Page 35 of Off the Ice

Eighteen

Logan

Ididn’tplantoblurt it out. “McDonald’s.” It just came out of my mouth, and the look Ava gave me, a mix of disbelief and humor, only made me more certain it was the right call.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, laughter laced in her voice.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” I replied, weaving through traffic like I could already taste the fries. The gala had been all lights, whispers, and pressure, a circus I knew how to perform in, but tonight, I wanted to strip it all back. Just for a little while.

A few minutes later, the golden arches came into view, and I pulled into the drive-thru. The smell of salt and grease hit the second I rolled down the window. I ordered enough food to feed a small army, ignoring Ava’s raised eyebrow and muffled laugh beside me.

By the time we parked in a quiet corner of the lot, the SUV was filled with the kind of chaos I craved: cartons of fries spilling over, ketchup packets scattered, and a pile of napkins threatening to tip into her lap.

“This is ridiculous,” Ava said, but her smile betrayed her. She dipped a fry into ketchup and took a bite, her expression softening. “We were just at one of the most exclusive galas in the city.”

“And now we’re here,” I said, unwrapping a cheeseburger like it was a prize. “Tell me this isn’t better.”

“It’s better,” she admitted, laughing as a fry nearly toppled out of the bag.

We ate like kids on a midnight snack run, fries disappearing by the fistful and burgers demolished faster than I thought possible. Ava was easy to talk to, her sarcasm sharp but her laughter unguarded. It was like all the stiffness of the gala had melted away, leaving just the two of us and a mess of fast food wrappers.

I leaned back in my seat, popping the lid off my shake and dunking a fry in. Ava shot me a look of horror. “You’re not seriously doing that.”

I grinned, savoring the sweet-salty combination. “Don’t knock it till you try it, baby.”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed one of her fries, cautiously dipping it into her shake. Her expression shifted almost instantly, her lips twitching. “Damn it. It’s good.”

“Told you,” I said, leaning my head back against the seat. For the first time in what felt like weeks, I wasn’t performing.

“This,” I said, gesturing to the wrappers and empty cups, “is exactly what I needed tonight.”

Ava smirked. “What happened to maintaining appearances, Mr. Hellblade WAG?”

The playful jab was expected, but her timing was perfect. I laughed softly, then sighed, my chest tightening just enough to remind me why I’d dragged her here. “You ever feel like you’re living your life for everyone but yourself?”

Her teasing smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

I stared out the window, my reflection faint against the glow of the golden arches. “Sponsors, the league, fans, they all have this image of me. The golden boy. Perfect Logan Bennett. But sometimes... I don’t feel like that guy. Sometimes I feel like I’m barely keeping up with who they want me to be.”

Her quiet gave me room to keep going.

“I love hockey,” I said, my voice lower now. “But the pressure? It’s constant. One bad game, one stupid headline, and suddenly none of it matters. Everything I’ve worked for gets overshadowed by the screw-ups they’re waiting to pounce on.” I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of my own words. “And it’s not just on the ice. It’s... everything. I’ll get dressed in the morning and think, ‘Is this the right look for today?’ I’ll go out for coffee and think, ‘Am I approachable enough? Or am I just making people hate me more?’”

I hesitated, glancing at Ava. Her expression was soft but steady, no judgment in her hazel eyes.

“It’s exhausting,” I admitted, my chest tightening again. “And some days, it feels like I’m never enough. Like no matter how many goals I score or how much good I try to do, it’ll never outweigh the mistakes. People love to see you succeed, but they love watching you fall even more. Like that reporter who cornered you.”

Ava stayed quiet, but her gaze never wavered. “Yeah,” she said finally, her voice thoughtful. “I get that. Every story I write feels like I’m balancing on a razor’s edge. One bad take, one misstep, and it’s not just my work, it’s my character on trial.”

Her words hit deeper than I expected. I leaned forward, resting my arms on the steering wheel. “That’s why this?” I gestured to the mess around us. “This is perfect. No cameras. No expectations. Just you, me, and a disgustingly good cheeseburger.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “You’re full of surprises, Bennett.”

“And you’re still here,” I replied, my voice softening. “Guess that means I haven’t scared you off yet.”

“You’ll have to try harder than this,” she said, grabbing the last fry from the bag and popping it into her mouth.

Her laugh filled the car, warm and unguarded, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

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