Lahat ng Kabanata ng Breaking The Ice Between Us: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

(4 Years Later) Logan POV The house leans a little to the left, like even it’s hungover from last semester. Peeling white paint, porch railing that wobbles when you breathe near it, and a dented mailbox with a faded Hartwell Hockey sticker still clinging to the side. Someone spray-painted ICE HOUSE ’24 across the steps last spring, and the blue letters have already cracked from too many storms. It’s ugly, but it’s ours. I drop my duffel onto the porch, stretch, and grin up at the sagging roofline. “Miss me, Ice House?” The door’s unlocked—of course it is. It always is. Inside smells like beer, sweat, detergent, and a little bit of victory. The perfect cocktail of college glory. “Shaw!” Cole Matthews’ voice booms from the kitchen before I even hit the living room. He appears a second later, a case of beer balanced on one arm, his captain’s jacket hanging open. Blond hair messy, sunglasses still on even though the sun’s dipping low. Typical. He drops the case onto the counter wi

Logan POV The rink smells like detergent, cold metal, and fresh ice—the only three things that ever calm me down. We’re setting up for the Welcome Week Mixer, which is really just code for * sanctioned chaos with better lighting.* Cole’s got a clipboard, barking orders like this is the NHL Draft instead of a campus event. “Shaw, get the speakers wired. And don’t let Mikey near the soundboard again.” “Why, because last time he thought volume eleven was a personality?” Cole glares. “Exactly.” I plug in cables, the sharp scent of plastic mixing with the chill from the rink. The team’s in good spirits—music testing, tables set for charity sign-ups, banners half crooked. It’s weird, though. I can’t focus. Every few minutes, my brain reroutes to the same person. Harper Lane. President of Alpha Chi. The girl who looked me straight in the eye last night and told me I was still full of myself. She wasn’t wrong. But she also didn’t walk away fast enough. ⸻ By seven, the rink’s tran

Harper POV The first week of senior year is chaos wrapped in caffeine. My planner looks like a war map — highlighted blocks of time, arrows connecting meetings, reminders to eat. Between running Alpha Chi, prepping for recruitment, and coordinating the charity clinic with the hockey team, I’ve had exactly three hours of peace since Monday. And apparently, I’m a masochist, because I signed up for Sports Media and Communication as my elective. I need it for my PR minor, but I didn’t think I’d actually have to enjoy it. The classroom’s cold, half the seats already filled when I walk in. Hockey jerseys, sorority sweatshirts, the usual crowd of campus overachievers pretending they’re laid-back. I pick a seat near the middle. Close enough to look engaged, far enough not to get volunteered. “Morning,” a voice drawls behind me. I freeze. I know that voice. Of course. Logan Shaw. He slides into the seat directly behind me like the universe is mocking me personally. “Seriously?” I mu

Harper POVI keep telling myself he’s a background character.That’s what you do with distractions—you move them to the margins until they fade. Except Logan Shaw refuses to fade.His name slides into every conversation, every group text, every corner of campus. Flyers for the charity clinic have his grin printed right next to mine—President & Co-Captain, the golden duo of good PR. It would almost be funny if it didn’t make my pulse race every time I saw it.Becca notices, of course.“Don’t tell me you’re nervous about working with Shaw again,” she says while we staple information packets in the Alpha Chi lounge.“Nervous? Please. I just don’t want to waste time explaining things to him twice.”She smirks. “You talk about him a lot for someone who doesn’t care.”“I talk about the event.”“Mhm.” She hands me another packet. “You also happen to mention how tall he is. And his shoulders. And his voice. Which, for the record, is a weird thing to complain about.”I glare at her. “Becca—”“

Harper POVBy Monday morning, the gossip has already spread through half the campus.At the coffee line, two girls behind me whisper just loud enough:“Did you hear? Logan hooked up again. Same girl from the Ice House—twice in one weekend.”The other laughs. “Well, that’s Shaw for you. Can’t keep his hands off a pretty Latina.”I keep my eyes on the barista, waiting for my latte, pretending not to hear.Of course he did. That’s who Logan is. It’s practically his signature move—flash that grin, flirt a little, and disappear before anyone gets too close.It shouldn’t bother me.But it does.I tell myself I don’t care, that he’s free to do whatever—or whoever—he wants. But the words fall flat, hollow in the back of my mind, because the truth is uglier than I want to admit.It hurts.It hurts because I know exactly what kind of girl he falls for, and I’ll never be her.⸻By the time I get back to the sorority house, my nerves are frayed. The place smells like fresh flowers and body spray;