Logan takes my hand. Nobody knows us here. No Renegades fans looking for autographs. He laces his fingers through mine, and we walk along the boardwalk.
“This is nice,” I say.
“Which part?”
“Holding your hand in public.”
He squeezes my fingers. “We could do this in New York.”
“Not yet.”
“I know. But someday.”
“Someday.”
We stop at a bench overlooking the water. He sits down and pulls me along with him. The wind is cold on my face, and his body is warm against my side.
“Thank you for coming,” he says. “Having you here tonight means a lot to me.”
“I'll be the one in the Renegades hoodie screaming your name,” I say.
“Please don't scream my name. Blake will never let me hear the end of it.”
“Then I'll scream Blake's name. Really confuse everyone.”
He laughs, and a couple walking past turns and smiles. I love being the person who draws that sound out of him.
We walk back toward the hotel at two-thirty. At the corner near the entrance, he stops. He cups my face with both hands. His fingers are cold against my cheeks.
“I'll see you after the game,” he says.
“Play well.”
“I'll be playing for you.”
He kisses me on a street corner in Toronto with people walking past and the CN Tower rising behind him against the gray sky. When he pulls back his blue eyes are bright.
“Go get ready,” he says. “I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“Love you,” I reply and give him another quick kiss. He walks away toward the arena, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders straight. I stand on the corner and watch him until he rounds the block. Then I turn and walk into the hotel to get ready for the game.
20
Jasmine
The Toronto arena is louder than MSG. I didn't think that was possible but the Wailers fans are a different breed — passionate, loud, and packed into every seat.
The building is a wall of blue and white, with towering banners hanging from the rafters, honoring players whose jerseys have been retired. The ice gleams under the lights, and the cold rolls off it in waves that reach us even in the lower bowl.
Harper, Avery, Natalie, and I are in seats Wilder arranged through the Renegades' visiting team allotment. We're surrounded by Wailers fans in blue jerseys who eye our Renegades gear with open disdain.
A man two rows behind us asks Harper if she got lost. She turns around, smiles, and says, “We'll see who's lost after the third period.”
The teams take the ice for warm-ups. The Wailers come out first to a deafening ovation. Then the Renegades emerge from the visitors' tunnel, and the boos rain down. Liam raises his stick to the crowd and grins. Jake waves like he's arriving at a parade. Cole skates past without acknowledging any of it.
Logan is the last one out. He skates to the far end and starts his warm-up routine.
“There's your man,” Avery says, nudging my arm.
