Page 18 of Off the Ice

Yeah. I check in on him every week. He’s... not as steady as he used to be.

The honesty in his reply gave me pause. This was a side of Logan I hadn’t seen before, and for some reason, it made me curious. There wasn't much online about Logan's family situation. There were the usual college stats and some articles from when he was coming up playing juniors, but nothing with depth.

Want company?

The three little dots indicating his reply appeared and disappeared twice before his message came through.

Sure. Pick you up at 6.

Twelve

Logan

Ipulledupinfront of Ava’s apartment building, my SUV idling by the curb. The street was quiet, the kind of hush that settled in just after rush hour, when most people had made it home but the city hadn’t fully wound down for the night. Her neighborhood wasn’t exactly bad, but it had a certain grittiness to it—older brick buildings with chipped paint, a few flickering streetlights, the occasional car parked too close to the fire hydrant like nobody cared enough to enforce the rule. Decent, but worn around the edges. The kind of place where you double-checked your locks but still knew your neighbors.

Ava was already waiting by the door, her coat pulled tight around her as a cold breeze whipped down the street. She shifted from foot to foot, probably impatient, probably cold, but even then, she was effortlessly beautiful. She didn’t dress up for anyone, didn’t try to impress with layers of makeup or carefully curated outfits. She was just… her.

I shook myself out of it and killed the engine, stepping out of the SUV. The moment the door slammed shut behind me, the distant rumble of a passing train carried through the night air, a steady reminder of the city that never quite slept. I crossed the sidewalk, boots scuffing against the concrete as I made my way up the steps to her door.

Ava’s eyes met mine through the glass panel, her expression unreadable. Was she surprised I got out instead of just waiting for her to come to me? Maybe. Or maybe she was just trying to figure out what I was doing here in the first place.

I reached out and pressed the buzzer.

A small smile flickered across her lips, but she didn’t move to open the door just yet. Instead, she tilted her head, arms still wrapped around herself. “You know I’m right here, right?”

I smirked, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “Yeah, but I figured I’d be a gentleman about it.”

Ava rolled her eyes, but the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips told me she wasn’t entirely unimpressed. She pulled the door open, stepping aside to let me through, and as soon as I was inside, the warmth of the building wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the chilly evening air. The city hummed around us, the faint murmur of traffic in the distance, the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby bar. The cold bit at my skin, but I barely noticed it. Not when she was right next to me, her arm brushing against mine as we crossed the street toward my SUV.

When we reached the curb, I moved ahead a step, reaching out to open the passenger-side door for her. Ava gave me a look—half amused, half suspicious.

“You’re being very polite tonight,” she mused, pausing before sliding inside.

I smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

She huffed out a laugh but didn’t argue, settling into the seat as I shut the door behind her. Without wasting another second, I jogged around the front of the car, my breath fogging in the crisp air. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I pulled the door shut and exhaled, glancing over at her as she buckled her seatbelt.

As she climbed into the passenger seat, she glanced at me, her brow slightly raised. “So, what’s the plan? Are we winging this, or do you actually have an idea of how to explain this to your grandfather?” she gestured between her and I.

I smirked, pulling into traffic. “We’re grabbing takeout on the way. Grandad loves lasagna from Kinchley’s, and trust me, it’s worth it.”

“Kinchley’s? Off of Madison?” she repeated, her hazel eyes lighting up. “The little brick place with the red-and-white awning?”

“That’s the one.” I grinned. “They’ve been making the same recipes for fifty years. My grandma loved their garlic knots.”

“Now I’m intrigued, espeically if its a grandma favorite,” she said, settling back into her seat. “Lead the way, Bennett.”

We pulled into the lot at Kinchley’s, the warm glow of its neon sign cutting through the early dusk. The smell of oregano, melted cheese, and fresh-baked bread hit us the second we stepped inside, and my stomach growled on cue.I placed the usual order—lasagna, garlic knots, and a side of their famous tiramisu—and added a Caesar salad because Ava raised an eyebrow when I skipped anything green. The cashier, a guy who’d been there as long as I could remember, gave me the same knowing smile he always did.

“Grandad’s still going strong?” he asked as he handed over the receipt.

“Stubborn as ever,” I replied. “Thanks, Pete.”

We waited at one of the small tables by the counter, the air filled with the clatter of plates and the chatter of regulars. Ava glanced around, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the checkered tablecloths, faded photos of local sports teams on the walls, and the handwritten specials board that hadn’t changed in decades.

“This place has character,” she said, her voice thoughtful.

“Yeah,” I said. “My grandma used to bring me here after my games when I was a kid. Said it was the best way to celebrate, carbs and cheese.”

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