long pulls. After rinsing it out in the sink, I set it carefully on its side on the island counter.
“Let’s play a team building game,” I start, looking up with an encouraging smile.
“Oooh, we’re playing spin the bottle?” Eli singsongs as he waggles his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you swung—”
I stare at him with a blank expression, trying hard to stifle a grin. “I don’t. And we’re not spinning to see who makes out. If the bottle lands on you, then you have to share something that no one else knows about you,” I say, motioning them forward to sit at the stools as I return to cooking.
Tori is the first to move, obediently sitting on the center stool and making herself comfortable. Eli follows and takes the seat on her left, with Spencer moving next to sit on her right. Oli finally sits beside Spencer, his eyes narrowed suspiciously at me the whole time. But I ignore him, reaching over the island sink to spin the bottle first, letting it peter out until it finally stops pointed at me.
“So what’s your secret, Coach?” Eli asks. Leaning forward, he rests his chin on both of his fists as he bats his eyelashes at me.
Sighing, I consider for a moment, settling on something simple for the time being. “I tell people I have the cilantro soap gene, but I actually don’t. I just hate the taste of the shit and people don’t give me that fucking judgy look.” I laugh as I finish, motioning to Tori’s shocked expression and giving her a playful growl.
Eli laughs with me, nudging Tori with his shoulder until she rolls her eyes. I don’t have to prompt Eli to spin the bottle, allowing me to finish prepping the chicken and transferring it into the warm oil to fry. When the bottle stops again, this time, it’s pointing to Spencer.
“Speaking of tastes, I’m 1000 percent convinced that all wine tastes the same, and the flavor “notes” that people talk about are just a marketing ploy and don’t exist.”
I can’t help but laugh as Spencer gets increasingly heated the more he talks and defends himself from Oli’s incredulous attempts to convince him that he’s wrong. We go around again while I tend to the chicken, learning that Oli is a staunch Bigfoot believer, and Eli’s retirement dream is to set up a breeding facility-slash-rescue for Swedish Valhunds, a dog breed native to his home country that looks like the perfect cross between a husky and a corgi. When the bottle lands on Tori next, she thinks for a while before settling on something.
“When I was young, like younger than ten, I was dead set on marrying Mr. Darcy,” she says, slumping her shoulders slightly as she gives us an embarrassed smile.
“The 1995 version, or the 2007 version?” Spencer asks quickly.
“Oh, 1995. And it absolutely devastated me when my parents finally explained that I couldn’t marry him on the grounds that he lived in the past, and that he’s fictional. My first heartbreak.” She starts off serious before dissolving into a melodramatic tone, leaning back and covering her eyes with her forearm for emphasis.
We all share a laugh, and Tori’s face brightens with a smile as she reaches forward to spin the bottle. I’m not surprised when it lands on Oli again, though I am surprised when he answers right away.
“Well, when I was a kid, I was obsessed with the Pompeii tragedy. Visiting the ruins is in the top three slots of my bucket list,” he says, his smile fond.
“You had time to think about stuff other than hockey?” Spencer teases, grinning at his roommate.
Oli rolls his eyes as he leans forward to spin the bottle. I know what Spencer is getting at with the jab, and the shadow that crosses Oli’s face confirms it. Some kids are naturally talented and are able to have some semblance of balance in their lives between hockey and other activities and interests. But it seems like Oli and Spencer were in the same boat I was in growing up, the one where we had to eat, sleep, breathe, and live hockey, all with the goal of getting to the big leagues. We share a look as the bottle slows, and I give them both a slight nod of acknowledgment and commiseration. They don’t make me comment on it as the neck of the bottle comes to a spot pointing to me.
Time to take things a little deeper.
“If we’re sharing childhood stories, then this is as good a time as any to reveal that I used to have a bad stutter when I was a kid,” I say, intentionally turning away from them under the pretense of checking the roast veg to hide how my cheeks and ears heat from embarrassment.
“I never would have known,” Tori says sympathetically.
“Because I went to a lot of speech therapy to fix it, pretty much until I got hurt. If you ever find some of my old interviews, you can hear it. Most people were cool about it, but there were still enough assholes out there to make me hate doing press shit even today,” I reply with a shrug.
“Did the name of one of those assholes rhyme with Shmike Shmenderson?” Tori asks.
I chuckle ironically. “Funnily enough, one of assholes does have a name that rhymes with that. I was hoping he’d’ve retired by now.”
“I’m convinced he has a Dorian Gray portrait somewhere, and he’s going to haunt this team until the end of time,” Tori groans.
“Aren’t those supposed to make you younger and prettier?” Eli tosses out.
We share a laugh, and I spin the bottle quickly before they can press the subject, landing on Eli. Tori’s mismatched blue gaze catches mine for a moment, and she gives me a small smile of understanding, and a single dip of her chin before she turns to look at Eli. I relax slightly at the gesture, recognizing her intentions. Spencer has made no secret of his distaste for the press, and one Shmike Shemenderson motherfucker in particular, and he’s never been forced to do scrums since. I have a feeling I’m going to get the same treatment from now on. It makes my heart swell to think about how much Tori cares about everyone in this room, and everyone on the team, going out of her way to make us as comfortable as possible.
“The most embarrassing thing I did as a kid was try to pull a Bear Grylls. I watched something on TV about surviving in the wilderness by building a snow cave, so I tried it. It worked, and I even got a fire going. But being a kid, I missed the part where you’re supposed to build a chimney to let the smoke out before you seal the entrance,” Eli says, hardly balking as he shares.
“Holy shit, dude! You could have fucking died!” Oli rises slightly from his seat to glare at him over Tori’s and Spencer’s heads.
“Yep. Almost did. Thankfully, my siblings noticed that I hadn’t come up for air in a while and dug me out before too much harm was done. Still had to spend a few nights in hospital,” Eli replies, shrugging like it’s a totally normal thing to nearly asphyxiate yourself.
“So that explains why you’re such a dumbass sometimes. All those brain cells you lost smoking yourself,” Spencer says thoughtfully.
Tori lets out a bark of laughter before covering her mouth with her hand, trying and failing to maintain a straight face. Grinning to myself, I look down at the chicken as I pull it from the oil and place it on a plate to rest and drain.
“Supper’s just about done. Do you set the table here, or serve it buffet style?” I ask, changing the subject before Oli can go off on Eli.
“Buffet style. Let me get some plates down.” Eli gets up and firmly ignores the stern glare of Oli as it follows him around the kitchen.
Our game pauses as I finish cooking, and we serve ourselves before sitting around the table. The air is much more comfortable as we break bread, the sharing continuing even without the bottle. It’s fascinating to watch Tori interact with the boys. Oli and Eli move in sync, the years they’ve spent together showing in the simplest tics. Spencer’s eyes hardly leave Tori’s face, like he’s trying to memorize her down to the smallest atom of her perfect skin. The on-ice synchronicity I saw from the first time I put them on a line together persists into their off time, but instead of focusing on a game, they are fixated on Tori. She hardly has to speak to get their attention, and rarely has to finish a request before one of them is there to fulfill it. And the longer I observe, the easier it is for me to pick up on the same signals and act accordingly.
By the time I leave much, much later, I know that we’ve taken a big step toward our mutual future.