Page 65 of Off the Ice

I had seen Logan in so many different moments—fierce on the ice, cocky in a post-game interview, soft when he didn’t realize I was watching—but I had never seen him like this. Open. Uncertain. Scared.

I reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. “You’re more than the game, Logan. You always have been.”

His eyes flicked across my face, lingering on my lips, like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to believe me but wasn’t sure how.

I shifted closer, pressing my forehead to his, my hand resting against his cheek. “You are more than them. More than what they say about you. More than your stats, or your contracts, or any of it.” I swallowed hard, needing him to hear this. Really hear it. “You’re the guy who didn’t abandon Darren when everyone else did. You’re the guy who would rather risk everything than let them hurt me. That’s who you are.”

His breath was uneven, his shoulders rising and falling like he was fighting something inside himself. “But what if…” He hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I lose you, too?”

The words hit me in the center of my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

Logan let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around mine. “I can deal with losing hockey. I don’t want to, but I can. I can survive that. But losing you? I don’t know how to come back from that, Ava.”

My throat burned.

I had spent so much time trying to remind him that he was more than the game, more than his career, but I hadn’t realized he was afraid of something even bigger.

He wasn’t just scared of losing his dream.

He was scared of losing me.

I shook my head, cupping his face between both hands. “You’re not going to lose me.”

His jaw tensed under my touch. “You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can,” I said fiercely. “Because I’m right here, Logan. I’m in this with you. I’m not going anywhere. ”

His hand slid up my arm, fingers threading through my hair, his eyes dark and stormy and so full of something I wasn’t sure I had the strength to hold. “Ava…”

I kissed him before he could say anything else.

Because words weren’t enough—not for this. Not for the way my heart felt like it was breaking for him, for how much I wanted him to see what I saw.

His hand curved around the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into him, like he needed this—me—to keep from falling apart. And maybe I needed it, too. Because nothing else in the world felt steady, nothing felt certain.

But this?

This was real.

When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine again. His breath was warm, steadying, but his voice still held the weight of everything pressing down on him.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

I smiled softly, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “For what?”

“For reminding me that I have something to fight for.”

I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair. “You always have.”

He exhaled, slow and deep, then pressed one last kiss to my forehead before pulling away.

The clock on the wall ticked quietly, the weight of the moment settling between us. Logan straightened, his expression hardening into something steady.

“We’re doing this.”

I nodded. “We are.”

And when the cameras rolled, there was no turning back.

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