Page 91 of Wicked Minds
I can smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wafting through the air as we approach, only growing stronger when Logan opens the door and ushers me inside with a, “They have the best waffles in the state.”
The interior is just as quaint as the outside, with exposed brick walls, polished concrete floors, and overhead metal beams. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the wooden tables and mismatched chairs. Rustic wooden shelves adorn the walls, displaying an array of books, and are decorated with succulents, antique coffee mugs, and tea sets.
The menu is written in colored chalk on a blackboard that takes up the entire back wall, each item sounding more delicious than the previous.
“Oh look, the artwork on the walls is for sale,” I point out. “They must be displaying work from local artists. Royce could do something for them to display.”
Logan scoffs beside me. “And let actual people see his work? Never gonna happen, Shortcake. EvenI’venever even seen one of his drawings.”
“You haven’t?” I ask in surprise.
Logan steers his focus away from the artwork on the walls to look at me. “You have?”
I go silent, not wanting to betray Royce’s trust if it’s not something he typically does. I knew he was reserved about his drawings, although I hadn’t realized he was so private about them that even his closest friends had never seen any of them.
“Holy crap, you have. Damn, Shortcake, that’sbig.I hope you know that. That’s like… a normal person’s declaration of love.”
“It’s not like that,” I protest. “I won a bet. He didn’t want to.”
Except he willingly handed over that drawing of me—that I framed and set on my dresser. Sharing that had absolutely nothing to do with a bet and everything to do with him sharing a piece of himself… a piece that I can now see he hasn’t ever shared with anyone else.
“Nu-uh, not buying it. If Royce didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have taken the bet.”
Hmm, perhaps he’s right. A warmth settles in my stomach, knowing Royce feels comfortable sharing such a private part of himself. That he felt that way before he knew about Aurora—before he knew for certain that I was telling the truth.
I’d known at the time that it was a big deal to him, but finding out even Logan hasn’t ever seen one of his drawings brings a whole new depth to the significance of that moment.
“Welcome to Urban Haven,” a waitress dressed in jeans and anUrban Havent-shirt with a black apron around her waist says as she passes. “Take a seat anywhere. Someone will be with you shortly to take your order.”
“Where do you wanna sit?” Logan asks. “There’s a free table by the window?”
“Yeah, let’s take that one.”
As we make our way across the cafe, it buzzes with a relaxed yet vibrant energy. I recognize some of the patrons as Halston U students, enjoying their Sunday before the third week of the semester begins tomorrow.
A couple of them nod in greeting when they spot Logan, eyeing me curiously as we walk by. It’s a look I’ve become familiar with this past week as I’ve spent more time with Logan on campus while he walks me to class and studies with me in the library. I’ve learned to mostly block out the stares and whispers. Of course, it helps that Whitney has left me alone after Logan had her shunned by the entire hockey team and their groupies.
Others are clearly locals, meeting friends for brunch and enjoying the laid-back ambiance.
“Do you know any of them?” I ask Logan as we take our seats.
“Nah, but I’m used to everyone knowing who I am and me not knowing any of them.”
“That must be so strange,” I muse aloud. “To have people greet and talk to you as though you’re friends, yet not having a clue who they are.”
“At first, I loved it—everyone knowing my name. It was flattering—having all my hard work validated and feeling like I belonged, like I was a part of something huge.”
“What happened?” ‘Cause I sense something must have occurred to change his outlook on it all.
He lets out a dry chuckle. “Did you know we nearly didn’t make it to the Frozen Four my freshman year? We had animportant game against Wisconsin, and we were tied, two minutes ’til the buzzer. There was this asshole who’d been on my case the whole game, pulling illegal moves that the ref wasn’t doing a damn thing about. When he checked me into the boards for the fourth time, I lost my shit. Beat the crap out of him. Of course, the ref saw that, and I was thrown out of the game.
“In those last two minutes, we had two shots on goal and fumbled both, while they got a lucky shot and netted the puck right as the buzzer went.
“Of course, people blamed me. Not Coach or the team, though. We were all furious with how the game was handled, but not everyone on campus was as understanding. Even though I was a freshman, I’d already proven to be as talented as some seniors. Many believed if I hadn’t been benched, we’d have scored those two goals and won the game.” He shrugs. “They were probably right. But, as it was, it meant we had to win our game against Michigan—a tough-as-hell team—to qualify.”
“So? You went on to win the Frozen Four that year.”
He smiles now. “We did, but for those two weeks before our Michigan game, I washated.People would glare at me or spit at my feet. One guy even told me he hoped I got hit by a car.”
