“Thanks, Logan.” She beams at me with a grateful smile. “So . . . did you want to stay for a bit?”

I give her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood to sit around and talk about my feelings.”

“Total honesty,” she says. “You don’t want me here, do you?”

I hang my head for a moment and then meet her eyes. “I didn’t ask for this, Summer. Any of it.”

She nods, and then quietly says, “You can’t rejoin the team until a counselor clears you to get back on the ice. You might not have asked for it, but it’s the only way for you to go back.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go back,” I say without thinking. Just hearing myself admit that sends a cold chill down my spine.

She looks confused. “I thought you loved hockey?”

“I do. But maybe my family needs me more right now. I don’t know. Maybe I need to be here instead of on the ice in Boston.”

“Okay. I won’t pry, but I’m happy to listen whenever you need to get things off your chest or out of your head. How about I make you a cup of tea, and I can look at your lip for you?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

She nudges me toward the couch. “It’s just one cup of tea. For your trouble of coming to get the fire going.”

I release a slow exhale and take a seat on the sofa. “It was no trouble, but sure. Why not?”

Suddenly, I’m not in the mood to go sit alone and stew in my emotions. And Summer . . . well, she’s a distraction. I haven’t determined yet if she’s the good kind of distraction or the bad kind, so I guess I’m willing to stick around until I have that figured out.

In the small kitchenette, she adds water to the kettle and heats it, setting out two mugs while she waits. I like watching her move about the small space, the way her delicate fingers unwrap the tea bags, and how the curve of her ass looks in her jeans . . .I can feel my pulse quicken.

Stop, Logan.

I clear my throat as Summer, oblivious to my wandering thoughts, carries over two mugs of tea, careful not to spill them.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Anytime. Thanks for that.” She sits down on the sofa next to me and gazes happily over at the woodstove.

I take a sip from the mug and grimace.

“Not good?” she says with a laugh.

I pat the side of my jacket and then pull out a flask out of my pocket. “I’m not much for tea. But this might do the trick.”

I dump a generous amount of whiskey into my mug and then offer it to Summer.

“Sure.” Grinning, she holds out her cup.