Chapter 1
The hum of the ice rink was a familiar comfort, a low, ever-present vibration that settled somewhere deep in Sophie Morgan’s chest. She sat on the cold metal bleachers, a threadbare team blanket wrapped around her legs, her hands cradling a steaming travel mug. Even from here she could see the streaks the Zamboni had left behind, the glassy surface reflecting the bright overhead lights, transforming the rink into a world of endless possibilities. She loved it. She hated it. She belonged to it in a way she could never explain, not even to herself.
Logan Carter’s laughter cut through the early morning quiet, unmistakable, like the slap of a puck on ice. He was always the first out for practice, his skates slicing clean and sharp, the very picture of confidence and ease. Today he circled his teammates, loose-limbed and grinning, flicking snow at anyone who looked the least bit sleepy. Even from a distance, Sophie could see the mischief in his eyes. She watched him drop into a quick stop in front of their coach, showering the old man’s pant legs with ice shavings, then wink and skate off before he could get yelled at.
She sipped her coffee and tried not to smile too much. She had known Logan since middle school, had watched him grow into the player everyone else saw now—the rising star, the guy with the big future and the easy charm. But she still remembered the kid who stuttered when he read out loud in class, who snuck her granola bars under the cafeteria table, who would ride his bike past her house at dusk just to wave. She remembered all of it. She wondered, not for the first time, if he remembered it, too.
“Morning, Soph.” Coach Kennedy’s voice startled her, and she nearly spilled her coffee. The old man settled on the bench beside her, groaning as he sat. “Thought you’d sleep in for once. First day of break and you’re still here before sunrise.”
She shrugged, pulling her blanket tighter around her. “You know me. I can’t stay away.”
He gave her a knowing look, the kind that saw more than she wanted him to. “Or maybe you just can’t stay away from a certain someone.”
Sophie felt her cheeks warm but refused to look away. “He’s got a big day ahead. I like to be here.”
Coach Kennedy smiled, lines deepening around his eyes. “You’re good for him, Sophie. Always have been. Don’t let him forget it.”
She nodded, fighting the flutter in her stomach. Out on the ice, Logan shouted something to the team, his voice booming, full of energy. He looked up, searching the stands. The second he found her, his grin grew wider, the familiar lopsided smile that never failed to make her heart do something strange. He tapped his stick on the ice and pointed at her like she was the only person in the world.
She lifted her mug in a silent salute, mouth quirking at one side. Logan winked, then skated to the bench, pulling up just short of the glass. He pressed his gloved hand to it, fogging the surface with his breath, then drew a smiley face. She rolled her eyes, but she traced the same shape with her fingertip on her side, matching him. A secret ritual, one they’d kept up since high school, when he’d been just another skinny kid with wild dreams and she’d been the only person who believed he could actually make them come true.
Practice unfolded in the usual rhythm—drills, shouts, the hard clatter of sticks and pucks. Sophie watched every minute, noting the way Logan moved—strong, precise, every inch the leader. He’d been named alternate captain this season, a surprise to no one but him. She remembered the look on his face when he told her, how he’d dropped onto the couch in her tiny apartment, eyes wide, breathless with disbelief, and how she’d hugged him so tightly she nearly spilled her tea. He never gave himself enough credit. He never really believed he belonged, even now, even after everything.
Halfway through practice, Logan caught a pass from his linemate and twisted in mid-stride, firing a shot that pinged off the crossbar and into the net. The whole team whooped, sticks tapping the ice in approval. He pumped his fist, then looked up to see if she’d seen. Sophie raised her mug, grinning, and he skated backward with exaggerated swagger, making her laugh out loud.
When practice ended, the players filed off the ice, clapping each other on the back, already trash-talking about who owed who breakfast. Logan lingered, skating slow laps until the rink was nearly empty. Finally, he coasted to the bench and pushed the helmet up off his forehead, revealing a mess of damp hair and that same, easy smile.
“You know, I was expecting more of a standing ovation after that shot,” he called, leaning on his stick.
Sophie leaned forward, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, is that what you call it? I thought you were just aiming for the glass again.”
He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me, Morgan. I give you my best and you mock me in my hour of glory.”
She grinned. “Your hour of glory was yesterday when you managed to make toast without burning it.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know, my toast skills are legendary. Ask anyone.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smile. “If you say so, Carter.”
He leaned in closer, eyes dancing. “You coming to the game tonight?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You asking, or just assuming I have no life?”
“Both,” he admitted, utterly shameless. “But mostly asking. I need my number one fan. Superstition and all.”
She looked at him, really looked, and felt a familiar ache in her chest. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He grinned, looking relieved in a way he didn’t bother to hide. “I’ll save you a seat. Right behind the bench. Best view in the house.”
She nodded, gathering her things as he skated off to the locker room, already chirping at his teammates about who owed him pancakes. Sophie watched him disappear, her heart thumping in that old, complicated rhythm. She wondered, as she had so many times before, if today would be the day she finally told him. If today would be the day she said out loud what had been true for years.
But she knew better. She’d keep her secret for now, tucked away like the faded ticket stubs and old Polaroids in her nightstand drawer. There would be time. There would always be time. Or so she told herself.
Outside, the morning sun had just begun to melt the frost from the parking lot. Sophie made her way out, pulling her blanket tighter, breath turning to mist in the cold. She paused at her car, glancing back at the rink. Through the glass, she caught one last glimpse of Logan, helmet off, head thrown back in laughter, utterly at home in the world he’d built for himself.
She didn’t know that by tonight, everything would change. She didn’t know that this day, ordinary and perfect in its routine, would be the last of its kind.
But she knew, with a certainty that scared her, that whatever happened—she’d always come back to him. No matter what.
