Page 11 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

Lewis’s tail thumps once against the cushion, and I laugh, shaking my head.

Yeah. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.

Chapter 7

Lucy

The rhythmic hum of the shelter fills the air. The shuffle of paws against tiled floors echoes alongside the occasional bark or meow, while the gentle chatter of volunteers coordinating their tasks adds a comforting backdrop. I’m in the supply room, organizing a new shipment of pet food, but my mind isn’t on inventory. It’s on Logan.

“Ugh,” I mutter to myself, shoving a bag of kibble onto the shelf with more force than necessary. Why can’t I stop replaying yesterday’s conversation in my head? The way he stiffened when he realized I’d overheard him talking to Lewis. The way he looked so… human.

I’m not used to seeing that side of him—the vulnerability that slipped through for just a moment. It caught me off guard, leaving me both curious and unsettled, as if I’d glimpsed a part of him he hadn’t meant to show anyone. Usually, Logan is all gruffness and sharp edges, like a fortress determined to keep everyone out. But yesterday, for a fleeting moment, I saw a crack in the armor. And instead of feeling satisfaction at catching him off guard, I feel guilty.

I’ve been so quick to judge him. To write him off as the typical broody athlete with a chip on his shoulder. And sure,he’s given me plenty of reasons to think that—the sarcasm, the reluctance, the way he’s always one step away from rolling his eyes at everything. But maybe… maybe I haven’t been entirely fair. I assumed he was all sarcasm and reluctance, but now I’m starting to see glimpses of something else—a man who’s more than just his mistakes, who’s trying, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it.

The thought gnaws at me as I move through the shelter, checking in with the volunteers and making sure the animals are settled. My “sunshine” personality doesn’t sit well with the idea that I might have been anything less than kind. Did I dismiss him too quickly? Was I too focused on my own assumptions to really see him?

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts aside. But they’re persistent, like a pebble in my shoe that I can’t quite shake out.

Later, I sit at my desk, scrolling through social media posts for the campaign. The buzz around Logan and Lewis has been overwhelming, with posts and shares flooding in like wildfire. Comments flood the posts, a mix of praise and skepticism.

"It’s nice to see Logan Mitchell doing something positive for a change." "Is this just another PR stunt?" "Lewis is adorable! Maybe Logan’s not as grumpy as he seems." "Don’t be fooled. Guys like him don’t change."

The last comment makes my stomach twist. I know how harsh people can be online, but seeing it directed at Logan feels… different. I think back to his words from yesterday, the frustration in his voice as he talked to Lewis about being judged for his past. It’s one thing to hear about someone’s struggles; it’s another to see them play out in real time.

I wonder how much weight he carries because of those comments—the constant reminder of mistakes he’s worked to leave behind. How many times has he tried to move forward,only to have people pull him back into the shadow of his past? How many times he’s had to prove himself, only for people to cling to the worst version of him. It’s no wonder he’s so guarded.

“What are you thinking, Lucy?” I murmur to myself, rubbing my temples. My frustration shifts from Logan to myself. Why didn’t I see this sooner? Why was I so quick to assume the worst?

The afternoon brings another campaign meeting at the community center. I’m running late, juggling a stack of flyers and a clipboard as I rush into the room. The volunteers are already bustling about, setting up for tomorrow’s event. And there, in the middle of it all, is Logan.

He’s crouched next to Lewis, scratching the dog’s ears as he calmly directs a group of volunteers carrying supplies. There’s an ease to his movements, a quiet confidence that’s entirely unforced. When one of the volunteers stumbles under the weight of a box, Logan is on his feet in an instant, taking the load without hesitation.

“Careful,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Don’t throw your back out.”

The volunteer laughs nervously, muttering a thank-you, and Logan nods before resuming his work with Lewis.

I linger near the door, watching him, a mix of curiosity and unease twisting in my chest. He seems so different from the man I thought I knew, and the quiet strength in his actions catches me off guard. He’s different today. More at ease. More… himself? I’m not sure. But the way he handles Lewis, the way he steps in without being asked, the way he’s quietly taking charge without demanding attention—it’s not what I expected.

“Lucy?” one of the volunteers calls, snapping me out of my thoughts. I force a smile and step forward, but the image of Logan with Lewis stays with me.

That night, I sit on my porch, a cup of tea cradled in my hands. The street is quiet, the faint hum of cicadas filling the air.My mind drifts back to Logan, to the way he looked today, so unguarded and… kind.

I don’t know why it’s sticking with me. It shouldn’t matter. He’s just a partner in this campaign, someone I have to work with to achieve our shared goals. That’s all.

Except, deep down, I know it’s not all. There’s something about him that’s starting to get under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. I don’t want to feel this way—like the walls I’ve built to keep people like him out are crumbling, leaving me vulnerable in a way that scares me more than I’m willing to admit. I don’t want to look at him and see someone worth knowing, worth understanding. It’s easier to keep him in the box I’d already put him in—grumpy, guarded, frustratingly difficult.

But today made that impossible. Because today, I saw something else.

I sigh, setting my tea aside and leaning back in my chair. “What are you doing, Lucy?” I whisper to the night.

There’s no answer, of course. Just the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets. But as I sit there, staring at the stars, I feel something shift. Maybe it’s time to stop holding onto assumptions. After all, I’ve seen it time and again with the animals here—the ones who arrive scared and defensive, often mislabeled as unlovable, are usually the ones with the biggest hearts. Why couldn’t the same be true for him? Maybe it’s time to give Logan the benefit of the doubt. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this shelter, it’s that sometimes, the ones who seem the hardest to reach are the ones who need compassion the most.

I don’t know what this means for us, for the campaign, for anything. But for the first time, I’m willing to find out.

Chapter 8

Logan

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