Logan
October slammed into Logan at full speed, but he couldn’t be angry at the start of hockey season. The first two games ended up being away games, so Logan stuffed a note into Ava’s locker promising her uninterrupted rink time . . . even while she was out of town for Skate America.
Two weeks barely passed, yet their truce alleviated any tension about rink scheduling.
In the locker room, Logan studied everyone in their game-day jerseys. He loved its color palette of French blue, dark navy, crisp white, and the occasional stripe of gray to match the wolf’s head printed on their chests. The shifting blur of movement inspired a well of pride in his chest, proud to be among his wolves.
Logan set his skates down when stepping onto the bench, drawing the eyes of his team. But when the conversations continued, he commanded the room to silence with a sharp whistle. The locker room obeyed, leaving only the sound from the stands trickling in through the glass doors.
“The last few months, you guys trusted me and the process. You didn't complain too much about frequent practices or switching the schedule. I’d say the practices and changes have worked out for the better . . .” said Logan.
From inside the crowd, Dominic whooped, “I sense an undefeated season on the way!”
Logan fought a smile when a roar of excitement leaped out from the team because of the ongoing win streak. He wasn’t as convinced about an undefeated season, but Logan firmly believed in the team’s ability to kick ass.
With tonight as the first home game of the season, their families would be in the stands and ready to cheer them on. More than games one and two, which they won, the team needed to play the best games of their careers. Losing the home rink advantage might kick the boost of morale in the teeth.
He cleared his throat, “Right, but tonight’s competition is on our turf. We have the advantage and can’t blow it because we got too cocky. I know every one of you is ready for us to start winning. So, let’s go out there and show the Bristol Buffalos how mighty the wolf pack is.”
“Awoooooooo!" All the guys tipped their heads back and howled louder than Logan had heard in years, and he joined them in the howl. The locker room walls shook from the sound of skaters, hungry to win.
Logan stepped off the bench. He clapped some guys on the shoulders while he passed, checking their gear and flashing a thumbs-up in approval. He needed his skates and helmet before he marched the guys out for the warm-up.
He had a special guest waiting in the audience for him. He snuck out of the locker room and hustled along the side of the rink, heading for the upper level. He saluted when a few people in the bleachers shouted his name or number, greeting the friendly spectators. The bleachers filled with mostly Waybrook residents with the rest of the seats taken up by visitors from the other team, leading to an almost full house.
He hustled up the ramp through the slow trickle of people while the audience found their seats on the home side, the away side, or the stretch in between. People from Waybrook smiled when he passed, and he mustered a polite nod.
His eyes scanned over the heads of the thinned-out crowd at the upper level, spotting his little brother standing next to the concessions stand. He wore a brand-new jersey instead of the homemade one Kenna helped him make two seasons ago and held someone’s hand. But that someone wasn’t his mother.
Standing next to Issac by the concession stands was Ava.
Confusion muted his thoughts; Logan’s quick eyes couldn’t spot his mom in the remaining crowd. He hadn’t known Ava would be there. Why was she there? Where was his mom? She promised to be there for the first home game of the season.
A Beckett family tradition, one never broken in over fourteen years.
Logan emerged from the crowd in front of Ava and Issac, and the latter rushed at Logan’s legs. Ava’s head popped up from studying her soft lilac high tops and the cuffed ends of her jeans, frantic at first. But she immediately softened when she saw Issac attached to Logan's legs.
“Logan!" Ava's hands pushed the loose curls framing her face away when spotting him. "I didn't think we'd see you until the game."
"I have a few minutes before the warm-up. Where's my mom?" asked Logan, lifting Issac into his arms. Issac giggled, but Logan eyed the jersey he wore. As suspected, the jersey was brand-new.
“She said something about taking a work call, but she promised to be back any moment. I offered to keep an eye on Issac until she returned.”
“I see.”
On cue, his mom emerged from the crowd and hustled over. She wore the handmade version of his jersey in a t-shirt, hand-embroidered with 28 and Beckett across the front. But her smiling face distracted Logan, and he squeezed her into a bear hug.
“There’s my Captain! How are the boys feeling down there?”
"They're in high spirits. We have a good feeling after games one and two. Home rink advantage works in our favor.”
"Pass along my good luck to everyone, especially Marc. His mom and I are overdue for lunch.” His mom gestured for Issac. Logan handed his little brother over. She kissed Logan's cheek, causing his ears to burn.
“No worries.” Logan turned to Ava, politely hovering by the wall with her phone. She likely had more exciting plans than hanging around for an amateur hockey match. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Issac, Ava. You don’t have to stay if you’re busy.”
“Oh, I’m not—”
"Logan, I invited her to watch. She kindly paid for her ticket, bought Issac his jersey, and paid for dinner. She insisted and won’t let me pay her back.”
Logan couldn’t believe that Ava would willingly spend her time at one of his hockey games, and he guessed the disbelief showed when his mom shot him a stern but silent behave glare. “Really?”
“You seem surprised.” His mom coughed hard, which should’ve been his sign to drop it and thank her for her time. But Logan didn’t understand why.
“I assumed that Ava didn’t like hockey . . . much less that she would come to a game.”
“Well, I’ve never been to a hockey game before, but I couldn’t decline the opportunity to experience one since your mom invited me. Plus, the ticket proceeds help the team and rink out, right?” Ava interjected, reminding Logan of her presence.
He nodded and ruffled Issac’s hair. “I should head back to the lockers, but I’ll find you in the crowd. Enjoy the game.”
"Bye, Logan!" Issac squealed while his mom smiled hard at him. Ava silently waved as he turned, jogging down the ramp. He sprinted down the ramp and skidded into the locker room, startling Marc.
"Where's the fire, bro?" he asked, leaning against one of the lockers and handing over Logan's skates without missing a beat.
“Lost track of time. Don’t want us to be delayed for warm-up because I stupidly got sidetracked.”
“Ah. Fair. How’s your mom?”
"She's great, extends her love to the whole team, and wants to have lunch with your mom soon."
Marc laughed, “I’ll pass along the message. My mom’s been dying to get out more since I’ve been slowly moving things into Kenna’s apartment and am giving her the house back. How about the little man?”
“Issac is over the moon. He got a new jersey, and he seems to love it.” Logan bit down on his lower lip, concentrating more on lacing up his skates. He remembered his helmet in his bag and leaned backward, snatching it out of his duffle.
“Did he buy it from the shop?”
"Uh, yeah . . . actually, Ava bought it for him."
“Ava? Like figure skating Ava?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d that happen?” Marc’s voice dipped below the noisy din of the locker room, but Logan didn’t glance up to chase after what he lost to the noise.
"Uh, she's out there right now with my mom and Issac, waiting for their seats." Logan clicked his tongue and glanced up, finally finishing his laces, to find the shocked expressions of Marc, the Larson twins, and half of the team blinking at him. "What?"
"Let me get this straight." Marc clasped his hands together. He kept his helmet off before getting onto the ice, and thus, Logan saw every twitch of his face while white-knuckle gripping his composure. "Averie Laurier, champion figure skater and your self-proclaimed nemesis, is at the rink with your mom and little brother right now . . . and bought Issac a brand-new jersey with your number on it.”
“I never said it was my number.”
"Logan, don't be a smartass. Issac wouldn't wear anyone else's number."
Logan held his hands up with his helmet on his lap, "Right. And yes, Ava is at the rink. My mom invited her to join them in the stands . . . she and I came to a truce agreement a while back.”
Marc looked torn between wanting to punch him and ready to break out in a gleeful dance. “How long is a while back, Logan?”
Logan shrugged. “Like two weeks.”
“Two weeks! Shit, you’ve been holding out on us. Next thing we know, you'll admit that you and she have been sucking faces on the living room couch." Oliver cackled, and Dominic snickered beside him.
"Oooh, Logan," Dominic imitated a girl's voice—meant to be Ava but sounding way off—and pretended to faint into his twin's arms. "You've won me over with your stoic charm and good looks."
“Are you two finished?” Logan narrowed his eyes, which translated to fuck off without a single word said, and the Larson twins scuttled off with echoing laughter. He rolled his eyes and slipped on his helmet as Coach Dorsey entered the locker room. But he let out a soft hiss when Marc punched his shoulder. “Rude.”
"No, what's rude is you not sharing these new Ava developments with me. I have a running bet with Kenna about when you'd give up on the tension between you and Ava. She owes me three weeks of dish duty!” Marc hissed, although he clearly meant it with all play.
"Alright, boys! Head onto the ice. I expect you to warm up without me supervising you!" Coach Dorsey whistled while holding open the door. A rising cheer of "Yes, Coach!" greeted him while the guys marched out single file, concluded with Logan at the back.
He spotted the bucket in Coach Dorsey’s hand with the extra pucks, unable to hide a smile when Coach passed them over. The two exchanged a silent nod, and Logan sped up to get back in line.
Marc tapped his helmet, glancing over his shoulder at Logan, “You know, Ava watching us might become a good thing. With her reputation as a champion, maybe some of her good luck will rub off on us.”
Logan didn’t have the chance to reply as the two climbed into the home bench box, discarding their skate guards. They set down the bucket of pucks and tossed a few out to some of their stretching teammates for warm-up drills but kept a few.
The tried-and-true ritual of passing pucks to audience members, usually kids, always brought an excellent energy to warm-ups. So, Logan and Marc skated around the rink and tossed the pucks to the cutest kids they could find.
Whenever he chose his target, Logan would point to the kid and have them or their parents stand to be recognized. Logan effortlessly sent pucks sailing over the walls and landed them into the eager hands of kids in different sections of the rink with a controlled flick.
When he dwindled down to his last puck, his eyes scanned the crowd until he spotted his mom, Issac, and Ava in their seats. They sat in the middle section, four seats left of the penalty box, in prime view of the action on ice. He skated toward the wall and gestured to Ava, drawing excited screams from the crowd at the prospect of a puck.
Ava’s eyes met his eyes through the glass, and Logan pointed to her again to stand up. A few people nudged her until Ava got the message, rising out of her chair. She studied him as Logan tipped his head toward Issac, sitting between her and his mom.
A puck for Issac incoming.
Logan loaded up the puck on the flattened edge of his stick and cleanly tossed it over the wall, sailing perfectly for Ava’s outstretched hands. The puck almost reached her fingertips before the guy next to her, a potbellied man with the ugliest goatee Logan had ever seen and a Bristol Buffalos jersey sullied with old mustard stains, jumped up and smacked Ava’s hand away.
The move snatched the puck mid-air and knocked Ava back, landing awkwardly in her chair. The Bristol asshole smirked like he won the jackpot and held the puck in the air, presenting it to the kid seated with him.
Ava’s eyes welled up. She frowned at Issac, like the incident had been her fault. Logan, on the other hand, wouldn't be so friendly.
He skated up to the edge and slammed his closed fist against the wall, prompting all eyes on him from the audience. He scowled hard at the asshole and couldn't help the harsh bark in his warning, "Give the puck back to the lady I intended it for, and don't ever put your hands on her or any other woman. If I see that again, I will have you tossed out of this damn game."
The asshole in the Buffalos jersey went as pale as a sheet. Logan observed as he hastily handed the puck back to Ava, afraid to look at her funny. Ava accepted the puck and presented it to Issac, who gasped and clutched the gift to his chest.
Logan turned his face, allowing the smile to sneak out while he skated back to his side of the field. He slid onto the line to stretch out on the ice, whistling to some of the guys to stop exaggerating their stretches for any cute people in the audience. He knew precisely where their minds went while hip-thrusting against the ice.
But he noticed Marc staring at him and smirking like he knew something Logan didn’t. He crinkled his nose. “What?”
“Nothing,” Marc laughed. “Nothing at all.”
***When Marc suggested the “good luck charm” comment earlier, a small voice in Logan’s head worried Ava’s presence might be distracting or a magnet for bad luck. He had never been happier to be proven wrong in his entire life.
Ava watched the Winter Wolves dominate in the first twenty minutes with at least a seven-point lead. The early lead was theirs to lose. Even when they switched sides during the second period of the game, their lead held firm at four points ahead. Although the Buffalos were considered a mid-level team, the perpetual losers in the Winter Wolves beating them felt unbearably sweet.
Coach Dorsey chewed hard on his sunflower seeds while he watched the Buffalos score another goal, their fourth one of the third period. He whistled, “Beckett, you and your line are up. We have five minutes of play left.”
"Yes, Coach!" Logan had played for about twelve minutes in the game, but Coach's wisdom saved him and the rest of the first line for the final moments. He and Coach brainstormed some of these plays during the last few practices, focusing on clever maneuvers.
He beckoned his other forwards off the bench while the referees set up for center face-off and swapped positions with their teammates. They smacked hands while heading out, earning a few rogue howls from the exhausted forwards relieved of their duties.
Marc signaled a thumbs up from the crease, but Logan spotted the heavy pulsing of his chest. Knowing his best friend, Marc, would barely make it out of the locker room before crashing into the passenger seat of Kenna’s car, only waking up for a greasy cheeseburger.
However, Logan felt energized from his rest on the bench and spent the game watching with close eyes. Adrenaline pumped through his body when he skated to the red center line, skates resting firmly on the “home side.”
The referee skated up to the center line. Logan stared down the Buffalos' center forward, a stocky blonde named Carter Jopplen, until the referee blew his whistle. As soon as the puck landed, Logan dove for it, his stick colliding with Jopplen's. A struggle ensued for control of the puck, but a sly fake-out pushed Logan ahead.
He skated backward with the puck, but Jopplen and the other forwards from the Buffalos lunged at him. Logan's body reacted faster than his brain could, dodging Jopplen trying to crash into him and steal the puck. He smacked it ahead to the forward on his right, Jordan Kaufman, who managed to zip away with the puck.
He held his breath while he sprinted toward the offensive blue line, worried about a call of offsides from the linesmen. Luckily, Kaufman stopped short, spun, and carried the puck backward over the offensive line.
Logan glided over the offensive line and spread out from his forwards, noticing the defensive line from the Buffalos rush to block them. The field became a tangled web of passes between the Winter Wolves, insistent on playing keep away with the puck.
Jopplen skirted over to Logan, positioning in front of him like a guard, and Logan groaned. Not to crack a terrible joke, but Jopplen’s form screamed amateur hour. He gritted his jaw and tried to skate around him, but Jopplen blocked him from his team.
He turned around, a smug smirk stretching across ruddy cheeks, "You look a little distracted, Beckett. Is your girlfriend in the stands causing you to lose focus? A girl like her is too hot for you.”
Somehow, Logan knew Jopplen meant Ava. His eyes snapped over Jopplen’s shoulder, spotting Ava on the edge of her seat. Her elbows rested on her thighs and she marveled at the action on the ice, mouth parted open like she couldn’t breathe.
“Shut up, Jopplen,” he replied and attempted to skate around him, but Jopplen’s stockier frame covered more space than Logan’s leaner one. Thus, Jopplen had an effective block holding him back from the action.
“Hit a nerve, didn’t I? Maybe your girlfriend would be happier on the arm of a champion.”
“Just one problem with that hypothetical . . . you guys are far from champions.”
"We're closer than you," Jopplen spat out. Logan barely bent out of the way of his elbow, a little too sharp of a twist to be accidental. The last thing he wanted was bruised ribs from catching a stray hit that would go unpenalized. “Besides, everyone knows the Winter Wolves are the biggest losers. She’ll wise up soon.”
Logan spared a glance over Jopplen's shoulder and fought a smile with bared teeth, "Well, maybe you should explain how the perpetual losers are about to win this match." He snapped the head of his stick at Jopplen's feet, where the puck sailed between his legs.
Before Jopplen could react, Logan pulled back and skated around him. He nimbly dodged between the defensive line and slapped his stick against the puck. Hard. The crack seeped into his veins with power like a lightning strike, and he witnessed the puck slide between the goalie's legs. The puck hit the back of the goal's net, and a roar exploded from the crowd.
Logan laughed sharply when his teammates slapped him on the back. He spun around for the crowd to revel in the goal, knowing full well the Buffalos couldn’t score five goals back-to-back in the leftover time of the game.
The Winter Wolves clinched their third victory in an unbroken streak, cementing their new reputation as a serious contender.