Page 22 of The Captain's Curfew
I suck in a breath.“Logan.”
His jaw tightens.He steps back like heneedsthe distance.Like he’s reminding himself exactly who I am.
And just like that, the moment shatters.
He turns, heading for the stairs.
“I want it gone, Violet,” he says over his shoulder.“And no more posts about me.”
I smirk, watching him disappear.
Oh, Logan Carter.You haveno ideawhat you’ve started.
SEVEN
Logan
I’ve handled playoff pressure, brutal hits, and locker-room blowouts.I’ve played through injuries, fought through exhaustion, and faced down some of the toughest enforcers in the league.
None of it compares to the absolutehellof the internet deciding I’m its new favorite broody hockey boyfriend.
I can’t escape it.Everywhere I turn, my phone buzzes with new notifications, my teammates won’t stop laughing, and worst of all—Violet isthrivingin this chaos.
I knew letting her stay here was a mistake.
I pace my kitchen, coffee in hand, while my phone vibrates on the counter.Another message.Another notification.Irefuseto check it.
I made that mistake earlier this morning.Opened my phone to find my face plastered all over Instagram and Twitter—slow-mo edits of me skating, a particularly aggressive hip check that fans have deemeddangerously attractive, and a never-ending thread of people discussing my ‘forbidden romance’ with Violet.
I barely made it out of practice alive.
CJ nearly lost it when someone sent him a meme of me labeled‘Grumpy Captain in the streets, Soft Boyfriend in the sheets.’
Declan?He’s amused.Which is a miracle because if he actuallythoughtthere was something between Violet and me, he’d kill me where I stand.
And Violet?
She’s sitting at the counter, scrolling through her phone, sipping coffee like shedidn’tjust upend my entire life.
I drag a hand down my face.“How bad is it?”
She looks up, all innocent blue eyes and mischief.“Depends on your definition of ‘bad.’”
“Violet.”
She grins and sets her phone down.“Well, if you’re asking whether people are making fanfiction about you…” She bites her lip.“Yeah.That’s happening.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.“What?”
“Oh, and an entire thread of people are debating if you secretly write poetry in a leather journal before games.”
I blink.“What the—no!Whywould they think that?”
She shrugs.“You have the look.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.“I hate everything about this.”
She sighs dramatically.“You’re such a drama queen.”
