"Move over, lover boy," Radek says. "Rest of us need to get in."
Logan sits down and slides along the bench, Radek beside him, and Auston on the other side. And then Logan's focus seems to be right back on the game again, on his feet every time there's a close call for an equalizing goal. 
When the final buzzer sounds, the two teams meet in the middle of the ice to shake hands, then instead of skating to the door that would take Logan to the dressing room, he crosses the ice. Beside the aisle I came down is a door to the ice that I never noticed. Logan knocks on it while dropping his gloves and helmet on the ice. The guy guarding it gives a start of surprise, but he unlocks it and swings it open. 
Still in his skates, Logan goes up the three concrete stairs to my seat, in the middle of the departing crowd, who have all stopped moving to watch him. I stand to meet him, and he draws me into the tightest hug. 
"I'm not even going to ask why," he murmurs against my ear, "I'm just fucking grateful you're here."
Then he draws back, searches my face for a beat, but I'm not going to tell him no. He slides a hand into my hair, and his other stays on the small of my back, and he kisses me like he hasn't seen me in weeks instead of having crawled out of my bed this morning to make the plane. 
It's a kiss that warms my chest, and then sends heat radiating down to my core. Like always, I could kiss him forever. It's only once people in the crowd start whistling, hollering, and clapping that I remember where we are. Then the heat goes straight to my face.
Oh, my god. There's public, and then there's this. We've either made things better or so much worse. No middle ground with a graphic public make-out.
I press my forehead to his chest, and he runs a hand along my back, clearly blocking out the noise around us. 
"You've got someone to get you to the dressing rooms?" His lips are close to my ear to avoid shouting. "You're staying with me tonight?"
I nod, and I glance up. Without skates, he's tall. With them, he's like a freaking giant. 
He lifts up one side of his hockey pants, and he tugs a puck out, holding it up to show me. "Got you this."
"A puck?"
"The winning puck. The one I scored with. A marker of your first away game. Just in case you don't make it to another one."
I don't tell him that Tamiko asked me to go to all of them during this run. There's no doubt he'll have questions, and answering any of these in the middle of the crowd that is still surrounding us won't do Logan any good. 
Instead, I rise on my toes, but unlike normal, I can't quite make his cheek, so he picks me up until we're eye level. 
"I can't fucking believe you're here," he says. "Surprises usually piss me off." He buries his head in my neck, and I thread my fingers through his damp hair. 
"Maybe we should go somewhere more private," I whisper into his ear.
At that, he looks around for what must be the first time, and he seems to realize a lot of people haven't left. When he glances behind him, we both realize we're on the jumbo screen above the ice. 
A frown mars his expression before he kisses my temple and then sets me down. "Text me if you get lost, okay? I'll see you soon." He plants one last quick kiss on my lips before trudging down the stairs, scooping his things off the ice in one fluid, practiced motion before gliding over to the team exit and disappearing from view. The minute he's gone, what's left of the crowd erupts into loud whoops and hollers of approval. 
The middle-aged woman who was sitting beside me lets out a loud sigh. "How can I become God's favorite like that?" She turns to the guy beside her, smacking him in the chest. "Why don't you act like that?"
He lets out an oof but doesn't respond. 
"Sorry," I say, stepping out of the way. "I didn't mean to hold everyone up."
"Honey," she says, patting me on the arm on the way past, "I don't care what they're saying on social media. You keep hold of that man. The look on his face when you first got here and he saw you—gonna live rent free in my head forever. Never seen Logan Bishop look so happy about anything. Come on, Bob," she says, tugging the man along behind her, "traffic'll be a bear."
Other people openly stare or smile at me as they file past. Being well known in Bellerive feels different than this, not as invasive. The team rep who escorted me to my seat appears at my side, and I sag with relief. 
"Can you get me out of here to wherever Logan is?" I ask.
"Certainly. Follow me." 
Now I just have to hope that once I explain why I'm here, Logan is just as happy as he was when he first saw me. 
I could swing two updates next week. Want an extra? Hit the star. Drop a comment. 
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