Page 4

Chapter 4

Logan

T he sharp scrape of skates cutting across the ice echoes through the arena, a rhythm etched into me since childhood. I move with the Timberwolves, every glide and turn precise, every movement timed to perfection. The ice arena at Pine Harbor Community Center hums with focused energy, our drills running like clockwork. The sounds of puck slaps against sticks and the occasional shout from Coach Turner echo in the cavernous space. It feels good—natural—to be here, to let my body take over while my mind clears.

Or, at least, tries to.

Even as I move through the motions, the "Adopt-a-Player" campaign looms in the back of my mind. Between the practice and logistics, I’m constantly thinking about what this partnership means—not just for the team and the shelter, but for me. It’s more than just handing out some flyers or posing for a few pictures. This campaign could shift how people see me. It could change the story that’s been told about me for years. But it’s also a responsibility, one I’m not sure I’m ready to shoulder.

"Logan, your timing’s off," Coach calls from the sidelines. His sharp tone yanks me from my thoughts.

I tighten my grip on the stick, skating back into position. "Got it."

"Hey," Ryan says as we line up for another drill, nudging my shoulder. "Everything okay? You’re skating like your mind’s somewhere else."

"Just thinking," I mutter, not looking at him.

Ryan grins. "Dangerous territory for you, Mitchell. Let me guess… is it the campaign? Or are you finally admitting you’re intimidated by the new rookie?"

I shoot him a flat look, and he laughs, skating ahead. Mark joins in on the ribbing as we complete another round of passing drills, his humor lightening the mood.

It’s moments like these that remind me why I stick around, even when things get tough. These guys—Ryan, Mark, and the rest of the team—are more than just coworkers. They’re the closest thing to family I’ve got outside of Emma. And maybe that’s why this campaign feels like more than just another PR move. It’s not just my image on the line. It’s theirs too.

After practice, I’m barely out of the locker room when Coach corners me in the hallway.

“You have somewhere to be,” he says, his tone making it clear this isn’t a suggestion.

I raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“The shelter arranged for you to meet Lewis today. He’s the dog they’ve paired you with for the campaign.”

I glance at my watch, debating whether I can come up with an excuse. But Coach’s expression tells me I’d better not try.

“Fine,” I mutter, hating how easily I cave. “Where am I going?”

Because why not? Sure, let’s add ‘dog bonding’ to the growing list of things I never asked for. I shove my gear into my bag with more force than necessary, irritation bubbling under my skin. Of course, I have to be the one to sell this PR fluff to the town. Why not pick one of the guys who actually likes dogs? Or better yet, someone who likes talking to people in general? I sling the bag over my shoulder and follow Coach’s directions begrudgingly, already dreading whatever awkward interaction awaits me. I didn’t sign up to be Pine Harbor’s poster boy for pets. But no, Coach insists I have to play nice for the sake of ‘community ties.’

My steps are heavy as I head to the car, the weight of the day—of the campaign—pressing down harder than my equipment bag. If this backfires, it’s going to be my name in the headlines again, not anyone else’s.

The park is quieter than I expect, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the playground and picnic tables. Pine Harbor Park has a cozy charm—its winding paths are bordered by lush greenery, and the small pond at its center sparkles under the light. There’s a gazebo off to the side, decked out with twinkling fairy lights left over from the last community event. A group of kids chases each other near the swings while an older couple sits on a bench feeding ducks.

I spot Lucy standing near a fenced dog run, clipboard in hand, her attention focused on a scrappy black-and-white dog bouncing at the end of its leash. Lewis is medium-sized, with a sleek coat that gleams in the sunlight, black patches scattered over a white base like an abstract painting. His floppy ears perk up at every sound, and his dark eyes, filled with curiosity and energy, seem to miss nothing. There’s an eager bounce in his step, as if the world is his playground and every moment is an adventure waiting to be had.

As I approach, Lewis—full of energy—notices me immediately. His floppy ears perk up, and his dark eyes, bright with curiosity, lock onto me before he lets out an excited bark, his tail wagging like a propeller. Lucy glances up, her expression shifting from neutral to…something else. Not quite annoyance, but close.

“Mitchell,” she says, her voice clipped but polite. “You’re late.”

“Didn’t know this was a timed event,” I reply, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. Lewis strains against his leash, clearly eager to close the distance between us.

Lucy sighs, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. “Well, he’s been waiting for you. Haven’t you, Lewis?”

The dog’s enthusiastic response makes me chuckle despite myself. I crouch down, holding out a hand, and Lewis immediately bounds over, sniffing me with unabashed curiosity before licking my fingers. His energy is infectious, and for a moment, I forget to keep my guard up.

“Looks like he likes you,” Lucy says, watching the interaction closely. There’s a hint of surprise in her voice, as if she expected this to go poorly.

“What’s not to like?” I shoot back, scratching under Lewis’s chin. The dog’s tail wags harder, and I feel the faintest tug at something inside me. It’s been a long time since anyone—or anything—looked at me with such unfiltered trust.

Lucy doesn’t respond immediately, and when I glance up, I catch her watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by her usual brisk professionalism.

“He’s got a lot of energy,” she says. “But he’s smart. Quick to pick up on commands. I think he’ll be a good match for you.”

“We’ll see,” I say, standing. Lewis circles my legs, his leash tangling slightly before Lucy steps in to untangle it.

“Just give it a chance, Logan,” she says, her tone softer than I expect. “It could turn out better than you think.”

“Before you head out, there are a few things you need to know about Lewis,” Lucy says, her clipboard still in hand. Her tone shifts to something between professional and patient, like she’s about to give a lecture.

I fold my arms, leaning against the fence as she starts rattling off information. “He eats twice a day—morning and evening—and he’s on a specific brand of food. I’ve already sent the details to your email.”

“Of course you have,” I mutter, earning a quick glare from her.

“Potty breaks are frequent for now because we’re still reinforcing his training,” she continues. “And he’ll need walks to burn off all that energy. He loves fetch, so that’s a good way to tire him out.”

Lewis sits at her feet, wagging his tail as if he’s proud of the detailed report she’s giving. I glance at him, then back at her. “Anything else? Should I be writing this down?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” she replies, her tone sweet but with an edge. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and flips to another page on her clipboard.

She pauses, her brow furrowing. “Wait… his bed. I think I forgot it at the shelter.”

Her face flushes, and she looks genuinely distressed, biting her bottom lip. It’s… cute. Attractive, cute. Not that I’d ever admit that. I push the thought aside because it’s Lucy—she’s not that kind of material in my mind. “I’m so sorry. I wanted this to go smoothly, and I…”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, surprising both of us. “We’ll figure it out.”

“But—” she starts.

“Really, it’s not a big deal,” I say, keeping my tone calm. “I’m sure Lewis can survive one night without a fancy dog bed.”

She hesitates, clearly unconvinced, and I can see the concern etched across her face. It’s a rare crack in her usual confident exterior, and something about it catches me off guard. Lucy Hart, the relentless optimist, genuinely worried about making my life harder? That’s new.

“I can swing by the shelter tomorrow and grab it,” I add, bending down to ruffle Lewis’s ears. “He doesn’t seem too bothered about it.”

Lewis responds by wagging his tail so hard his entire body wiggles, clearly agreeing with my assessment. Lucy still looks unsure, but she nods slowly.

“I just wanted everything to go smoothly,” she says quietly, more to herself than to me. “You didn’t ask for this campaign, and I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“Lucy,” I say, standing to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. Really. If anything, it gives us something to hassle the sponsors about—‘dog bed emergencies’ might make for good PR.”

Her lips twitch, and for a second, I think she might actually laugh. “I don’t think ‘emergency dog bed delivery’ is the type of PR we’re aiming for.”

“Maybe not,” I say with a shrug. “But Lewis seems pretty adaptable. And so am I, apparently.”

She gives me a long look, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Thanks, Logan.”

The words are simple, but they land heavier than I expect. I give her a nod, feeling the corners of my mouth tug upward just slightly. Before the moment can stretch too long, Lewis barks, pulling our attention back to him. He tugs on his leash, his tail wagging furiously as if to remind us that he’s still here and ready for whatever adventure comes next.

Later that evening, as I settle onto my couch with a sigh, Lewis sprawled out on the floor beside me, my mind drifts back to the park. The way Lucy had looked genuinely uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, when she realized she’d forgotten the meds and bed—it was disarming. I’ve only ever seen her so put- together, always ready with a smile or a snappy comeback. Seeing her falter, even for a moment, was…humanizing.

And the way she’d been so concerned about making things difficult for me—it didn’t feel like an act. It felt real. Honest.

I glance down at Lewis, who’s now snoring softly, one paw twitching like he’s dreaming. “Looks like it’s you and me, buddy,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears. “Think she’s always this worried about everyone, or are we special?”

Lewis doesn’t answer, obviously, but his tail gives a faint wag in his sleep, like he’s agreeing with me.

Leaning back, I let out a long breath. The day didn’t go how I expected, but it wasn’t all bad. Lewis settled in better than I thought he would, and working with Lucy—though not without its challenges—didn’t feel as impossible as it had this morning.

As my eyes drift toward the window, the faint glow of the town’s streetlights spilling into the room, I realize something strange: I’m not dreading tomorrow. Sure, I’m still skeptical about this whole campaign, but there’s a part of me—however small—that’s curious to see where it goes. And that’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long time.

A few days later, I find myself sprawled on my couch, the apartment silent except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Lewis, who had started the week sleeping near the door, has somehow managed to sneak onto the couch beside me, his head resting against my thigh.

I should push him off. I really should. Instead, my hand moves absently to scratch behind his ears as I scroll through my phone. He lets out a contented sigh, and I roll my eyes.

“You’re getting comfortable, huh?” I mutter.

Lewis doesn’t bother responding, just stretches a little more, like he owns the place.

Before I know it, I’ve picked up the chew toy lying nearby and toss it across the room. Lewis is off the couch in a flash, bounding after it with a kind of joy I don’t quite understand but find myself watching anyway.

I shake my head, but when he trots back, tail wagging, I toss the toy again.

I don’t think about what this means. About what Lucy would say if she saw me like this. About how easy it’s been to let this dog in when I swore I wouldn’t.

Instead, I just lean back against the couch, watching as Lewis drops the toy at my feet, ready for another round.