Harper nods and picks up her wine again. “He seemed nervous tonight when you two were talking.”
“Logan always seems nervous. It's just how he is.”
“No. With the sponsors, he's stiff. With you, he was different. Cole told me once that getting more than three words out of Logan Shaw requires an act of God.”
“He was always a talker with me, even back then. He just didn't talk to anyone else.”
We sit in silence for a minute, watching the Zamboni finish its last pass. The ice is perfect, fresh and glossy and untouched.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. No judgment,” Harper says. “It’s going to be tough seeing him all the time.”
“I’ll be fine. We’re friends now. In fact, he asked me out for a drink to catch up, and I said I’d love to.”
Harper raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t voice her thoughts. We move on to other topics, and an hour later, I’m ready to leave.
I take an Uber home. The city is still awake, but my street in the West Village is quiet. I let myself into my building, take the elevator to the fourth floor, and unlock my door.
My apartment is dark, and I don't turn on the overhead lights. I kick off my heels in the hallway, hang my coat in the closet, and pad barefoot into the kitchen. The floor is cold under my feet, and I pour myself a glass of water and stand at the island and drink it slowly.
The apartment is clean as always. The girls like to tease me that I have OCD, but what’s wrong with loving a clean environment?
My gaze falls to the cream sofa with gold throw pillows, the bookshelves lined with law texts and the novels I keep meaning to read.
When I moved to Manhattan after law school, I had two suitcases and a lease I could barely afford. Now I have anapartment with a window that faces west and catches the last hour of sunlight every evening.
This is the life I built after Logan Shaw left.
I take my water to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. I unclip my earrings and set them on the nightstand, pull the pins from my hair, and let it fall. The jumpsuit unzips, and I step out of it and hang it up.
I wash my face, following the same routine I do every night, regardless of whether I'm exhausted or not. The routine stays the same.
I get into bed and set an alarm for six.
Then, I lay on my back, staring at the white ceiling, willing myself to sleep. But thoughts of tonight are all over my mind.
I told Harper I healed a long time ago.
So why haven't I had a relationship that lasted longer than five months? Michael, the investment banker, made it three months before he told me I was impossible to get close to.
Andre, the architect, lasted five months before he said he felt like he was dating a resume, not a person. Jason, the professor, was four months. He was kind and patient, and I liked him, but I ended it anyway because every time he reached for me across the bed, I felt myself pull away, and I didn't know why.
Now, I know why.
I've been measuring every man against the boy who left, and the feeling I had at seventeen when he looked at me on the beach and told me he loved me. I believed him with every cell in my body. No man since then has made me feel that certain or that seen or that known.
I’ve spent ten years telling myself I don't want to feel that way again. That certainty is a trap, and feeling known just gives someone a map to your weakest spots.
I turn over and pull the covers up, forcing my brain to shut up.
5
Logan
The gym at the Renegades facility is empty by four o'clock. Most of the guys clear out after the morning session, but I stayed for an extra hour on the foam roller, working the knots out of my lower back.
My back has been tight all week. It gets like that during the season due to the toll of blocking shots and absorbing hits, night after night. The trainers tell me to manage it, and Dad tells me to push through it. I do both.
I grab my bag from the locker room, say goodbye to Lane, the head athletic trainer, who's the only other person still here, and drive home.
