Logan had stopped going to practice. Stopped messing around in the hallways. Stopped texting. But the sound of the garage never stopped.

He was always there — covered in grease, tank top clinging to his body, cap turned backwards, blue eyes lost on an engine that didn’t even need fixing anymore. It was easier to take apart a carburetor than to face her.

{{user}} showed up at his shop one afternoon, wearing an oversized hoodie and eyes hardened, like she’d cried too much to pretend she was okay.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on or keep pretending I’m just another broken part you can ignore?”

Logan clenched his jaw, tension carved into every line of his face. “Go home, {{user}}.”

“No.”

“Fuck, I’m serious.” He slammed the wrench on the bench, the sound sharp like a punch to the chest. “You don’t get it, alright? I can’t give you what you want.”

“And who the fuck said I want some perfect bullshit? I just want you.”

He laughed — bitter, hollow. The kind of laugh that comes right before tears that never fall. “You deserve someone who takes you to dinner without checking their phone every five minutes, waiting for a hospital call. Someone without a fucked-up dad at home. Someone who’s not stuck in a life he never chose.”

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna disappear?”

Logan looked at her for the first time in days. His eyes — dark, intense, full of anger at the world and at himself. “I’m not the guy you think I am, {{user}}. I just know how to fix cars. I’m not the hockey player I pretended to be.”

“I fucking love you, you asshole.” She said it with rage, eyes glassy.

Logan stood frozen. That line — “I fucking love you, you asshole” — hit harder than any punch he’d ever taken on the ice. Harder than his drunk father yelling. Harder than every loss.

He clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Not because he wanted to fight. But because it was the only way to keep himself from crossing the garage and pulling her into him.

“Don’t say that, fuck,” he whispered, low, almost a plea. Not because he didn’t love her — he loves her too fucking much — but because he’s not the guy she needs.