˗ˏˋ jam with me ˎˊ˗

The reality was that it had been almost two years since you’d said goodbye to the Hawks and ventured out to a new city.

Today, however, it was as if time had literally slowed down, the seconds stretching out in an almost painful way.

The air in the reception hall was thick, almost suffocating. It was filled with a heavy mixture of expensive perfumes, fading floral arrangements, the warm August heat, and the sharp burn of men’s aftershave. The smells were so overwhelmingly strong that it left a dull ache behind your temples.

You suspected the smell wasn’t the only reason why your head was swimming.

You and Logan had broken up not long after you’d gotten together. It was fun at first, the sneaking around, but the pressure built up quickly the few months that you were together until it suffocated you. When it ended, you didn’t just leave him; you’d left Massachusetts all together. You hadn’t been back since. You hadn’t let yourself go back to the hockey crowd. They were his friends, after all. Even though you had grown close to them during your time as their media manager, it wasn’t close enough to excuse your presence in their lives.

So, when the cream envelope arrived in your mailbox, your heart had clenched so violently it physically hurt. You hadn’t been a forgotten piece of their story; you were wanted at one of their weddings. More importantly, it gave you a perfect excuse.  

An excuse to see him again. To simply in the same room, breathing the same air, if only for an afternoon.

It had taken you months of agonising over the invitation, months of late-night arguments with your own reflection, to convince yourself that showing up was the right move.

You’d told yourself it would be a quick fix, a brief desperate glimpse to quiet the ache behind your ribs before you buried yourself back in your work.

Lying to yourself came so easy the more you told it.

From your seat near the back, you watched Logan on the altar, his broad shoulders filling out his tuxedo, nodding along as the pastor spoke of forever and happy endings. But every so often, his eyes would drift, sweeping over the crowd in slow motion, taking in every face.

You wondered if there were women in the crowd who sat up a little straighter when his eyes passed over them, hoping the handsome, rising NHL star was looking for them. You knew he wasn't.

He was looking for you.

But still, every time his gaze drifted near your section, your stomach flipped. You wanted to see him, not have him see you. You moved, hiding behind the broad shoulder of the stranger in front of you.

The ceremony itself was mercifully short, ending in an eruption of applause as Garrett dipped Hannah and kissed her as if they were in a romcom.

As the newlyweds and the wedding party began to filter out, Logan remained on the stage for a moment longer. He stepped up to the microphone, his voice vibrating through the chapel speakers as he made a brief announcement about what was next on the agenda.

But when his announcement concluded, he didn't move.

He stood there just a beat too long, the silence stretching until it became awkward. His eyes scanned the remaining crowd one last time, a heavy sigh moving his chest before he finally turned and followed the rest of the party out.

Once he was truly gone, the tight band around your ribs loosened slightly. You were finally able to breathe. That should have been the moment you took to take your leave. You’d seen the vows, you’d seen him. That was enough, anything longer was tempting fate, playing a dangerous game with a heart you had spent two years trying to rebuild.

But instead of turning towards the exit, your legs betrayed you. You walked as if on auto-pilot out into the humid evening air with the other guests.

For a while, you let yourself get lost in the white noise of polite conversation. You caught up with old, but familiar, faces from Briar, trying to draw out the conversations so you had an excuse as to why you were still there.

Eventually the chatter died down as the guests were invited into the reception hall. You chose a seat near the very back of the reception hall, intentionally hiding behind a massive floral arrangement. It was a cowardly move and you knew it.

Keeping your fingers wrapped tightly around your glass, you focused your eyes on the way the bubbles popped, doing everything in your power to avoid looking at the head table.

It was a foolish task. You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep from looking. You were already sneaking glances, your eyes betraying your mind. Trying to protect your heart was never going to work. Not when Logan was, and always will be, your heart. How do you protect your heart from the person it belonged to?

With a gentle clicking of silverware against the glass, came the toasts. Garrett’s arm was looped tightly around Hannah’s waist, both of them beaming, enveloped in the kind of radiant love that you used to dream about.

Logan stood up, and the breath caught in your throat. You finally allowed yourself your first real, uninterrupted look at him.

The past two years had done devastatingly good things for him. The boyish charm you were used to seeing through the screen capture during his junior year had hardened into something broader, sharper, and intensely magnetic. In a tailored black tuxedo that clung to his broad shoulders, his dark hair pushed back, he looked every bit the professional NHL star he had become. He gripped the microphone, a rare flash of nerves crossing his face before he looked out at the room.

You nearly jumped in your seat when he looked directly at you. He didn't search. He had known exactly where you were this whole time.

The air was instantly sucked from your lungs, leaving your chest hollow and cold. For a terrifying, beautiful second, the background noise of the hall faded.  

Logan cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on your face for one heartbeat too long before he spoke into the mic. His voice was deep, rough, and so achingly familiar it memories of it whispering against your skin come flooding back.

 “We all know Garrett,” Logan started, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. “We know he’s stubborn, we know he’s competitive, and we know he doesn’t like to lose. But the smartest thing he ever did was recognise what he had with Hannah when he found it. He didn’t let stupid fears or bad timing get in the way for too long. He fought for her.”

“Some people,” Logan continued, “some people are stupid. They let fear of the future dictate their choices, and they end up letting the best thing that ever happened to them slip right through their fingers.”

A few people in the crowd laughed softly, probably assuming he was making a joke about the fact that he was single. But you knew better.

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. He was bleeding out his deepest regrets into a microphone in front of a hundred people, just so you would hear them.

Logan’s speech continued, but the words became a blur, drowned out by the deafening ringing in your ears. Playing the part of an attentive guest, you forced a smile and laughed as if on cue when the rest of the table did. Hoping nobody noticed how you were always a fraction behind.

The moment the room finally erupted into applause, you quietly slid your chair back.

It was still warm when you slipped through the side exit, the late August sun still shining through the trees, painting the estate in a golden light. You took a deep breath to steady yourself, pulling out your phone to open the Uber app.

Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely type your hotel's address. Your vision blurred around the edges. You just needed to get to your room, needed to escape before the memories of what you lost consumed you.

“You’re leaving already?”

Thumb hovering over your phone screen, you froze. For a cowardly second, you contemplated pretending you hadn’t heard him. But then the gravel crunched behind you as he moved closer. Logan’s hand gently brushed the bare skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps behind.

“Are you leaving already?”

Slowly, you turned around.

Logan had ditched his jacket somewhere back inside the hall. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the thick muscles of his forearms, those had grown nicely. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run out the very second he’d put the mic down.

Seeing his face this close, it was like the mental block in your mind just crumbled. Stronger memories rushed in, the ones that you could physically feel. They were muddy and chaotic; the dark corners of the Briar arena, the weight of him pressing you against a wall, and the long nights that always bled into lazy mornings.

“I’m tired. It’s a long drive back to my hotel,” you said finally. Your voice was remarkably steady despite the fact that every blink was blurred with a new memory with him.

“I haven’t seen you in two years... I haven’t heard your voice in two years.”

“We made one another a promise, John,” you whispered, the use of his government name making your heart squeeze. “We can’t go ba–.”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped closer anyway, the clean scent of him and the expensive cologne he only wore for special occasions wrapping around you. “I remember everything about our breakup, and I remember the promises we made. You don’t need to remind me.”

There was no right way for you to respond to that. So, you didn’t.

Your eyes traced over him, helpless to stop themselves. He looked devastatingly good. Tucked beneath his unbuttoned collar, the chain of the silver necklace you had bought him for his birthday gleamed against his tanned skin. His hair was styled in the exact messy, pushed-back look he knew you loved. He still looked like he was yours, like he was dressing just for you, even though he hadn’t been yours in so long.

And as you took him in, he did the same to you. His eyes ran over your body in a way that was somehow disrespectfully respectful.

“You look incredible. You are so beautiful,” he murmured. The words slipped out of him on autopilot, a reflex he couldn't control, sounding as comfortable as if no time had passed at all.

The compliment pierced straight through your fragile walls, “you don’t look so bad yourself, Loge. the look suits you.”

“Yeah?” A tiny, painfully hopeful, smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished the moment he noticed your posture and the way your eyes darted to your phone. “Please stay for just one dance,” he pleaded. “Just give me tonight, and if you tell me tomorrow to never call you again, I swear to God, I’ll leave you alone. Just... don’t leave yet.”

“Why would that be a good idea?” you asked, the question meant more for yourself than him. You so desperately wanted him to convince you. You wanted him to give you permission to break your own rules, and he knew you well enough to know exactly what you needed to hear.

“Why don’t you tell me why you ran when you heard my speech?” he countered softly.

You blinked, that wasn’t the answer you’d expected. “You know why.”

When he just watched you, a single dark eyebrow raised in quiet challenge, you let out a breath. “It’s a wedding, Logan. It’s romantic, it’s emotional, and you’re up there with your loaded speech... I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“No one knew what I meant except you,” he argued. “I just needed you to know.”

“Know what? That you have regrets?” Your laugh was small and humourless as you looked away from him. “That’s not a surprise. You know the choice we made wasn’t because we didn’t love each other. But we did make a choice, and we can’t go back. I can’t afford to get pulled backward into... whatever this is.”

“Backward?” Logan repeated, the word sounding as though it physically pained him. He closed his eyes for a split second, his jaw tight. When he opened them, his doe eyes were wide. “Is that how you would see being with me? A step backward?”

“Maybe,” you said, though the word tasted like ash on your tongue. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, defying every instinct that begged you to soften. “Maybe a massive one. I’ve spent years making sure my name is respected in this industry because of my work, not because of who I’m dating. If anyone saw us–.”

“There’s no one here,” he cut in, “there are no cameras. No one is watching us. I’m not asking you to jeopardise anything. I’m just begging for a dance with my girl.”

My girl.

It was probably pathetic that, deep down, you had never really stopped being his girl. But, evidently, he hadn’t stopped being your Logan.

“Please,” he whispered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Let me make new memories of you that I can carry with me.”

You felt faint, your legs suddenly warm and unsteady. You wanted so badly to step forward, to let your forehead rest against his chest, to just let him hold you. But your fears stopped you.

“I– I really can’t,” you stammered, the excuses tripping over your tongue in a panicked rush. “My Uber is... the driver is already five minutes away, and I have an early flight tomorrow, and...”

“You’re lying,” Logan said softly. There was no accusation in his voice, only certainty. “I know you.”

‘Walk away,’ your brain demanded. ‘You worked too hard to get over him. If you step back into his orbit, even for a night, you’ll ruin the peace you built.’

But your heart, the secret romantic you tried so hard to suppress, was screaming louder. He was right there. He was standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were the only person left in the world.

‘Just tonight,’ you thought. ‘Just let yourself have tonight.’

“Just one dance,” you whispered, the surrender tasting sweet and terrifying all at once. “Just one, Logan.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost palpable, his shoulders dropping. “Just tonight,” he promised.

He reached out to take your hand, and you let your fingers slide into his. Your hand still git into his perfectly, as if it had been carved specifically for him.

When you stepped back into the ballroom, the reception was in full swing. The free-flowing alcohol had made the crowd loud, warm, and loose, the air thick with laughter and the sweet, dizzying scent of champagne.

Before you could fully adjust to the sensory overload, Dean Di Laurentis was sliding into view.

You pulled your hand from Logan’s grasp in a sudden, panicked blur, muscle memory kicking in.

“You’re here!” Dean grinned; a half-empty drink cradled in his hand and a wicked, appreciative smirk instantly spreading across his face. Beside him, Tucker and several of the other old Briar hockey guys turned at the sound of your name.

“Jesus,” Dean whistled softly, his eyes scanning down the length of your dress. “The years have been incredibly kind to you, sweetheart. You look absolutely stunning. Doesn’t she, Logan?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the muscle jumping in his cheek as his chest puffed out instinctively. He took a subtle step forward, placing his shoulder slightly in front of yours as if to shield you from Dean's gaze. His eyes narrowed at his friend and former teammate.

“Back off, Di Laurentis,” Logan grumbled.

Dean only laughed, unbothered by the sudden territorial display. He stepped closer, raising his glass in a mock toast to you. “Come on, Logan, don’t be greedy. You can’t keep the prettiest girl in the room to yourself all night.”

Turning his attention back to you, Dean’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You owe me a dance, sweetheart. For old time’s sake.”

Beside you, you could feel Logan practically vibrating with tension.

It was a physical sensation you hadn’t realised you’d missed so desperately. The fierce and entirely primitive way he staked his claim on you was intoxicating. In the two years since the breakup, you had assumed he must have told at the guys, probably at least Garrett, about what you two had been.

You weren’t sure if Dean actually knew and was playing games, or was just genuinely being his flirty self. Back in the Briar days, Dean had loved to flirt, and you had mastered how to flirt back whilst keeping your professional boundaries. Logan had spent his entire junior and senior years practising how to subdue his burning jealousy in front of his team. It was a fun game you liked to play.

And technically, tonight, you were single. There was absolutely no reason for you to play the pining, loyal ex-girlfriend.

“I’ll save a dance for you,” you said smoothly, trying not to smile as you caught the sharp inhale Logan took beside you.

The second Dean and the guys drifted out of earshot, Logan turned on you.

His hand made contact with the small of your back, pressing you forward to the dancefloor.

“You’re not dancing with him,” he muttered, his voice tight with a childish jealousy. “You’re not dancing with anyone else.”

“Oh? And who decided that?” you teased, tilting your head back to look up at him. The foundation of your walls were breaking further with every passing second.

 “You did,” Logan said, turning you to face him, his chest nearly brushing yours. “You told me in the garden. Just one dance.”

You gave him a familiar smirk; the exact one you used to give him in the Briar locker room when he’d try to negotiate for extra media coverage.

“I agreed to just one dance with you,” you pointed out. “I never said anything about my plans for the rest of the night. A girl has to network, after all.”

Logan’s jaw dropped slightly, a frustrated groan escaping his throat. “You are unbelievable,” he mumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He spun you around the crowded dancefloor. When the one song you’d agreed to dance with him for ended, his grip on your waist tightened just enough to let you know he had absolutely zero intention of letting you go.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near Di Laurentis,” he muttered.

“You can’t watch me all night.” What were you saying, you didn’t plan to be there all night. you were supposed to be leaving now.

“Can’t i?” he responded, eyebrow raised.

“What if I need to go to the bathroom?” you asked, ignoring the fact that you had fallen back into old conversation patterns all too easily. “Are you going to follow me there, too?”

Logan paused and looked down at you. you realised the stupidity of your words as you’d said them. Of course he would. It was something he’d done before. When you’d first started dating at Briar, you had been so all over each other that you’d ended up locked in Malone’s bathroom as Justin’s band played on stage. It hadn’t been your proudest moment, but it certainly hadn't been your worst.

Before you could dwell on the memory, Logan pulled you flush against him as another slow song came on. You swayed in his arms, naturally following his lead.

It was terrifying how easily, how seamlessly, the two of you fell back into the old rhythm. Within seconds, the music, the lights, and the crowd faded into a blur.

Slowly, carefully, his hands slid lower down, while your arms found their familiar place around his shoulders. You leant into him, burying your face in his chest, breathing him in. He smelt like home.

A half-hour later, you spotted Dean scanning the crowd, likely looking to cash in on his promised dance. You caught his eye across the room, but before Dean could take a step towards you, you pointedly wrapped your arms tighter around Logan's neck, burying your face into his shirt.

When the DJ transitioned into faster tracks, you laughed as Logan tried to show off, spinning you out only to pull you back against his chest a little too fast.

A wedding was the absolute worst place for this reunion, you thought. The atmosphere was already thick with romance, practically begging you to make a mistake. But the feelings and the energy floating in the thin space between your bodies was electric. The way he looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy, made your mouth water. You craved a kiss so badly.

Before you even realised it, the crowd had thinned to a lingering few. The DJ’s songs were practically echoing off of the walls of the empty room, even Hannah and Garrett had left. The staff were quietly clearing half-empty champagne flutes from the tables. Around you, people were whispering their final goodbyes, slipping into coats, and heading out into the quiet August night.

Yet, you and Logan were still in the centre of the floor, moving in a slow sway.

"Hey," Logan whispered, his breath fanning your face.

"Hmm?" you murmured, not wanting to open your eyes and face reality.

"We should go; they're turning the lights up soon...” When you finally looked up at him, he was watching you. “Don’t go back to your hotel.”

Your heart almost stopped beating. "Logan…"

"I'm not asking for a promise," he said. "I'm not asking you to change your mind about your career, or us, or anything else tomorrow. But tonight... just let me hold you. Let me wake up next to you, just once. Please."

“You’ve asked for a lot today.”

“I know,” he said, “I know, I’m being greedy. And I’m not sorry about it.”

The danger with Logan was that no matter how much of yourself you gave him, no matter how many of your boundaries and walls you broke down, you always wanted to give him more. You wanted to give him all of you. and that made it hard when you were trying to build a name and be independent the male-dominated world of the NHL.

You should have told him no. You should have reminded him that you had promised exactly one dance, but you’d already given him hours. However, you couldn’t. It wasn’t enough for you and you understood all too clearly why it wasn’t enough for him, either.

Looking up at him, you took in the anxious crease between his brows, the desperate hope shining in his eyes, and the way his hands were trembling slightly against your hips. You tried to conjure up the rational part of your brain, but your mind was silent.

All you could feel was the phantom ache of the last two years without him, and the desperate need to soothe it.

"Okay," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly before he let out the breath he’d been holding. "Okay," he repeated.

He took your hand, his fingers instantly slotting perfectly between yours as he led you off the dancefloor and out of the venue.

The hotel the wedding party were staying at was only a short walk across the estate’s grounds, but there wasn’t a word uttered between you. it was as if you were both too afraid that speaking would shatter the fragility of where the night was going. His grip on your hand only tightened as you crossed the quiet, marble-floored lobby, riding the elevator up in silence.

Logan guided you down the hallway, his keycard clutched tightly in his palm. When you finally reached his door, his hand was shaking so badly it took him two tries to get the lock to flash green.

He pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you enter the room first.

The first thing, the only thing, you noticed was the sheer size of it; the Grahams had obviously splurged on the hotel block for their wedding party.

"Do you want water? Or... I can order something?" Logan asked, he looked almost nervous.

"I'm okay," you whispered, even as your mouth went dry.

You walked over to the sofa in the corner of the room. Through a half-open sliding door, you could see the plush king-sized bed and you looked away immediately. You didn’t need those thoughts running through your mind.

Logan watched you move, his eyes tracking the sway of your hips. He slowly unclasped his heavy watch, placing it on the glass coffee table, before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. He turned his body toward you.

For a long time, you just talked.

You updated each other on all the things you’d missed in each other’s lives; about the transition from Briar to a professional hockey team, the endless travel, the pressure, the loneliness of a new city.

Both of you deliberately danced around the subject of other people. You didn’t want to ask if he had been with someone else. He had every right to, it had been two years, after all, but the mere thought of another woman holding him, of him giving her his smiles, felt like a slow-turning knife in your stomach.

As it went past two in the morning, the conversation became more unrestricted, turning into the kind of raw truths that were only meant to be whispered in the dark. He asked you which city you’d moved to and you hesitated to answer. You knew he would follow you to the ends of the Earth if you gave him even a sliver of hope, and perhaps, in some selfish corner of your mind, that was exactly what you wanted.

So, you told him.

"I looked for you," Logan confessed quietly, his eyes fixed on his hands, "In every arena. Every time we played a road game. I kept looking, hoping I’d see you with your camera. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just missed you.”

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat, drawing your knees up to your chest on the cushions and wrapping your arms tightly around them.

"It was hard for me, too," you confessed. “Do you know how hard it is to be in the NHL and not see your face? I had to mute your name on my personal accounts. Because every time you scored and did that silly arrow thing you do or every time you did a post-game interview looking tired and so fucking hot... I felt weak.”

It was as if your words was the permission he needed to crowd your space. He slid across the sofa and pulled you forward so he could manoeuvre you into his lap. You let him easily, dress bunching up around your thighs as you straddled him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours. “I’m so sorry I let you go.”

Your chest tightened. The truth was, he had only respected your needs. You couldn’t fault him for that. You weren’t sorry he let you go; you were sorry you had been fragile enough to ask him to.

“Can you just kiss me now?” You breathed, and then he was kissing you.

He kissed you like he was trying to apologise for every single day he had spent away from you. It wasn’t slow, he wasn’t savouring you, he was showing you what two years of bottled-up longing felt like. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer. Fingers tangling in his dark hair as he groaned deep in his throat, lifting you slightly to press you deeper against his lap. You kissed long enough that your lips begun to ache, spit collecting in the corners of your mouth.

On shaky legs, you climbed off of his lap and stood up. Reaching to the side, you pulled the zipper and let your dress fall, pooling on the floor.

Logan’s breath hitched, his eyes sweeping over your body, tracing every familiar curve. He then stood up too, his fingers frantically unbuttoning his shirt, throwing it to the side before he stepped out of his trousers.

You took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

The second you laid down; Logan was all over you. he remembered your body, where you were most sensitive, and exactly how to angle himself in a way that had you seeing stars. Every touch came through pure muscle memory, a loud reclamation of what had always been his.

He acted as if he knew he was on borrowed time, letting an overwhelming and frantic passion take over. It was all consuming, leaving you sensitive to the lightest touches like your nerve endings had light up. Even the words whispered in the dark rang loudly in your ears.

The room was filled with soft, undone gasps, desperate confessions murmured against damp, sweaty skin, and the sounds of your bodies meeting. Every desperate drive of his hips felt like he was branding himself back onto your skin.

“I love you,” Logan murmured, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips. His fingers were with yours on the pillow, his body still buried deep inside you. “I never stopped.”

You couldn't answer with words; it was too heavy to speak aloud. Instead, you pulled him down into another kiss, arching your hips to meet him, letting him take all your space and air until both of you finally collapsed into an exhausted sleep, a tangled mess of limbs.

You woke up disorientated, the backout curtains in the hotel room had kept the morning light at bay, though the bedside lamp that you’d forgotten to turn off was still casting a glow over the room.

An involuntary smile hit your lips as you turned your head to watch Logan sleep next to you. He still twitched in his sleep, a boyish habit you had forgotten.

You laid still for a moment, letting the reality of the night crash over you. the dull ache between your legs and the faint bruise where Logan had gripped you tightly serving as physical reminders of what you’d done.

But as your heart swelled with a dangerous warmth, a cold dread settled deep in your stomach.

The real world was waiting outside of the door.

If you stayed until he woke up, you knew exactly what would happen. He would look at you with those pleading brown eyes, he would beg you to stay, and you would lose the battle again. You couldn't let yourself slide back. You couldn't risk your heart breaking a second time.

Very slowly, you slid out from under the covers.

Logan stirred, letting out a discontented mumble in his sleep, but he didn't wake.

You stood by the edge of the mattress, shivering slightly in the cool draft of the air conditioning, and looked down at him. He looked unbelievably good, his dark hair messy against the white pillow, his bare chest rising and falling.

It took every ounce of your willpower to turn away.

You gathered your discarded clothes from the carpet, dressing quickly in the bathroom. When you walked back out, you grabbed your shoes and your purse, taking one last look at his face.

Then, you turned to leave. You didn't write a note. You didn't leave any reminder that you were there minus the scratches down his back. You just quietly opened the heavy door and slipped out of the hotel room.