Page 6 of Off the Ice

I shoved the door open harder than necessary, ignoring the startled glance from the PR assistant stationed outside the conference room. My jaw ached from how tightly I’d been clenching it, and the air outside felt sharp and cold against my skin. I didn’t care. I needed to cool off. Ava Carlisle. She’d done her homework, I’d give her that. She wasn’t like the usual crowd of reporters who asked the same recycled questions and waited for me to feed them the same polished answers. She’d dug deeper, prodded harder, and she’d managed to make me look like an ass without even breaking a sweat.

I hated it. And yet, a small part of me couldn’t help but admire it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts. I didn’t have to check to know who it was. With a resigned sigh, I pulled it out and hit accept.

“What the hell was that?” Andrew’s voice was sharp, his frustration evident even through the phone. “We agreed on talking points, Logan. Talking points. Not whatever that was.”

“Good to hear from you too,” I said dryly, pacing along the sidewalk outside the Hellblades’ building. “Relax, Andrew. I didn’t say anything wrong.”

“You didn’t say anything right, either,” he snapped. “The whole point of that interview was to rebuild your image, not hand the reporter ammunition to dig deeper.”

I stopped walking, gripping the phone tighter. “I’m not handing her anything. You think I enjoy this? Being treated like I’m guilty when I haven’t done a damn thing wrong? And how do you even know what went on, I just left the meeting?”

Andrew sighed, the sound grating. “What I think doesn’t matter, Logan. Perception is everything. You need to stay on message, or this thing will bury you.”

The line went quiet for a beat, and I stared out at the street, watching cars pass. “Anything else?” I asked, my voice flat.

“No,” Andrew said finally. “Just… don’t screw this up, Logan. I can only clean up so much.”

The call ended with a dull beep, and I let out a slow breath. For once, I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to stop feeling like I was sinking, like every move I made only dragged me deeper.

***

The drive to my grandads house didn’t take long, just a quick thirty minutes, but it felt like crossing into another world. His neighborhood was a patchwork of modest, single-story homes, the kind with front lawns that were small but meticulously kept. Driveways held older cars, the kind that didn’t boast luxury but ran just fine with a little care. Kids’ bikes leaned against porch railings, and the occasional flag fluttered from mailboxes or doorframes.

His house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, its faded blue siding blending in with the muted tones of the other homes around it. The flowerbeds under the front windows were still lined with bricks I’d helped him lay when I was a kid, though they were more dirt than flowers now. His porch light flickered faintly, casting a warm glow that softened the edges of the early evening.

As I parked in the narrow driveway, I could already see him through the front window, sitting in his favorite armchair, the one he’d had for as long as I could remember. The fabric was worn, the arms frayed where his hands rested most, but he wouldn’t part with it for anything. The TV was on low, casting flickers of light across the living room, and on the small table beside him sat his usual setup: a glass of iced tea and a dish of mixed nuts he swore helped him stay sharp.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. No noise, no chaos, no headlines chasing me here. Just the steady hum of crickets in the yard and the faint glow of a world that felt simpler.

“Logan!” he greeted when I walked in, his face lighting up. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Thought I’d check in,” I said, shrugging out of my jacket and slinging it over the back of the couch. “How are you?”

“Better now.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve been seeing the news, you know.”

Of course he had. He was glued to the TV most days, especially during hockey season. I sat down across from him, trying to keep my expression neutral. “It’s all noise, Grandpa. Nothing worth paying attention to.”

His smile faded, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Logan, you’re a good boy. Always have been. But if there’s something to this… if you’ve gotten mixed up in something—”

“I haven’t,” I cut in, sharper than I intended. “You know me better than that.”

His shoulders relaxed, but his expression stayed serious. “I do. But the world doesn’t, and you’ve got to be careful. Don’t let them turn you into something you’re not.”

His words stuck with me as I drove home. He meant well—he always did—but the weight of his expectations pressed down on me harder than I wanted to admit. He believed in me. Trusted me. And the thought of letting him down twisted something sharp and ugly in my chest.

At home, I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. I couldn’t shake Ava’s voice, her questions still buzzing in my head. She’d been relentless, picking at every crack, pushing in ways no one else had dared.

And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong to. Someone had set me up, and if she kept digging, she might uncover truths I wasn’t ready to face. Not about gambling, I’d never bet a cent on a game, but about the people I’d trusted. People who’d clearly thought I was expendable.

“Not tonight,” I muttered to myself, dragging a hand through my hair. I needed a break, from the scandal, from the headlines, and definitely from Ava Carlisle.

If only it were that easy.

Five

Logan

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