Page 8 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

LOGAN

I stayed up so late last night that my own yawn drowns out the whir of the coffee machine.

Coach is going to kick my ass at morning skate, I just know it.

But by the time I get back from practice, my favorite redhead will be here, so as far as I’m concerned, Draper can kick my ass all he wants; nothing is going to bring me down. Not today.

I look down at my phone, at the last message I shared with Millie. A message about fucking pizza. Smooth, loser.

She’ll be in the air by now. Or at least on the tarmac waiting to take off, so I know she won’t reply. But still, I stare at the screen, hoping she does.

It’s been like this for three long weeks.

Me staring at my goddamn phone like a pathetic asshole, waiting for it to shudder with a notification from the one girl who has knocked me on my ass for the first time in my life.

She’s never not on my mind. I’m constantly thinking about her.

Wondering if she’s okay. Wondering if she’s thinking of me.

Who the fuck am I? I have no idea. But, if I’m being honest, I don’t hate it.

I set a reminder on my phone to stop in at the pizza shop on my way home from the practice arena.

She’ll be here by the time I get back. And if my girl wants pizza, then you better believe I’m going to show up with the best fucking pizza in the state of New York.

Because I’m a pussy-whipped son of a bitch, apparently.

Something hot drips onto my foot, and it’s only now that I realize I’m so out of it that the damn cup I put on the machine isn’t big enough for the pod, searing espresso sloshing over the sides and onto the white tile and my poor, unsuspecting big toe.

“Shit!” I hiss.

Just as I’m on my hands and knees with a wad of paper towel mopping up the coffee, there’s a knock on the door. Because, of course there is. Fuck my life.

“Hey, Han!” I yell. “Can you grab that? It’s probably Gus with my mail,” I explain of today’s security guard who goes out of his way to hand deliver me my mail instead of leaving it downstairs for me to collect like every other resident in this building.

“Sure thing!” Hannah calls from the opposite end of the apartment.

I finish mopping up the spilled coffee, tossing the soggy paper towel into the trash when I hear Hannah’s unusually tight voice from the entry. “Um… Loges? I think you need to get out here.”

Confusion piqued, I wipe my hands on my pajama pants, glancing down at myself as I walk out from the kitchen and down the hall to the entryway. No shirt, hair a mess. Man, I hope it’s Gus, because I am in no state to be dealing with some obsessed puck bunny who’s managed to sneak her way up.

“Millie?” I almost trip over my own two feet, surprised to see Millie standing right there, coat in one hand, clutching the handle of a carry-on in the other.

I can’t fight my smile at the sight of her, dressed head to toe in baby pink, looking all soft and cute and shit.

But when I meet her eyes, I see nothing but hurt in her big green gaze, and my smile falls because suddenly, it’s as if I’m seeing what she’s seeing.

Me standing here wearing only a pair of a plaid pajama pants.

Hannah next to me wearing nothing but… one of my practice jerseys. Fuck .

“I-I took an earlier… f-flight,” Millie stammers, her voice so small and broken.

Tugging on the back of my neck, I mutter a string of expletives, stepping around Hannah and moving toward Millie, but right before I can get to her, she takes a big step back, shaking her head in response. “Don’t!”

I pause, holding my hands up in surrender because I know what she’s thinking. And she has every right to think that. I’m not an idiot; I know exactly what this looks like. But it’s not that. It’s so fucking far from that it’d be almost funny if I were watching this happen from the outside.

“Millie, I?—”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, slapping a hand over her mouth, her face cracking with emotion as tears spill over and onto her flushed cheeks.

She spins around, hurrying for the elevator, and I just stand there.

Like a fucking imbecile. I stand there, watching as the goddamn elevator doors open for her.

And all I can think as I’m frozen to the floor right now is how the hell is the elevator here within seconds, when any time I’m in a hurry, I’m waiting at least ten goddamn minutes for the fucking thing.

It's not until the doors glide closed that I finally come to my fucking senses. Snapping myself from my daze, I grab my coat from the hook nearest to me and cast a glance down at Hannah as she stands there wide-eyed and obviously confused. Running, I press the call button frantically, but of course, as is my fucking luck, the doors don’t magically open, and I have to wait.

And all I can do as I stare up at the floor counter above the doors and pray that she’s there when I finally make it down to ground.

I push my way out of the elevator before the doors even finish opening.

Gus sits behind his desk, reading his newspaper and sipping his coffee, and it’s only when he glances up and sees me that he straightens, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, his eyes furtively looking me up and down with obvious confusion at my current state of undress. “Good morning, Mr. Cullen.”

I clutch my coat together in an attempt to cover my naked chest. “Hey, man. Did you see a redhead come out here?”

Gus stands. “Yes. Was she not allowed to be here? I gave her a hard time, but she provided me a name you have on your list. You want me to call the cops?”

Oh, my God. I wave off his concern, turning and running out of the lobby.

I’m hit by the bitter cold air barreling through the street, the sidewalk like ice against my bare feet.

I look left, and then right, and that’s when I see her, relief washing over me.

She’s just standing there, off to the side and out of the way of the morning commuters, huddled in a nook and looking down at her phone in her hands.

And I can tell by the shudder of her shoulders that she’s crying, and I fucking hate myself.

“Red,” I whisper, coming up behind her.

She flinches away from my touch, turning to look up at me, and the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks staining her cheeks is enough to render me breathless. I did that to her. Me .

“Get away from me,” she hisses, refusing to look me in my eyes.

“Millie, it’s not what it looked like, I promise you,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady despite the panic swirling in my chest.

She scoffs, her eyes like daggers when she finally looks up at me. “I’ve heard that before.”

I close my eyes on an exhale. Of course, she has. Fucking Parker. I swallow hard.

“Hannah’s just a friend. She—” Stopping myself, I press my lips together almost a moment too late.

Hannah’s business isn’t mine to tell. And as much as I like Millie more than I’ve ever liked anyone, I promised Hannah.

And I’m a man of my word. I cock my head to the side, ducking down a few inches to force Millie’s eyes to mine.

“Please… just come back upstairs and I promise I can explain everything.”

She’s shaking her head before I even get my words out. “That’s my Uber.”

I glance over my shoulder at the silver Toyota pulled into the curb, and I momentarily freak out when she starts walking toward it. Reaching out, I grab her wrist, stopping her.

“Don’t touch me!” she yells, shaking me off, which attracts the attention of a few people walking by, enough that two of them stop, watching on, eyeing me dubiously like they’re ready to step in at any moment.

And I’m not the level of famous that people really notice me on the street, not unless they’re hockey fans, but I know I can’t risk being seen half-dressed, barefoot outside my apartment, harassing my teammate’s little sister as she cries.

So, as much as it fucking kills me, as much as I want to run to her, yell at her to hear me out, I don’t do that. I stand back, arms folded across my chest, teeth clenched and jaw ticking as I watch the first woman I’ve ever fallen ass over tits for get into an Uber and drive away.

Just as I go to walk back inside, something catches my eye, and I look down, spotting a pink scrunchie lying on the pavement by my feet.

Bending over, I pick it up, twisting it between my fingers and catching a whiff of Millie’s trademark vanilla and peach scent.

And as I walk back inside the building, I clench my fist around the only thing I have left of my girl.