Page 84 of The Cutting Edge
Logan
Ipeerupintothe stands, scanning the sea of Slashers' fans for a glimpse of red hair and pale skin. There. I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot Coco in her usual seat behind the bench, bundled up in my jersey.
She’s staring right at me, a small smile on her lips, but something about her smile seems off. Forced. Like she is putting on a show for my benefit.
My stomach knots with dread. Ever since I talked Coach into hiring Coco as the team’s official lucky charm, she’s been at almost every single home game, and a few on the road. And up until a few weeks ago, she’d greeted me after each win with a victory kiss that made my toes curl inside my skates.
Lately, though, those kisses had become quick, distracted pecks. She’d started making excuses to leave right after the final buzzer instead of sticking around to celebrate with the team like she used to. I'll confess, it's got me worried.
I try to brush it off as nerves about Nationals or her increased focus on training now that she's allowed to train again. But deep down, I fear the truth. She knows. Somehow, she’s figured out that I was behind the Slashers’ decision to hire her. That I pulled strings behind the scenes to create an excuse to spend time with her. To make up for what I’d done.
Shame and panic twist in my gut as I watch her blow me a kiss. She’s too good, too kind-hearted to ever do anything to jeopardize the team’s success. Even if it means keeping things going with me even after she found out I’ve betrayed her.
I’ve betrayed her.
I swallow hard, blinking against the sting in my eyes. We’re in the middle of the playoffs, for God's sake. I need to focus. But how am I supposed to focus when it feels like my world is crumbling around me?
I force myself to look away from her, scanning the ice instead. The puck drops, and the familiar chaos of the game pulls me in. But in the back of my mind, a single thought repeats like a mantra. Don’t blow it now. Not when you’re so close to everything you’ve ever wanted.
Win the Cup, and do whatever it takes to make things right. Before you lose her for good.
I tap my stick against the boards, watching the clock wind down in the final period. We’re up by two goals, and unless the other team pulls off a miracle, the win is in the bag.
My gaze drifts to the stands again, zeroing in on Coco. She’s on her feet, clapping along with the rowdy fans. But the usual sparkle in her eyes is missing. She looks...distant. Like part of her is a million miles away.
My chest tightens, and I grit my teeth. Enough. As soon as the buzzer sounds, I need to get some answers. I need to know for sure if Coco has figured out the truth—and if she has, I am going to make this right. No matter what it takes.
I’d always planned to tell her. Just not this soon.Shit, I should have told her.
The final horn blares, and chaos erupts as fans stream from their seats. I push my way through the madness, scanning the crowd until I spot Coco making her way toward the exit. Sprinting off the ice, I catch up to her just as she steps into the tunnel.
“Coco, wait.” I grasp her arm, and she startles, whirling to face me. “We need to talk.”
She studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. But I can’t escape the flicker of pain in her eyes. Pain I'm pretty sure I put there.
“I know,” she says softly.
His heart twisted, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I just—”
“It’s okay.” Her lips curve into a sad smile. “I understand why you did it. But I can’t do this anymore, Logan. The secrecy and lies...it’s too much.”
Panic surges through me. “Don’t say that. Please, Coco, just give me a chance to make things right.”
She places her hand over mine, gently prying his fingers away. “You need to focus on the playoffs right now. We can talk about this after the season’s over.” Her eyes soften. "I promise."
I open my mouth, but no words come out. All I can do is watch helplessly as she turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
Chapter thirty-seven
Coco
Forweeksnow,Logan'sbeen calling, texting, and sending me gifts pretty much around the clock. They're piled up in the corner of our living room, ready to be returned when the Stanley Cup finals are over. I'd never do anything to jeopardize the team's chances, so I'm continuing to go to the games, telling Logan we can talk about everything when the playoffs are over. I feel guilty because I know this has given him hope that I'll forgive him, but I know myself — I can't.
All I can do is not blow everything up, destroy his dream, like Brent did mine.
"Nice outfit," Marissa says, eying me as I sit at the kitchen table with the weighted blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
"I really does work on my anxiety. Maybe I could have it made into, like, a dress or a onesie so I can just wear it all the time."
