Page 28 of The Breakaway

“Hey, babe.”

I grinned, leaning back against the counter. No shouting. No clattering dishes. “Hey.”

“You getting ready for the game today?”

“Of course. Not the same without you here, though.” I twisted the cord around my finger. “What are you doing this weekend?”

He blew out a breath. “Rest morning.”

“Well, that’s nice.” I tensed, already sensing his mood. I couldn’t hear the smile in his voice. He was too quiet. I wanted to throw something out there, something new we could talk aboutto take his mind off whatever was bothering him, but came up empty. Every single thing on my mind was either depressing, disturbing, or both. None of it was what Logan needed.

"Sharla, I don't know what I'm doing out here.” He paused, then drew another long breath. "I'm letting the team down. I missed an easy shot on goal last night, and then I totally botched a pass. Coach reamed me out."

My heart ached for him. "Hey, everyone has off days?—”

"I just feel like I have to be better. If I want to make the final team?—”

“Wait, you’re not on the final team?”

He grunted, and there was a scuffle of fabric. I imagined him dropping onto the couch or lying back in his bed. “No, they make final selections right before the tournament.”

“So . . . it’s like you’re auditioning.”

“Yep. Every day. Practice, games, off the ice.”

I let go of the cord, letting it drape over the counter. “Sounds exhausting.” He sniffed, and I wondered if he was crying or close to it. Ugh, I hated that we were so far apart. “But, you're Logan freaking Kemp. I think you might be forgetting that.”

He chuckled weakly. "Yeah."

I chewed my bottom lip. “I know you really want this. I one hundred percent believe in you.”

He groaned. "I miss you.”

My heart skipped a beat. Finally. It had been weeks, and that was the first time he’d said those words. “I miss you, too. So much.” It was then that I wanted to blurt everything out. Tell him about the weird night with Rob, about the altercation with that asshole on the Montana team, about my weird dreams. But the closest I could get was, “Rob washed my water bottle.”

Logan paused a second. “Huh.”

“Did you . . . I don’t know, tell him to look out for me or something? While you were gone?” The question sounded worse out loud than in my head. Stupid, and cheesy.

Logan laughed. “Uh, of course I did. I told him not to be a dickwad otherwise I’d kick his ass to the curb.” I laughed with him, noting that he hadn’t exactly answered my question. “I didn’t think he’d take it that far, though.”

“That far, how?” I grinned, picking up my water bottle so I could fill it.

“Washing a bottle that doesn’t need to be washed.” He laughed again, but that time, I didn’t join in. “I guess he got sick of waiting for you to do it. My girl. So particular. I love it.”

My stomach dropped to my knees. I set the bottle back on the counter. Those were not the words of someone who washed my water bottles.

The last six months flashed in my mind. The mornings I woke up and found it there drying on the side of the sink.Last night when I found it there.

I started to feel nauseous. “Hey, I should probably get going.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, say hi to everyone for me.”

I nodded. “For sure.”

“They gave us our flight info. We leave for Europe December third instead of the fourth.”

I exhaled in a rush. “Wow. Coming up quick.”

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