Page 10

Chapter 10

Logan

T he Pine Harbor Community Center hums with its usual energy—a low buzz of overlapping lives, punctuated by faint laughter and muted conversations. The sound of kids laughing from the skating rink echoes faintly, mingling with the shuffle of feet and muted conversations in the hallways. I should feel grounded here—I usually do—but today the air feels different, heavier somehow.

I catch snippets of conversation as I walk toward the gym. My name isn’t mentioned outright, but it’s clear enough what they’re talking about. A woman’s voice filters through the din, sharp with intrigue.

“Did you hear she’s back in town? His ex…can you imagine how awkward that must be?”

“You’d think she’d let it go by now,” someone else replies. “Wasn’t she the one who aired all their dirty laundry in the first place?”

My jaw tightens, but I keep walking, my feet heavier with each step. It’s not worth engaging. It’s not like anything I say would change the narrative people have already written in their heads. Still, the words sting, each syllable a reminder of mistakes I’d rather forget.

In the gym, the team’s already gathered, their banter loud and carefree. Mark waves me over, his grin as wide as ever.

“You look like you’ve been chewing on nails,” he says, clapping me on the back. “What’s got you in a twist this time?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, dropping my bag onto the bench.

Mark isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans back and grins. “This reminds me of my neighbor’s cat—it’s convinced it’s a ninja, but it face-plants every time.” He mimics a cat leaping and crashing, complete with exaggerated sound effects.

Despite myself, I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously effective,” he counters with a wink. And he’s not wrong. The absurdity of his story chips away at my tension, replacing it with a fleeting moment of levity. He’s good at that—making the world feel a little less heavy with humor that’s just this side of ridiculous. Still, the thought lingers in the back of my mind like a shadow that refuses to fade.

After practice, Mark ropes me into grabbing lunch at a small diner near the edge of town. The smell of fried food and fresh coffee hits me like a warm embrace as soon as we step inside. The diner is a blend of Pine Harbor’s charm and nostalgia, with checkered tablecloths and faded photos of local events lining the walls. We slide into a booth by the window, where the afternoon light filters through lace curtains, casting patterns onto the table. The hum of chatter and the clink of cutlery form a comforting backdrop.

“So,” Mark says around a mouthful of fries, “are you going to tell me what’s been eating at you, or do I have to guess? And don’t try to play it cool—I’ve got a good memory, you know. Last time we talked, you were all about Lucy and Lewis. So, what gives?”

“It’s nothing,” I reply automatically, but Mark gives me a look that says he’s not buying it.

“Come on, man. Spill. Is it the campaign? The dog? Lucy?” He waggles his eyebrows at the last one, and I roll my eyes.

“It’s my ex,” I admit after a long pause. “She’s back in town, apparently.”

Mark lets out a low whistle. “Yikes. That’s…less fun than Lucy. What’s she doing here?”

“No idea,” I say, poking at my burger. “But people are already talking, and I…I hate it. Every time I feel like I’m making progress, something like this happens, and it’s like I’m right back where I started.”

Mark leans back, studying me with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Look, man, you can’t control what people say. And yeah, maybe your ex did a number on your reputation, but that doesn’t define you. What you’re doing now is what matters. People notice, even if they don’t always say it.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Mark’s right, but it’s easier said than done.

When I get back to my apartment, Lewis greets me with his usual enthusiasm, bounding to the door and wagging his tail like I’ve been gone for weeks instead of hours. I drop to one knee, scratching behind his ears and letting his unconditional joy wash over me.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmur. “You ever feel like you’re running uphill and sliding back down all at once?”

Lewis tilts his head, his eyes bright and curious. I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “Didn’t think so. Must be nice to live in the moment.”

Lewis paws at my knee, his leash clutched in his mouth like he’s making a formal request. I sigh, unable to resist the hopeful look in his eyes. “Alright, alright, I get it. Walk time.” I grab his leash and clip it on, and he practically dances by the door, wagging his tail like we’re headed on the greatest adventure of all time.

The fresh air hits us as we step outside, and Lewis bounds ahead, his nose to the ground, sniffing every blade of grass and lamppost like it’s his personal mission. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the sidewalks, painting the town in warm hues. As we pass the park, Lewis tugs eagerly on the leash, guiding me toward a bench where I spot Lucy. She’s sitting with a notebook in her lap, a faraway look in her eyes.

She looks up as we approach, her face lighting up in a way that makes my chest ache in the best possible way.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, setting her notebook aside.

“Lewis insisted,” I reply, gesturing at the dog. He wags his tail, clearly delighted to see her.

“Smart dog,” she says, ruffling Lewis’s ears as he nudges her hand. “He’s a good listener too, I bet.”

I chuckle lightly, sitting down beside her. “Maybe better than me most days. He’s got that ‘wise old soul’ thing going on.”

She smiles, and for a moment, we just sit in the comfortable quiet of the park. Finally, I break the silence. “Have you ever thought about what brought you here? How you ended up doing what you love?”

Lucy tilts her head, clearly intrigued. “All the time. Cozy Paws started out as a way to honor my dad—he loved animals, always said they brought out the best in people. But over time, it became my thing. I guess I realized how much joy it brings me to connect people with pets who need them. It’s not just about the animals; it’s about the way they change lives.”

Her passion lights up her face, and I can’t help but admire her. “That’s incredible,” I say, meaning it. “For me, hockey was kind of an escape at first. My parents signed me up because I had too much energy and no idea where to put it. But somewhere along the line, it became my anchor. There’s something about being on the ice that makes everything else fade away.”

“And now?” she asks, her voice softer. “Does it still feel like that?”

I hesitate, then nod. “Most days, yeah. But it’s different now. Before, it was all about winning, about proving myself. Lately, it’s been more about the connections—the teammates, the community. That’s what keeps me going.”

“Funny how things shift,” she muses. “What used to be about survival turns into something deeper.”

I glance at her, and for a second, it feels like we’re talking about more than hockey and the shelter. “Yeah. Deeper.”

Back at my apartment, the weight on my chest feels a little lighter. Lewis curls up beside me on the couch, his head pressed warmly against my side. The rhythmic sound of his soft breathing fills the quiet room, grounding me. Outside, the darkening sky is streaked with shades of orange and purple, a quiet reminder that even the longest days come to an end. Lucy’s words replay in my mind, steady and insistent, like an anchor holding me in place as I let my thoughts drift.

My phone buzzes, breaking the quiet. I glance at the screen and freeze. It’s a message from my ex.

We need to talk. Can we meet?

I stare at the words, emotions swirling—anger, fear, curiosity—but one rises above the rest: resolve. I don’t know what she wants, but for the first time, I feel ready to face it—to face her. Whatever this meeting brings, I know one thing for sure: it won’t define me. Not anymore.