Colliding Love - Tucker Billi...

I wasn't able to sleep last night, even with Logan cuddled up to me in bed. Learning that he might be traded drove a wedge between us. At least on my end.

We're physically close, but mentally and emotionally, I'm smoldering. Little fires of doubt, angst, and fear, that I'm not sure I should put out. Let them build and rage. Let them burn down what Logan and I have built.

Maybe that would be for the best. If we're over at the end of the season, if we're not likely to work together next season, we don't have to end amicably. We can go out in a blaze.

It might be easier to hate him instead of feeling this desperate desire for our timelines to be more in sync. Right now, his career is the most important thing to him. And my career in Bellerive is the most important thing to me, followed very closely by starting a family with someone I love, someone who isn't asking me to sacrifice myself for their hopes and desires.

As much as I might want to believe that going out in a blaze of anger would be easier, better, even. I've never been one to blow up my life. It might explode around me, but I'm not the one lighting the fuse. I'm usually the one trying to frantically blow it out, usually at my own expense.

Knowing all that, I should stay out of the team's business. Logan didn't seem to care if he got traded, and that should be enough to make me want to stay out of it. His indifference was the sharpest knife, cutting deep. He even went so far as to say a trade might benefit his career. That should also force me to stay in my own, very successful, lane. The deal we made means that if he stays, we're done, and if he goes, we're done.

There's no battle to wage here.

But I'm a fixer, and the notion that he could have the best season of his career and his reward will be a trade? That doesn't seem right to me. An injustice, even. He shouldn't have to go where they tell him. When you're as good as him, you should get a choice.

The Bullets play at home tonight, and I'm already at the arena. I'm not quite pacing outside my dad's office door, but my behavior isn't far off. Normally, Dad's here hours before the game. Being a key player behind the scenes is a point of pride for him. It's one of the few community-focused things he's done that didn't involve my mother. 

In Bellerive and in our family, he's been more of a supporting player or a background figure than the main attraction. Convincing a WHL franchise to take a chance on Bellerive was his pet project with King Alexander, and it's entirely possible it's the one accomplishment he's most proud of. It's certainly the first thing in his life, since he retired from a short career in finance, that I've seen him take seriously.

When he first told me about the team, I might have thought the whole idea was a bit silly—a professional hockey team here?—but that's not at all what I think now. The team seems to have become an unexpected unifying force across the country, something to be proud of. Even if the team isn't winning, Logan is.

I just need my dad to tell me Logan is staying, and the rumors are just that. Gossip with no foundation.

"Sawyer? What are you doing here?" my dad asks, wandering down the long hallway to his office, coffee in hand. "Logan's not injured, is he?"

"No," I say with a shake of my head. If we were closer, I might be offended that Logan's wellbeing is more of a concern than my own.

"Good. Good." He unlocks his office door. "Did you forget something in here?"

"I actually came to talk to you," I say, barely hiding my exasperation. It's pretty telling that, if Alex was still in the picture, I'd probably be standing on his doorstep instead. Negotiating with my father has rarely been something I've had to do. As a kid, as much of a force as my mother was, she was often the one who "dealt" with us—her or whatever nanny was employed at the time. My dad wasn't absentee, but he certainly wasn't attentive, even when he was in a room with us.

"You've done really well with Logan," he says, ushering me in.

A glow of pride bursts in my chest. To be recognized as effective is exactly what I wanted out of this job. My insecurities were so high when I said yes, that taking this role was about pushing my own boundaries, proving something to myself. It's an unexpected bonus that I also proved something to other people—a lot of other people.

"I'm sorry the team isn't in a position to offer you a raise," he says.

It's laughable that he thinks I need or even want a raise. The whole extended Tucker family has access to the Tucker Family Trust. The trust is so huge and so profitable that it has its own rules. Some of which are great, like funding houses, cars, and other material things for personal use. Other rules, like the one that says trust money can't be used as the foundation for personal business ventures, are definitely constraining. No matter what, since I turned eighteen, I'll never be poor enough to beg my dad for a raise, especially for a job he asked me to take.

"Is Logan being traded?"

"Rumors are flying, are they?" My dad chuckles. "It's a possibility. Dalton's come up with quite a plan. At first, I hated it. Trade the star player? He's one of the few reasons our merchandising department is turning a profit. Anything with Bishop on it or his number goes out the door as soon as we get it in. You must have noticed around the country? He's a big draw for the crowds. Kid knows how to put on a show."

"Dalton, who has no interest in ice hockey, is the one who's come up with a trade plan?" I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice.

"Since he became the liaison for the Advisory Council, he's put in the time, got to know the game. I have to give him credit."

I'm giving him zero credit because my gut tells me he's just found a new, different way to interfere in my life and my choices.

"Does Alex know?" I ask.

"King Alexander's first priority has always been his wife."

"You're trading Logan, is that what you're saying?"

"It's a team decision. All of us. Am I starting to see why it might make sense? Yes. We're on the bubble to make the playoffs, and we have one of the top scoring players in the whole league. It's absurd. Embarrassing, actually."

Logan has never seemed embarrassed to play for the Bellerive Bullets. Frustrated and annoyed at times, especially when we watch game tape, and even I can see the unforced errors. Part of me has wondered if some of the issues are coaching related, but Logan's never complained, so I haven't raised it.

"If the team manages to make the playoffs, I'll probably push to keep him another year. See if we can turn around the rest of the team. Maybe get you training them all." He gives me a nod like I've expressed interest in that job—which I haven't. "If we don't make the playoffs, I can't see how we keep him."

"You're punishing him for being good?"

"If we got him a good trade, he might be in cup contention in one to two years. He's a franchise player. The kind of player teams can build around or bring in if they already have the depth and room in the cap."

"There must be other trades you can make to build a better team around him."

"You don't want what's best for him?" My father squints at me as though he's trying to make those words fit what he knows about me.

When he puts it like that, he makes me feel like I shouldn't be here. Maybe I shouldn't. I'm not sure I'm here because I want what's best for Logan. Maybe I want what's best for me. The idea that Logan might be gone from my life makes my heart constrict.

"You coming to the game tonight?" My father asks, going behind his desk and taking a seat.

"Yeah," I say, but my mind is still busy turning over the notion of Logan leaving, which is causing my breathing to become shallower.

"You should sit in the box. I don't know what's with you sitting behind the bench now."

Publicity. The WHL fans love the way Logan and I interact. Truthfully, I love the way we interact because sometimes it's like he's playing just to impress me. A rush to my head and my heart. The greatest foreplay.

"If you want an ear to the ground on the trade talk, the team box is where you need to be."

"Dalton will be in there?"

"Of course. But you two ended on good terms. I don't see why that matters. If anyone should be uncomfortable, it's Dalton. You and Logan are so public. Must be hard for him."

"I'll stay behind the bench. I like it there."

"You've always been stubborn like your mother," he says with a sigh.

In this instance, it's not stubbornness, it's self-preservation. Even if I told my dad everything that went on between me and Dalton, I'm not sure he'd see most of what happened as a problem. He'd probably gaslight be into believing I was misinterpreting events, the same way Dalton always did, especially now that he seems to have taken even more of a liking to him.

"Thanks for the chat, Dad," I say, heading out the door. I didn't get answers, but the conversation definitely gave me a lot to think about.

What's a girl to do?

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