Todos los capítulos de Breaking The Ice Between Us: Capítulo 171 - Capítulo 180

Logan POVI stay with her until almost two in the morning.Not talking much after a while.Just… existing together.Like both of us are too emotionally wrecked to keep fighting but too terrified to let go either.Harper eventually curls into my side on her bed while I sit against the headboard, one arm wrapped around her automatically.Protective.Possessive.In love.Dangerous combination.And honestly?That should probably concern me more than it does.The room is quiet except for soft music playing from somewhere in the dorm building and Harper’s uneven breathing against my chest.Every once in a while, I feel her fingers tighten slightly in my hoodie like she’s checking whether I’m still there.I always am.That’s the problem.I stare down at the top of her head, exhaustion pulling heavily at my body now.Not physical exhaustion.Emotional.Like the last few weeks have cracked something open inside me that refuses to close again.“You awake?” Harper whispers quietly.“Yeah.”“Me t

Logan POVFor a second after Harper says it—I honestly can’t move.“I think I have to let you go.”The words hit like a body check straight to the chest.Hard.Violent.Knocking the air completely out of me.I just stare at her.Because no.No, absolutely not.That is not happening.Harper stands in front of me crying so hard she’s shaking, and somehow that makes this worse because I know she means it.She really thinks this is love.Walking away.Destroying herself to save me.And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all this.She loves me enough to leave.“Don’t.”The word comes out rough.Barely even sounding like me.Harper wipes quickly at her face, unable to fully look at me anymore.“Logan—”“No.”I move toward her immediately.Fast enough that she instinctively steps backward again.That tiny movement nearly wrecks me completely.“Don’t look at me like I’m already gone,” I say quietly.Her face crumples harder.“I’m trying to do the right thing.”“For who?”“For you!”The answer

Cole POVThe locker room should feel electric after a game like that.Hat trick.Big conference win.Scouts practically drooling over Logan again.Everything technically back on track.Except—Nothing feels right.Marco tosses a towel into his locker and shakes his head slowly.“Okay, seriously. Somebody check if Shaw’s secretly a serial killer.”A few guys laugh awkwardly.Not because it’s funny.Because everybody knows exactly what he means.Logan sits three lockers down from me, unlacing his skates in complete silence while the rest of the room celebrates around him.No smirking.No cocky comments.No adrenaline high.Nothing.Just cold.Detached.Like he left every human emotion out on the ice.Coach is happier tonight at least.I can tell.Logan played perfectly.Focused.Aggressive.Controlled.Exactly what everybody wanted.So why does it feel like we lost something instead?“Dude looked like he wanted to fight God tonight,” Marco mutters quieter this time.I glance back at Log

Harper POVI make it three days before I break.Three days of pretending I’m okay.Three days of avoiding the rink.Avoiding Logan.Avoiding everything that reminds me of him.Which turns out to be impossible.Because Logan is everywhere now.In hockey posters around campus.In whispers from girls in my biology lecture.In the coffee shop where he used to steal drinks from me and grin when I got annoyed.Even the cold air outside reminds me of him now.Everything does.And somehow?Instead of getting easier—It’s getting worse.Lila watches me push cereal around my bowl for almost five full minutes before finally speaking.“You know starvation isn’t technically heartbreak therapy.”“I’m eating.”“You’ve moved one Cheerio for emotional support.”I glare weakly at her.“I’m tired.”“No,” she says carefully. “You’re miserable.”Fair.I drop the spoon back into the bowl with a quiet clink.Because honestly?I don’t even have the energy to argue anymore.The last few days feel blurry.Like

Logan POVThe second I see my father—Every muscle in my body locks tight.Same reaction.Every time.Doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-two now.Doesn’t matter that I’m bigger than him.Stronger than him.One look from Richard Shaw still hits some instinct buried deep in my chest that immediately says:straighten upshut updon’t failAnd honestly?I’m suddenly so damn tired of feeling that way.Coach straightens beside the boards immediately.My father walks across the rink in an expensive coat and polished shoes that don’t belong anywhere near ice.He barely even looks at Coach.His eyes lock straight onto me.Cold.Sharp.Disappointed.Familiar.“What are you doing here?” I ask flatly.“Cleaning up your mess.”Rage sparks instantly beneath my skin.Coach exhales quietly beside me.“This probably isn’t the place—”“No,” my father cuts in sharply. “This is exactly the place.”Of course it is.Everything in my life has always happened at a rink.Every lecture.Every criticism.Every impo