Page 73 of Off the Ice

A pause.

Then, softly: “I know.”

The line clicked dead.

I let out a breath, leaning my head back against the elevator wall.

The only way out was through.

And I had no idea if I was ready for what came next.

Thirty Seven

Ava

ThenightLogancameback to Chicago, the whole city felt different.

The streets were quiet, blanketed in fresh snow, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the icy pavement. I had been sitting on my couch for the last two hours, pretending to go through emails, but my brain refused to focus.

Not when I knew he was coming.

Not after everything that had happened.

I had spent days wondering if I had done the right thing, if we had done the right thing. I knew exposing the scandal was necessary, but I had underestimated how much it would cost Logan. Watching him struggle, seeing him lost without the game, was it worth it?

And now, I was stuck in limbo myself.

I had turned in the biggest story of my career, but instead of feeling victorious, I felt... directionless. I had no idea what was next. No new assignments. No job offers. Just silence.

When my phone vibrated with a single text

Logan

Outside

My breath caught. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my sweater, slipping it over my tank top before heading for the door. Logan stood just outside my building, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked exhausted, his hair slightly messy from the flight, but his eyes locked onto mine like I was the only thing keeping him steady.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, quietly, he said, “Can I come in?”

I nodded, stepping aside as he walked in. They walked the few flights to her apartment in slience. She didn't dare speak until they were safe inside her apartment walls. As soon as she unlocked her front door, Logan set his bag down and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily.

“I signed it.”

I turned to face him fully. “A Contract? What did they offer you??”

“Yeah.” He let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “Eight years. Sixty million. And full control of my public image, which is just a fancy way of saying I signed my life away.”

My lips parted slightly. “Logan…”

He sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. “They need a golden boy,” he muttered. “They need someone to fix their reputation. Just like what started our whole arraignement. And they picked me.” He let out a breath. “It’s a hell of a lot of pressure.”

I sat beside him. “You can handle it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think I can.”

I studied him carefully. He looked… lighter. Maybe not fully at peace, but no longer weighed down by the uncertainty of the last few weeks.

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