Page 74 of Off the Ice

“You got your sport back,” I said softly.

He met my gaze, something flickering in his expression. “Yeah.” Then, after a beat: “But what about you?”

I blinked. “What about me?”

Logan leaned back, watching me. “You’re the one who broke this story. You should have media companies fighting for you. What’s next?”

I let out a slow breath, sinking further into the cushions. “I don’t know.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “No job offers?”

“Oh, there have been offers,” I admitted. “But none of them feel… right.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

I sighed. “Because all they want is this version of me. The journalist who blew up the NHL. Every meeting I’ve had, every email I’ve gotten, it’s all about this story. About me being the girl who took down the league.”

His expression shifted, something unreadable in his eyes.

I shrugged. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my career chasing scandals. That’s not the kind of reporter I wanted to be.”

Logan was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, he said, “So don’t be.”

I exhaled slowly, my gaze flickering to his. “It’s not that easy.”

His lips quirked. “Sure it is. Do what you want, not what they expect.”

I huffed a laugh. “Says the guy who just signed away the next eight years of his life to the league.”

He smirked. “Yeah, well. I got something out of it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

His smirk softened. “I got you.”

My chest tightened.

Logan wasn’t perfect. He was stubborn and reckless and sometimes said things without thinking. But when he meant something, when he wanted you to know it, he didn’t hold back.

I swallowed. “You haven’t lost me, Logan.”

Something in his posture eased. He exhaled and reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

And for the first time in days, I knew—really knew—that everything would be okay.

***

The United Center was packed. It was the teams first game back together. Not a single empty seat in the arena. The energy was electric, even though this game didn’t count for anything. No points. No Cup run. But to the fans? To Chicago? This game meant everything.

And to Logan? This was his return. He played like a man who had something to prove.

From the moment the puck dropped, Logan was everywhere—winning faceoffs, controlling the rush, cutting through defenders like they were nothing. He landed a clean, brutal check against the boards that had the entire arena roaring, then turned around and fed a perfect pass to Jaymie for the first goal of the night.

By the second period, he had scored once on a breakaway and again off a sharp-angle rebound, his signature goal celebration igniting the crowd.

The Hellblades dominated from start to finish, playing with the kind of reckless freedom that came when there was nothing left to lose.

It wasn’t about points anymore. It wasn’t about standings or playoffs or the Cup.

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