Page 60 of Shattered Souls
“I think a better question is, are you?”
Logan’s mischievous smile softens. “Baby, with you at my side, I’m ready for anything.”
Grinning, I press up on my toes until our faces are inches apart. “Then let’s go check it out.” Grabbing his hand, I push against the heavy door, and we sneak inside.
The Timberwolves locker room is bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, casting shadows that dance along the walls adorned with Timberwolves insignia. The home colors, a midnight blue and shimmering silver, are everywhere – from the large logo on the polished floor to the banners hanging with pride.
Wooden benches line the room, sturdy and smooth, ready to support the weight of dreams and the burden of losses. Each locker is meticulously organized, with nameplates gleaming under the lights, some of them bearing the names of legends. Soon, Logan’s name will join them. The thought sends a thrill through me. I can almost picture him here, suiting up, lacing his skates, sharing a laugh or a motivational word with his teammates.
Logan steps ahead of me, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of awe and determination. He walks over to one of the lockers, stopping in front of a nameplate that reads “Markus Lindstrom.” His fingers trace the engraved letters, and he turns to me with a smile that barely contains his excitement.
“Markus Lindstrom,” he says, almost reverently. “This guy is a legend. Three-time MVP, two Stanley Cups, and over 500career goals. One of the best to ever play the game.” He shares some of Lindstrom’s stats, his voice filled with admiration.
I nod, feeling the weight of the history and achievements that have passed through this room. Knowing Logan will soon share this space with such greatness is inspiring and a little daunting.
Logan moves on, but I linger, my eyes drawn to the empty locker beside Lindstrom’s. I step forward, examining the smooth surface and imagining the possibilities. This could be Logan’s space, where he’ll prepare for battle and become part of something bigger than himself. The room feels alive with possibility, buzzing with the energy of games won and lost, of sweat and effort left on the ice. I can almost hear the echoes of past games, the roar of the crowd, the thud of skates on ice. My heart swells with pride for him, knowing this is where he belongs, where he’ll carve out his legacy.
From across the room, I catch Logan’s eye, and he smiles, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and lights up his whole face. “This feels like a dream,” he admits, slowly making his way back to me.
I smile back, feeling the warmth of his excitement. “You were born for this, Logan. I can’t wait to see you out there, showing everyone what you’re made of.”
Closing the distance between us, I stretch up to wrap my arms around his neck. His hands automatically go to my hips, and I love the casual touch of possession. “I’m so proud of you,” I tell him earnestly. “You could have played for any team you wanted, and I know this wasn’t your first choice. That you settled?—”
He cuts me off with his fingers over my lips.
“Choosing to be where you are isnotsettling.Youare my first choice. Whatever team makes that possible is my first choice. Always. I’m not settling with the Timberwolves, and I’m sure as fuck not settling when it comes to you.
“The Pacific Penguins might be a better team, though that’s not worth losing time with you. It’s not worth giving up my nights cuddled up with you or not being there for Aurora’s first day at kindergarten. Or watching her effortlessly wrap Grayson around her finger and weasel Royce into a princess dress while they have high tea.”
Tears blur my vision as I sniffle, and despite my heartache, a wobbly grin breaks across my face. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to find you,” I murmur.
“Flunking statistics was all part of my master plan to meet the smartest, most beautiful girl on campus.” He winks at me, making me laugh.
“Guess we’re both lucky you wore me down with your relentless begging.”
“Hey!” He frowns in mock offense. “The way I remember it, you fell for my dazzling charm.”
“Dazzling charm, huh?” Sliding my fingers through his hair, I let my nails scrape along his scalp. “I think you’re misremembering. You sure you’re not concussed from that stupid fight you got yourself into last night?”
“You know,” he begins on a low groan. “I’m not so sure. You should probably check.”
Smirking, I repeat the action, relishing how his head falls back, and he sighs at my intimate touch. His fingers press into the skin of my hips, and I feel the press of his erection against my stomach before he parts my legs with his thigh.
“Fuck it,” he says with a desirous sigh. “I don’t care if Ididbeg you to tutor me. I’d happily beg for your attention any day of the week.”
He has my legs around his waist in a flash of movement as he spins us before lowering to the bench beside Markus Lindstrom’s locker.
Logan’s arms tighten around me, and his words echo in my mind. All those desperate study sessions, late—night cramming, jokes, and shared frustrations were about more than just passing a class. They were about us, about finding each other in the chaos of our lives.
Straddling his hips, with his hand cupping the back of my head, he drags my face to his. The first touch of his lips against mine ignites a fire in my core and incinerates my soul.
I go up in flames, fisting his t-shirt and pressing myself infinitely closer in a need to feel all of him. Everywhere. Despite only having him yesterday, there is something so intoxicating about having Logan all to myself. This man, this hockey god who could have any woman he wanted, chose me. He sees me, truly sees me in a way no one else ever has. The thought sends a thrill through me, a rush of empowerment that’s almost dizzying.
When he looks at me with those affectionate eyes, I feel wanted and cherished—like I’m the only woman in the world. Knowing that this incredible athlete, this future star of the NHL, is mine is a heady feeling. It makes me feel sexy and confident like I can conquer anything with him by my side.
Taking control, his hand moves to one side of my throat, holding me in place as he bites and sucks and nibbles his way along my jaw and down my neck.
Each brush of his lips against my skin has my hips rocking against his in desperate need of friction.
