Page 24

Twenty Four

Ava

T he elevator ride to Logan’s penthouse felt endless, my thoughts swirling in an unrelenting loop of Darren’s confession, the anonymous email, and the crushing weight of what I had uncovered. By the time the doors slid open, I was brimming with questions I couldn’t yet voice. Questions Logan might not want to answer.

I knocked once, and Logan opened the door almost immediately. He still wore the sweatpants and hoodie he’d changed into after practice, his hair damp from a quick shower. His usual swagger was muted, replaced by a tension I hadn’t seen before.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said softly, stepping aside to let me in.

“I did,” I replied, walking past him into the sleek, modern living space. It was the kind of penthouse you’d expect from an NHL star—clean lines, expensive finishes, and a view of the city that made you feel like you were on top of the world. Yet there was a lived-in warmth to it: a worn throw blanket on the couch, scuffed hockey sticks propped against a wall, and a faint scent of cedar and soap that I now associated with Logan.

I turned to face him as he shut the door. “How’s Darren?”

Logan let out a low sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shaken. Terrified, really. He’s a kid, Ava. And whoever’s behind this has him by the throat.”

“He’s lucky he has you,” I said, meaning it. “You’re sticking your neck out for him.”

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s not enough. He’s in over his head, and the league… they’ll throw him to the wolves if this gets out.”

I stepped closer, the frustration in his voice pulling me in. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

For a moment, he just looked at me, his brown eyes searching mine like he was weighing something heavy. Then he stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Logan…” I started, but he shook his head, cutting me off.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice low but steady, the weight behind it making me pause. “I know this whole thing started as a mess—a deal, an arrangement. But, Ava, you’ve got me all kinds of messed up in ways I didn’t see coming. Every time I’m with you, it feels like… like I can finally breathe again.”

My heart stuttered at the raw honesty in his words. His brown eyes, usually so guarded, were wide open, vulnerable in a way that left me completely disarmed. “Logan…” I began, unsure of what to say.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against my cheek like he was testing the waters. “I like you, Ava. A hell of a lot more than I should. And I know this is probably the worst time to say it, but I don’t care. I’m falling for you.”

The air between us was electric, charged with weeks of tension we’d both ignored. My breath hitched, and all the walls I’d built came crumbling down. Without thinking, I closed the space between us, my lips crashing into his.

The kiss was everything; wild and unrestrained, like we’d both been holding back for too long. Logan’s hands found my waist, gripping me like he didn’t plan on letting go, while his mouth moved over mine with a confidence that made my head spin. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, heat and want blurring everything else.

Before I knew it, the edge of the kitchen counter pressed into my back, and the rest of the world disappeared, leaving just us, no pretense, no barriers, just the weight of everything we’d been holding back

Later That Evening…I stood at the counter, my legs still wobbly as I sipped a glass of water, trying to process everything that had just happened. Logan was leaning against the opposite side, his hair mussed and his lips still slightly swollen. He looked ridiculously smug, and I hated how much I loved it.

“You’re impossible,” I said, setting the glass down.

He grinned, unabashed. “You seemed to enjoy it.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. “You have terrible timing, you know that?”

“Never claimed to have great timing,” he said, shrugging. “But I’m not sorry.”

I shook my head, the weight of his confession and everything else pressing back down on me. “Logan, this thing with Darren… it’s bigger than we thought. And if we’re not careful, it’s going to blow up in ways we can’t control.”

His expression sobered, and he nodded. “I know. That’s why we’ve got to keep this tight—for now, it’s just you, me, and Darren. No one else.”

I nodded, but unease still gnawed at me. “What about tomorrow? The team dinner?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. “We show up, smile for the cameras, and keep our heads down. The last thing we need is more attention.”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered.

He crossed the room, resting his hands on my shoulders. “I mean it, Ava. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it. Together.”

The weight of his words settled over me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t carrying the burden alone.

***

The team dinner was held in one of Chicago’s trendier steakhouses, a private dining room reserved just for the Hellblades and their guests. Logan had texted me the location earlier that afternoon, and I was already regretting saying yes. These kinds of events felt like walking into a lion’s den, especially now with Darren’s situation hanging heavy over both of us.

When I arrived, the room was buzzing with energy. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a glittering view of the city skyline, while dimly lit chandeliers cast a warm glow over the long, elegantly set table. Plates of appetizers—perfectly seared scallops, truffle fries, and charcuterie boards piled high—lined the center, and glasses of wine and whiskey clinked as players mingled and laughed.

Logan was already there, looking unfairly good in a dark button-down shirt and blazer, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. He caught my eye the moment I walked in, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile.

“Glad you made it,” he said, stepping forward to greet me. His hand found the small of my back as he leaned in closer. “Thought you might bail.”

“I considered it,” I admitted, glancing around at the sea of familiar faces. “But someone once told me I should fake it till I make it.”

Logan chuckled, his hand lingering on my back before he pulled away to grab us drinks. “Smart advice. Whoever said that must be brilliant.”

As we sat down, the players slowly began to fill the long table. Jaymie Prescott was already cracking jokes from one end, drawing a wave of laughter, while Connor Maddox, the captain, was deep in conversation with one of the assistant coaches. Darren slid into a seat near the far corner, quieter than usual, his eyes darting to Logan every so often like he was looking for reassurance.

Dinner began with salads and endless banter, the team’s easy camaraderie on full display. Jaymie spent half the time roasting Logan for his “media darling” reputation, which Logan took in stride with a few sharp retorts of his own.

“Bet you’ve got a press release ready every time Logan breathes,” Jaymie teased, raising his glass.

“No press release,” Logan shot back with a smirk. “Just happens naturally when you’re this good.”

“Please, your ego is suffocating us,” Connor added dryly, shaking his head as the table erupted into laughter.

The light mood shifted halfway through the main course—a perfectly cooked filet mignon with sides of creamy mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus. The conversation had turned to the recent string of games, with one of the older players, Nathan Kessler, starting to critique the team’s struggles.

“Let’s be honest,” Kessler said, cutting into his steak. “We’ve had some sloppy losses. And not to be that guy, but some of us need to step it up.”

The table went quiet, tension creeping in like a storm cloud. Darren, seated a few spots down, froze, his fork hovering in midair.

“You talking about anyone specific?” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, calm but pointed.

Kessler shrugged, clearly unbothered by the shift in tone. “I’m just saying, some people play like they’re scared to make mistakes. Rookie nerves, maybe.”

Darren’s face flushed a deep red, his jaw tightening as he stared down at his plate.

“That’s enough,” Logan said, his voice sharp now, silencing the murmurs that had started to ripple through the group. “We all know hockey’s a team sport. Losses aren’t on one guy, rookie or not.”

Kessler leaned back in his chair, raising his hands defensively. “Relax, Bennett. Just pointing out the obvious.”

“No, you’re singling someone out, and it’s bullshit,” Logan snapped, his voice steady but loaded with authority. “If you’ve got something to say, say it to the whole room. Otherwise, shut up and eat your steak.”

The table fell into an uncomfortable silence, save for the faint clink of silverware. Darren still hadn’t lifted his gaze, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

I leaned toward Logan, my voice low. “Maybe we should—”

He shook his head subtly, his jaw tight as he stayed focused on Kessler, silently daring him to push further. When it became clear Kessler wouldn’t, Logan turned his attention to Darren.

“You good, Rivers?” Logan asked, his tone softer but no less commanding.

Darren looked up finally, his eyes flickering with a mix of shame and gratitude. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his voice was shaky.

Logan nodded, giving him a brief but firm pat on the shoulder before shifting back to his plate. The tension eased gradually as conversations resumed, but the air between Logan and Darren felt heavy, charged with unspoken understanding.

By the time dessert came—lavish chocolate lava cakes and crème br?lée—the room had lightened again, but I couldn’t shake the weight of what had happened. Darren’s reaction to Kessler’s jab wasn’t just a rookie bristling at criticism; it was deeper, sharper, like a wound that had been poked too many times.

As we left the restaurant later, Logan stayed behind to exchange words with Darren near the entrance. I lingered a few steps away, giving them space but catching snippets of their conversation.

“You don’t let guys like Kessler get in your head,” Logan said, his voice low but firm. “He’s a jackass. What matters is how you show up next time. You hear me?”

Darren nodded, his shoulders still hunched. “Yeah. Thanks, Bennett.”

Logan clapped him on the back before Darren walked off, his pace hurried like he couldn’t leave fast enough. When Logan joined me outside, his expression was unreadable.

“You okay?” I asked, studying him.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Kessler’s a pain in the ass, but Darren’s the one I’m worried about. He’s unraveling, and I don’t know how much longer he can keep it together.”

“Then we don’t let him unravel,” I said, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. “We find a way to help him before it’s too late.”

Logan’s gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re something else, Ava.”

“So are you,” I replied, falling into step beside him as we walked toward his car. The city buzzed around us, but for the first time that night, I felt a strange calm. Whatever storm was coming, we were in it together. And that, at least, was enough to keep moving forward.