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CHAPTER 30

SLOANE

“W here are you going?” Logan asked, his voice rough with sleep, not to mention alcohol, since he’d slipped in bed last night around three this morning after a night out with the guys celebrating winning the Cup. His blond hair was a chaotic mess like my fingers had tugged at it all night, and his green eyes were tracing my curves, a lazy heat in their depths as I got dressed.

I gulped as I stared at him, missing the leg of my jeans because he was very distracting. The sheets clung to his hips, low enough I was blushing, since I was very familiar at this point at what the bulge under the sheets could do.

“Ignore him. He can’t help it,” Logan rasped as his dick rose under the sheet. He winced all of a sudden and shifted, and I focused on his chest, but that was also distracting. Hard planes and sharp angles…covered in tattoos?—

Fuck, he was delicious.

“You’re staring,” he said, one muscular arm bent behind his head like a cocky, tattooed Greek god who’d been summoned just to torment me.

“Wishful thinking,” I teased, pulling my zipper up a little too fast, like that would somehow help me escape his orbit.

Logan smirked, the corner of his mouth curving just enough to make me want to throw something at him—or kiss him. Probably both. “I’m always wishfully thinking of you, Red.”

I snorted. “That was corny.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. It’s almost like you’re avoiding it.”

He shifted, and I tried not to notice how the movement made the muscles in his stomach ripple before I did something stupid, like cancel my plans and crawl back into bed with him.

“I volunteer at a group home on Tuesdays,” I murmured. “It’s just something I started doing last year.”

His gaze softened. “Of course you do, because you’re fucking perfect.”

And then suddenly he was getting out of bed…completely nude, of course. I blinked, and wiped at my chin because there was no way I wasn’t drooling.

That ass…and dick.

Wait…what was that?

“Did you hurt yourself last night?” I asked, looking at the bandage wrapped around his cock.

He blinked, his cheeks turning suspiciously red. “Um…kind of. But it was also kind of voluntary?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said, watching him walk into his closet. “And what are you doing?”

“Going with you,” he called.

I followed him into the closet. “I’m still looking for answers, buddy.”

He stiffened and slowly turned around. “Now listen, I don’t want you to get freaked out. It’s actually very tasteful.”

“Logan York, what did you do?”

He slowly unwrapped the bandage from his dick and revealed a…tattoo?

“You tattooed your dick?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not surprising since the rest of your skin is covered, but why now?”

“I—I was feeling inspired,” he said, as I leaned forward to look.

“No,” I whispered when I realized what it was. “That’s my?—”

“Your lip marks in your lipstick shade? Why yes, yes it is, Red,” he said proudly.

I gaped at him.

“Nothing says you’re in love more than a dick tattoo,” he told me with a wink, sounding like he was quoting someone.

My gaze went from his dick to his face, and then back to his dick.

He grabbed a Dallas Knights V-neck and slipped it on along with some briefs and a pair of sweatpants.

I was still gaping at him when he finished getting dressed, so he grabbed my hand and led me out of the room.

Logan stopped and then turned around, looking much more relaxed as he tapped on my chin to close my mouth.

“You, me…my dick. It’s forever, baby.”

“Right,” I finally murmured, still in shock over his tattoo…and how absurdly pleased I was about it.

Maybe I wouldn’t tell him that part, though.

But he was right…what could say forever better than…

An inscription on your cock?

* * *

“Are you sure you want to come in? I thought you wanted to relax today. Being around a bunch of sad kids is definitely not relaxing,” I told him as we pulled into a parking spot outside the group home. I wanted him to come in with me, but I also wanted to give him an out. This place could be a lot.

“I happen to love kids. And maybe I can help make them a little less sad. I brought some signed pucks with me. You think they’ll like that?” he asked, sliding on a backward hat as he opened the truck door because his goal was to torture me today.

“They will love that,” I said softly, feeling strangely emotional.

“Don’t look so shocked, baby. There’s not anything I wouldn’t do for you.” He pressed a kiss against my lips before he walked around and helped me out.

When I walked into the group home with Logan by my side, I could already feel the tension building in Rome’s small frame from across the room. He was sitting in his usual spot, huddled in the corner of the play area, his knees pulled up to his chest, his blond hair falling over his face like a shield. The moment he saw Logan—this tall, broad figure next to me—I watched his shoulders tighten, his body curling in on itself even more.

I couldn’t blame him. Logan, with his size and presence…and tattoos could be intimidating, especially to someone like Rome, who had learned to associate new people with hurt, with loss. He’d been through so much, more than any little boy should have to bear. And even though I trusted Logan completely, I knew this was going to be hard for him.

I knelt down beside Rome, speaking softly, trying to make my voice as gentle as possible. “Hey, Rome. I brought someone to meet you today.”

His eyes flicked up to me, wide and cautious, before darting to Logan. He didn’t say anything, just stared at him, his tiny body still folded tight. My heart ached watching him.

The monsters who had hurt him should be destroyed.

Logan crouched down beside me, his presence suddenly much smaller, softer, as if he could sense the fragility of this moment. “Hey, Rome,” he said, his voice calm, gentle in a way that surprised even me. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Sloane says you’re really good at coloring.”

His eyes shifted toward the coloring book on the table but didn’t move. Rome was still watching him, wary and waiting. I could see the fear in his eyes, that instinct to shut down, to close himself off. I knew it all too well.

Logan stayed where he was, not pushing, not getting closer. He didn’t try to force himself into Rome’s space, and I was grateful for that. He just sat there, a safe distance away, giving him time.

“You know,” he continued, his tone light, “I’m not great at coloring. I tried once, but Sloane said I couldn’t stay inside the lines.”

I smiled, because he was talking about some doodling he’d done on a piece of paper—hardly coloring. But I loved that he was trying. I glanced at Rome, hoping he’d pick up on the same ease, the same warmth he was offering him now.

For a moment, Rome didn’t move. Then, slowly, his eyes flicked to me, and I gave him a small nod, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “Logan’s really nice. I promise.”

He didn’t speak, but his tiny hands loosened their grip on his knees just a fraction. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Logan smiled. “Can I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the floor a little closer to him.

Rome didn’t respond, but he didn’t shake his head either. Logan took that as permission, moving carefully, like he was trying not to spook him. He sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Sloane says your favorite color is orange,” Logan commented, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “That’s my favorite color too.”

Rome hesitated, his small fingers inching toward the crayon box in front of him. He didn’t look at him directly, but I could see the way his body was slowly uncurling, like he was starting to trust him, just a little. He grabbed an orange and hesitated before slowly rolling it toward Logan.

We both froze. “You’re going to share your favorite color with me? That’s awesome, bud.”

A small smile peeked across Rome’s lips. “There’s another one in the box.”

It took us a second to respond, because we were both gaping at the little glimpse of Rome’s personality.

“Oh, well, I’m still going to think I’m special you gave me orange,” Logan said with a laugh. “I’ll just imagine it.”

Rome finally met Logan’s eyes. His hand hovered over the crayons before he carefully plucked out the other orange he mentioned. He still didn’t speak, but I could see the tension in his shoulders easing, just a little.

“Okay,” he finally said with a shrug.

My eyes were glassy as I stared wide-eyed at Rome. This was the most I’d seen him interact with anyone aside from me.

Rome turned toward me…and handed me the crayon, his small fingers barely brushing mine as he did. It was a tiny moment, one that would have seemed insignificant to anyone else, but to me, it felt monumental.

“So you can feel special too.”

And there was no hiding the tears that fell down my face at that one.

Logan took over while I was falling apart, his smile never faltering. “Okay, show me what to do. Maybe you can teach me how to color, Sloane was a terrible teacher.”

Rome snorted—which made my tears come even faster—and then he picked up another crayon, blue this time, and started coloring quietly, his movements slow and deliberate. Logan followed his lead, staying inside the lines, though I noticed him purposely slipping outside them sometimes, just to make Rome smile.

“You are pretty bad,” Rome said quietly after a moment, freezing as soon as the words came out, like he was scared of Logan’s reaction.

Logan pretended not to notice. “Ouch,” he cried softly, pressing a hand to his chest like he’d been wounded. “You got me with that one. We all can’t be talented artists, though, Rome. Some of us have to be good at other things.”

Rome’s shoulders relaxed, and then there was another faint smile on his lips.

“What kind of other things are you good at?” Rome asked a few minutes later. “Cooking?”

I snorted, because that was also not one of Logan’s skills. Rome glanced at me, confused.

“I’m not good at cooking either, unfortunately. I’m good at hockey, though,” Logan said, his voice sliding into a whine. “Sloane, tell him I’m good at hockey.”

I smiled, my chest tightening over the small grin that had appeared on Rome’s face at Logan’s theatrics. “He’s very good at hockey, Rome,” I said in a patronizing voice.

Rome’s smile widened. “I don’t think she means that,” he said softly.

Logan huffed. “She totally means that. I even brought pucks with me today, because I’m that good at hockey. Do you want to see?”

Rome glanced back at his coloring page, like he was debating. Then he shyly nodded.

Logan kept his movements slow as he pulled a puck from the duffel bag he’d brought and slowly showed it to Rome.

“Wow,” Rome whispered. “Is this a real one?”

“Yep,” said Logan, waggling his eyebrows at me because he was so proud that his “puck” plan seemed to be working. “Next season you should totally come to a game.”

Normally if someone had said something like that, I would have told them not to make promises to a little boy that they weren’t going to keep.

But I didn’t even have that thought with Logan.

I was learning…there wasn’t a promise he wouldn’t keep.

“That would be awesome,” Rome breathed, looking genuinely excited for the first time since I’d met him.

By the time we finished, Logan had earned more than just his trust. He’d earned a piece of his heart, the way he always managed to with people. And as I watched him sitting there beside Rome, gently teasing him about how his picture wasn’t nearly as good as Rome’s, I realized how lucky I was to have someone who could be this kind, this patient, with the people I cared about most.

Rome finally looked up at him, his small voice breaking the silence. “Maybe you’re not that bad.”

Logan chuckled, reaching over slowly and ruffling his hair playfully. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”

I watched for Rome to react to Logan’s touch, but he went back to coloring, seemingly unaffected by it.

“Not that bad at all, York,” I murmured, and he winked at me.