Page 2 of The Breakaway

Logan nodded and brushed the hair from his forehead. "I gotta get back in there."

I nodded, grabbing his face and giving him one more kiss. "I love you, babe."

"Love you too. I think we’re all going to Ranchmans after."

I frowned. "I thought we were going home because the game was already so late."

Logan exhaled, giving me an apologetic smile. "I know, but after that? We can’t just go home. There has to be some sort of celly. I won’t be able to wind down for a bit anyway."

I grinned. "I get it, but I have that practice at eight in the morning?—”

“We don’t have to stay late. Maybe just an hour? Grab a few beers?" He gave me puppy dog eyes. "I want you there with me. This was probably the best game of my life."

I quirked an eyebrow. "I’m pretty sure you said that two weeks ago when you played?—"

"I know. I know. But I’m serious this time."

I laughed. He was so dramatic. But that was what I loved about him. He was a dreamer, just like me, even though his dreams involved ice, pucks, and sticks, and mine involved perfect soaring high G’s and handcrafted wooden bridges.

"Fine." I planted a hand on his chest. "But you’re changing the sheets tomorrow."

He grinned. "Done. I’ll even make you breakfast."

I laughed. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep."

"Eggs and bacon," he called out as he retreated. I shook my head and walked back to Maddie and Crystal.

"He’s making you breakfast? Damn." Crystal turned toward the stairs.

"No, he says that now, but there’s no way his ass is out of bed before ten o’clock tomorrow."

Maddie laughed. "At least he wants to. That’s better than most guys I know."

"I mean, just the fact that he knows how." Crystal snorted.

We trudged back up the stairs and exited the rink, jumping into Maddie’s Rabbit. It was the worst old clunker of a car, but I swear she only had to fill it up with gas once every six months.

I didn’t even have to ask if they were coming with me. Crystal only had three classes that semester, and Maddie was a bona fide genius. She studied purely to say she had when she got one hundred percent on her midterms and didn’t want to brag.

We drove across campus and parked in the student-permitted lot, then walked the two-and-a-half blocks to the restaurant. It was all street parking in that part of the city, and at this time of night on a Friday, no spots would be open until Seventeenth Avenue. It was a surprisingly warm night, but I still brought my jacket.

The sports bar was a crush of people—students packed together like sardines. Girls in tight jeans and tank tops despite, you know, Canada. Guys with backwards baseball caps and oversized jerseys.

Maddie, Crystal, and I pushed our way through the crowd, exchanging hugs and high-fives with familiar faces as we made a beeline for the back of Ranchmans.

The bar was a shrine to Douglas sports. Framed jerseys and posters of past victories adorned the walls. When they renamed the University two years prior, the colours, maroon and gold, stayed the same. Convenient.

In the back, a long table stretched out, reserved for the team. It was in a prime spot, slightly elevated on a step up from the rest of the bar floor. I always felt like I was on display, especially when I got there before Logan.

Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long. By the time we took off our coats and got settled, the door swung open, and the bar erupted. Cheers went up, and the music was drowned out. I craned my neck as the team flooded in, Logan leading the charge. His grin was wide and infectious, and he waved to the crowd, basking in the adoration.

"Hail the conquering heroes!" Axel, one of the forwards, laughed as he parted the crowd like the Red Sea and grabbed a seat. Tim, the goalie, nodded seriously to the crowd like he’d just been knighted. He sat next to Axel, reaching for the closest pitcher of beer.

And then there was Rob.

He sat down at the far end of the table, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. I already had to see him one thousand percent more than I would have chosen to. He was Logan’s best friend growing up. Or at least all through high school. The only two things I knew for sure about Rob Thompson were, one, that he hated me and, two, he was our only roommate.

I moved in with Logan at the beginning of summer. His parents had purchased a two-bedroom apartment as a real estate investment, which got Logan out of his crappy six-person shared flat on campus. Since I was in a dumpier flat and we’d been together for over six months at that point, it made sense for us to take the leap. But what Logan had forgotten to tell me was that Rob was jumping in with us.

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