Chapter 25 Logan
LOGAN
“Sorry,” she whispers as she turns it off. “Go back to sleep.”
“Are you going to work?”
“Gotta shower first.”
I’m not missing that. I want to wash her back. “I’m up.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I’m your husband, Frankie. I want to.”
“Okay, but—”
I scoop her up and carry her naked across the hall as she laughs and protests, but not really.
I squint as she turns on the light and gets the shower cranked on. It’s not a big bathroom—that’s going at the top of the real estate shopping list, a shower with multiple heads for mornings like this—but we can make it work.
“Tell me about your day,” I say once we’re jockeying for position under the spray.
“I have to do rounds this morning, but the rest of the day is pretty light, I have an anatomy lab where I’ll practice suturing, and then either respond to pages with the residents or work on my research project.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m doing a systematic review of OSCE cases in my undergrad years compared to the real cases I’ve seen in my third and fourth year rotations, blueprinting them to each other and identifying gaps.
” She smiles at me through the water. “Once I finish my residency, I want to get involved in the medical school teaching, especially on the standardized clinical skills side.”
“Wow. That’s…” I kiss her hard on her smart mouth. “Fucking hot.”
She laughs against my lips. “I’m glad you like it.” Her gaze searches my face. “You’re going to be hearing a lot about that for like, forever?”
Forever sounds real fucking good to me. Even if she’s still asking it in the form of a question at this point.
I know it doesn’t make any logical sense that I feel this much, this soon. And if I tell her the depth of my feelings, there’s a solid chance I might scare her off again. But she ran the first time because she assumed I wouldn’t be all in, and I’ve shown her that’s not the case.
“Turn around, let me wash your back,” I say gruffly. “Something else I want to do forever. And you can explain what an OSCE is.”
“It’s an Objective Structured Clinical Examination.” She hands me a minty body wash.
“Really clears that whole mystery up.”
“An observed encounter that’s structured in a way that measures a student’s ability to do x, y, or z.”
“Oh, like a doctor drill.”
“Yep. A doctor drill. Nurses do it, too.”
“Very cool. And you’re comparing those to your real life experiences to find gaps?”
“Yes, exactly.” She spins around, and now I’m washing her breasts.
Between us, my cock lifts in hard-to-deny appreciation for her curves. “Ignore him. I know you have to get to the hospital. But I was thinking maybe you could come to the game tonight?”
“What?” She jerks her head up.
I’m still holding her tits.
“Bad segue,” I admit.
“Oh, Logan.”
“Watch from the rafters if you want, but wear my jersey and I’ll score you a goal.” When she hesitates, I say something I don’t mean at all. “As a friend?”
“You don’t want to be friends.” She tugs at the chain around my neck, at the ring she gave me. “You’re still wearing this.”
“You’ve got me. I want a hell of a lot more than friendship with my wife.”
“Has anyone asked you about this yet?”
“No. And it’s none of their business.”
“My father?”
“Definitely none of his business.” I take her hand in mine and kiss her bare ring finger. “I don’t expect you to wear yours if you aren’t ready. Let’s start with how good it’ll feel for you to cheer me on at a game and go from there.”
She sucks in a quick breath. “Okay, I’ll come to the game tonight.”
I grin. “You’re going to be so proud of me.”
She looks skeptical, and with good reason. LA is a very good team and Buffalo hasn’t been great in a very long time.
But reputation isn’t everything.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” A little smile tugs at her mouth.
“You’re worrying that we’re going to lose tonight. And sure, sometimes we’re terrible. But with you in the stands, anything is possible.”
It’s still dark out when I stride into the hotel, earbuds in, head down. I listened to another chapter of The Mist At Dawn’s Edge on the drive from Frankie’s house, and there’s currently barbed flirting going on in my ear.
Breakfast won’t be served for a couple of hours, so there’s no reason to think I’ll run into anyone from the team.
But crossing the lobby, takeout coffee cup in hand, is Coach Wilson.
And because of the frustrated growls in my ear, I don’t notice him until it’s too late to avoid coming face to face.
He takes in my damp, curling hair with an unreadable but painfully familiar expression.
The same look, I realize with a jolt, that Frankie described when she talked about dinner with her father on New Year’s Eve.
My hand tightens on the strap of my duffel bag as we stop in front of the elevators together, and I reluctantly take out one of my earbuds to not be rude.
“Early morning workout?” he asks.
The lie would be so easy. I could nod, let him assume I was grinding through extra conditioning. But that might lead to a lecture for over training, and also, I’m a grown ass man who doesn’t need to hide, even if I’m not going to reveal who I was with.
“No, I was visiting someone,” I say as the doors open.
“Night before a crucial game?” His tone sharpens just enough to draw blood. “Kids like you need curfews, I fucking swear.”
Kids like me. As if I’m not thirty fucking years old and a professional at the top of my game. His best forward, not that he treats me like it.
I step onto the elevator and press the button for our floor with a vicious stab of my finger. “I was at practice yesterday. I’ll be at morning skate today. I’ll be dressed and ready tonight. Whatever you need from me professionally, I’ll deliver.”
“You better, or I’ll scratch you again. That seemed to work to re-focus your priorities.”
Something hot and fierce rises in my chest at his fucking confidence, when he’s way off base. I have to breathe through the spike of anger when I want to snap that what re-focused my energy was stumbling into marrying his gorgeous, stunningly smart daughter.
“With all due respect,” I say, carefully pinning my attention forward. I’m proud of how level my voice stays. “My priorities have never been a problem. They are still exactly where they need to be.”
He shifts beside me. He’s not as tall as me, but he’s thickened with age, and if he took a swing at me here, it would hurt.
Also, I can’t pummel Frankie’s dad.
Could I?
I stare at the numbers as we climb.
I can feel his glare boring into me from the side. “Are they?”
There’s no right answer to that. I’ve said what I need to say.
“Jesus Christ, Granger. Do you not understand how distracting—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I intend, and I have to take a breath before I continue. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
The elevator slows. Sixth floor.
“Excuse me?”
I turn to face him fully now, letting my duffel bag drop to the floor between us. “Whatever judgments you’re preparing to make about my personal life, you can keep them to yourself.”
His eyes narrow. “This is about your performance on the ice, Granger. That’s all I care about.”
The elevator dings. Seventh floor. The doors start to slide open.
Wilson’s hand shoots out, holding the door, but also blocking my path to get out of the car. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? You think you’re different.”
“I think,” I say carefully, “that you don’t know anything about my life outside this team. And you don’t have a right to.”
“I have every right when it affects your play.”
“It hasn’t.” I hold his gaze. “It won’t.”
“That’s what they all say, right up until it does.
And then you know who gets blamed? Not the player who couldn’t keep his head in the game.
Not the woman who couldn’t understand that hockey comes first. It’s the coach.
Always the coach, for not managing it better.
I’m trying to spare you, kid, and you’re sneering at me. ”
The pieces click together with sickening clarity.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “I’m not him.”
The words hang between us.
Wilson’s expression hardens. “What did you say?”
Every word out of his mouth sounds like an echo of what Frankie described—the way he tries to cast doubt and create worry with vague threats.
“I’m not whoever you’re really talking about right now.” I pick up my duffel bag, shouldering it with more force than necessary. “Don’t project your own failures on me, Coach.”
His face goes stony. “Be careful.”
“About what?“ I want him to threaten me now. Make it explicit.
Instead of answering me, he laughs. It’s sharp and bitter, an angry chuckle that turns my stomach. “Have a good morning, kid. See you on the bus.”
In my room, I drop my bag and flop on the bed, my ring settling cool and heavy at the base of my neck.
That could have gone better.
Fuck.
If he wants to see focus and commitment, I’ll show him focus and commitment.
But not at the expense of the woman I love.
Logan
Just had an interesting conversation with your dad in the elevator
Frankie
***
Logan
Bad timing, he saw me coming in from having been gone all night
Frankie
Oh god
Logan
It’s fine, I’m just telling you because I don’t think I should keep stuff like that a secret
Frankie
Did he ask who you were with?
Logan
I’d never tell him
Frankie
He can be relentless
Logan
So can I
Frankie
I’m so sorry
Logan
Don’t be
Logan
I told him my personal life is my business and that it doesn’t affect my game
Logan
If anything, you make me play better
Logan
Do you still want to come to the game tonight?
Frankie
Absolutely, I’ll be the girl wearing oversized sunglasses and a baseball hat, which probably will blend into the LA crowd
Logan
My very own celebrity in disguise
Frankie
haha yes
Frankie
Listen…with my dad…maybe just keep your head down
Logan
I’m not afraid of him
Frankie
Just be careful
Logan
Always