Page 8

Chapter 8

Logan

T he first light of dawn filters through the large windows of the Pine Harbor Community Center, casting a soft golden glow over the empty ice rink. The silence is almost meditative, broken only by the distant hum of the HVAC system. I stand at the edge of the rink, my breath fogging faintly in the chill air, and let my gaze drift across the space.

The stillness of the rink before the world wakes up feels almost sacred, like a blank slate waiting to be written on. It’s a place where the noise of life fades, leaving only clarity and the faint whisper of endless possibilities. No noise, no expectations. Just me, the rink, and a lingering sense of possibility. The cool air carries a faint metallic tang from the ice, and the faint scuff marks from countless skates seem to hold stories of past victories and defeats. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you think about the things you usually try to ignore. And lately, I’ve been thinking about a lot.

Lucy, for one.

She’s a puzzle I can’t quite solve—a whirlwind of contradictions that keeps me guessing. One moment she’s all light and laughter, lifting everyone around her, and the next, she’s throwing sharp, pointed comments that reveal just how much she sees beneath the surface. It’s both frustrating and fascinating, and it’s left me questioning if I’ve underestimated her. Every time I think I’ve got her figured out—her relentless optimism, her passion for the shelter, her ability to make everyone feel like they matter—she throws me off with something unexpected. A sharp comment, a knowing smile, or, worse, a moment of kindness that hits too close to home.

And then there’s Lewis. The dog is a force of nature, somehow both calming and chaotic in equal measure. He’s become a fixture in my life, whether I’m ready to admit it or not. His unwavering loyalty and boundless energy are starting to feel like the constants I’ve been missing.

“You’re here early,” a familiar voice says, breaking my train of thought. I glance over to see Mark stepping onto the ice in sneakers, a bottle of water in one hand and his ever-present grin in place.

“Could say the same about you,” I reply, leaning on my stick.

Mark shrugs. “Sometimes the rink’s the best place to clear your head. Though from the look on your face, I’d say you’re not doing much clearing.”

“Just thinking,” I mutter.

“About the dog? Or about Lucy?” His grin widens when I glare at him. “Come on, man. It’s obvious. You’re a lot less grumpy these days, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just because of Lewis.”

“Drop it, Mark,” I say, but there’s no bite in my tone. Mark claps me on the shoulder before heading off, his laughter echoing as he disappears into the hallway.

With a sigh, I step away from the rink and head to the small café attached to the community center. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me as I push open the door, and I spot Emma sitting at a corner table, waving me over.

Emma glances up as I slide into the seat across from her, a latte in hand and a book propped open in front of her. She’s already halfway through it, her relaxed posture giving away her contentment. “Well, look who decided to join the early crowd,” she teases, closing the book and setting it aside.

“Interesting choice,” I say, nodding at the book with a curious glance. “What are you reading?”

She holds up the cover, a romance novel with a cheerful-looking couple and a dog on the front. I raise an eyebrow, and she grins.

“It’s research,” she says. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn about people from stories like these.”

“If you say so,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. Emma’s always had a way of finding meaning in places I’d never think to look.

She sets the book down and studies me for a moment, her expression softening. “How’s it going with Lewis?”

“He’s…a handful,” I admit. “But a good one.”

Emma’s smile widens. “And the campaign?”

I hesitate, swirling my coffee idly. “It’s fine. Lucy’s good at what she does.”

“And you?” she presses. “How are you handling it?”

“I’m figuring it out,” I say finally, glancing out the window. “It’s…different. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Emma studies me for a moment longer, then nods. “You’re changing, Logan. For the better.”

Her words linger in my mind as I leave the café, Lewis’s leash in hand, stirring something unfamiliar in my chest. Am I really changing? And if I am, is it for the better, like she said? The thought both grounds me and unsettles me, pushing me to question what I want to become.

Later that afternoon, I’m at the park with Lewis, tossing a tennis ball while he bounds after it like his life depends on it. The sky is overcast, the air heavy with the promise of rain, but for now, the weather holds.

As I toss the ball again, a passerby stops to watch. “That’s Lewis, right?” she asks, smiling. “I saw him on the shelter’s page. He’s adorable!”

“Yeah, that’s him,” I reply, a little awkwardly.

“And you must be Logan,” she adds. “The hockey player? It’s great what you’re doing for the shelter. Really inspiring.”

I mumble a thanks, not sure how to handle the praise, and the woman walks away with a wave. Lewis, oblivious to the exchange, returns with the ball, tail wagging.

Lucy shows up just as Lewis brings the ball back for the third time, her bright presence contrasting with the dull sky. Her hair is slightly tousled by the breeze, and she hugs an umbrella to her chest, her gaze soft and focused as if she’s already reading the moment. She’s carrying an umbrella and a bag of treats, her smile warm despite the cool breeze.

“Thought I’d find you here,” she says, handing me the bag. “Bribery for the star of the campaign.”

“For Lewis or me?” I ask, smirking.

“Depends on who behaves better,” she quips, her eyes sparkling with humor. She kneels to scratch behind Lewis’s ears, and he rewards her with an enthusiastic lick.

We fall into an easy rhythm, walking the park paths while Lewis trots ahead, his tail wagging happily. The conversation flows, lighter than usual but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

The first drops catch us off guard, a light sprinkle tapping gently on the leaves before transforming into a sudden downpour. The air fills with the sharp, earthy scent of rain, and the world around us blurs as water streams from the branches above. The sound of rain hitting the leaves is almost deafening, mingling with Lewis’s surprised bark as he looks skyward, shaking off the first few drops. We break into a jog, darting for the gazebo near the pond just as the rain intensifies. By the time we reach cover, we’re both soaked, and Lewis is a dripping, gleeful mess. He shakes himself vigorously, sending a spray of water flying in every direction.

I can’t help but laugh, the sound escaping me before I realize how ridiculous we must look. "Well, that escalated quickly," I say, running a hand through my damp hair.

Lucy laughs too, setting her umbrella down on the gazebo bench with a soft thud, its surface dripping from the rain. "I should’ve known better than to trust the forecast," she says, leaning against the railing and looking out at the pond. The ripples of raindrops dance across the surface, the world muted but somehow alive with the rhythm of the storm.

“I kind of like the rain,” she admits. “It makes everything feel…cleaner. Like a fresh start. My dad used to say that, actually. Whenever it rained, he’d take me out to the porch with a blanket and hot chocolate and say, ‘Lucy, this is nature’s way of giving us a do-over.’ It stuck with me, I guess.”

I nod, looking out at the rippling water. “I guess I could use one of those,” I admit, the words heavier than they should be. All the missteps, the regrets I’ve carried for years, feel like they’re pressing against my chest, begging for a way to be erased, or at least rewritten.

Her gaze sharpens, curiosity mingling with concern. “A fresh start?”

“Yeah,” I say, the words coming more easily than I expect. “I’ve made mistakes. Big ones. And for a long time, I thought the best thing I could do was keep my head down and focus on hockey. But now…”

“Now?” she prompts gently.

I glance at her, then at Lewis, who’s lying at our feet, his eyes half-closed. “Now I’m starting to think maybe there’s more to life than that. Maybe I can…do more. Be more.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything right away, but her expression softens, and when she speaks, her voice is quiet but steady. “I think you’re already doing that, Logan. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

That night, back at my apartment, I replay the conversation in my head, turning over Lucy’s words like a puzzle piece that almost fits but not quite. Her belief in me felt genuine, her quiet confidence unnerving in a way I can’t ignore. It’s been a long time since someone looked at me and saw potential, not just a hockey player or a screw-up, and it’s stirring something I’m not sure I’m ready to face. Lucy’s words echo, carrying more weight than I’m used to. She’s right—I’m not alone. Not with Lewis. Not with the team. And maybe, not with her.

I sit on the floor, leaning against the couch as Lewis curls up beside me. The room is quiet except for the faint patter of rain against the windows. I reach down to scratch behind his ears, and he lets out a contented sigh.

“You’re a good dog, Lewis,” I murmur. “Better than I deserve.”

Lewis thumps his tail once, as if to disagree.