Chapter Text
Logan can’t breathe.
Usually, that feeling comes during a game when an overly violent elbow to the ribs leaves him gasping for air, his side black and blue. Occasionally, it accompanies illnesses that fill his lungs with so much crud he thinks he might actually drown. Most recently, it’s been a direct result of laying eyes on Grace.
For the past eighteen hours, though, it’s been none of those things.
It was supposed to be a quick trip home.
That’s the mantra he keeps repeating to himself.
A quick trip back to file some paperwork for the garage, make sure the house was still standing, and say a brief hello to his mom before booking it back to Hastings for dinner with Grace and her dad.
Instead, Logan had walked through the doorway of his childhood home and felt both the heaviness in his shoulders and the pit in his stomach develop instantaneously.
He’d had his suspicions when he turned into the driveway to find the living room curtains pulled shut at four in the afternoon and the garage shuttered, but he’d filed them away, focusing instead on Jules’ hopeful expression after their own visit last weekend.
She’s doing really great, John. You gotta see for yourself.
Somehow, in the span of a week, Jean had stopped doing really great. Logan had walked in to find her on the couch, eyes glazed over, reruns of some game show playing on the TV, half empty bottle of vodka beside her.
He barely remembers the conversation they had, and maybe it’s better that way. They’d almost certainly both said things they’d later regret. They usually do when she’s like this. When it comes to his mom, Logan has never had the damn near altruistic patience of Jeff, or the steadfast faith and trust in her that Jules maintains. He does, however, remember in vivid detail helping her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed dangerously on the carpet, leading her upstairs to bed and tucking the covers around her as if he’s the parent in this relationship.
He remembers his hands growing cold and clammy as he texted Grace, practically begging forgiveness, telling her he’d be there as soon as he could. He remembers the sting of tears in his eyes as he opened the group chat with his siblings and sent them the all too familiar update: mom’s drinking again.
His ringtone had been far too cheerful as it cut through the heavy silence, and it had been hard to form words around the lump in his throat as Jules' voice cracked on the other end. What the hell, John?
That, he considers, is when it first became hard to breathe.
The rest of the night is a blur of shaky hands, gasping for air, and begging Jeff to leave his pregnant fiancée to come watch their mom until she sobered up, then feeling incredibly guilty when his brother agreed. After that came more desperate texts to Grace trying to apologize, with her being far more understanding and patient than he really felt he deserved in the moment, and his phone dying with no charger to replenish the battery.
Jeff had arrived around seven, taken one look at his younger brother, and told him to go. I’ll handle this tonight.
He drove a good ten over the speed limit the whole way back to Hastings, alternating between shaking so violently his teeth chattered, and feeling as though he was about to throw up right then and there. The clammy feeling still lingered on his skin, his windpipe so tight it was difficult to get enough air. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of his entire life.
About halfway through the drive, the reality of what was going on finally hit him like a semi truck: he was having a panic attack.
Being able to name what was happening to him didn’t make it any less scary though, nor did it make him feel any less guilty as he peeled into the Ivers’ driveway to find the house dark and quiet.
He’d knocked anyway, hoping against hope that maybe he wasn’t too late, maybe he hadn’t completely fucked this up. That had been dashed immediately when Mr. Ivers answered the door with sad eyes and the gently delivered news that Grace had already left to go back to her dorm.
I’m sorry, son.
The subsequent breakdown he’d had in her dad’s arms at just hearing the word son directed his way is far too fresh, far too painful to even begin trying to process, and his skin prickles with embarrassment as he remembers the way Tim had pulled him into the most caring parental embrace Logan has experienced in years.
Instead, Logan had choked out an apology, driven home in a haze, and completely ignored his friends' attempts to greet him. He’d taken the stairs two at a time, slammed his door behind him, turned off his lights, and curled himself into a ball as he stared blankly at his bedroom wall.
Apart from necessary trips to the bathroom and one brief venture downstairs for a bottle of water, he’s in more or less the same position eighteen hours later.
And he still can’t breathe.
His phone has buzzed a few times now so Logan rolls over with a heavy groan, grabbing it from the bedside table. There’s a message from Jeff letting him know that mom is awake, and that he’ll do his best to keep an eye on her while he’s working at the garage today, and a couple from Jules asking if he’s okay. He’s not, and he’s starting to think he might never be, so Logan ignores them. He can’t deal with that right now.
Grace has checked in a few times too, and she’s quite honestly the one singular bright spot in his life at the moment, so he has no interest in fucking that up by leaving her unanswered. She’s in back to back classes all day which gives him at least a few more hours to try and pull himself together, thank God. I’m okay. Sorry again about last night.
It’s a lie, at least the first part of the text, because he is incredibly sorry for last night, but he’s completely unprepared to begin unpacking what’s going on with him. Hopefully, he thinks, she’ll take his word for it.
His stomach growls uncomfortably, and Logan releases a long breath. He’s been avoiding food, because food means downstairs, and downstairs means facing Dean, Tucker, and Garrett. Still, despite being in a pretty fucked up headspace, Logan isn’t stupid enough to starve himself.
There’s easier ways to go anyway, a voice in the back of his mind whispers, and Logan feels his heart start to race as he shakes his head. Where the fuck did that come from, and how does he make it stop?
Food and a temporary sabbatical from his self imposed isolation feels like a good start, so begrudgingly Logan pulls himself out of bed and into the hall.
Dean’s door is closed - for once - so a glimmer of hope ignites in Logan’s chest. Maybe there’s a chance he won’t bump into any of them after all.
That promptly vanishes as he hears the sizzle of something hit the pan, and Garrett’s voice floats up the stairs. “Smells great, Tuck.”
It does smell great, and Logan’s hunger outweighs his bad mood. Lumbering down the stairs, he clears his throat. “Hey. You uh, you got enough of whatever that is for one more?”
Tucker’s entire face lights up as he nods enthusiastically. “For you, Logan? Always.”
Garrett’s greeting is more subdued; arching an eyebrow he announces, “you look like shit.”
“Wow, thanks G.”
On a normal day the comment wouldn’t have phased him in the slightest, but today is pretty far off normal. Garrett seems to get that, because he’s a lot softer when he asks, “do you…wanna talk about it?”
Tucker hands him a plate, and Logan nods his thanks before turning back to Garrett. “I really don’t.”
“You fuck shit up with Grace again or something? Cause you’re acting like me when I broke up with Hannah.”
This is what they do, Garrett and Logan. One shuts down, the other pushes back. Nine times out of ten, Logan’s the one to open up first. Today though, he drops his fork in frustration, loud enough to make Tuck jump. “What part of not wanting to talk about it don’t you get, Graham?”
Both Garrett’s eyebrows raise now, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Easy, man. I just wanna help.”
That in itself is the problem.
Logan is surrounded by people like Garrett, Tucker, and Dean. He’s got an amazing older brother, and an even better younger sibling. His girlfriend is the most incredible person he’s ever met.
They love him. They want to help him. He knows that.
The thing is though, there’s not a damn thing any of them can do. None of them can make his mom get - and stay - sober. No amount of love is enough to actually propel Logan to the future he’s dreamed about since he was old enough to lace his skates.
His real life? His actual future? It sucks.
Cold sweat sends a shiver through him, and Logan knows he’s got very little time before he completely loses it again. Grabbing his plate he avoids eye contact with both his friends. “I’m taking this to my room,” he mutters.
He doesn’t stick around long enough to listen to them try and convince him to stay.
—
Logan manages four whole bites of Tucker’s hash before his stomach twists uncomfortably. The plate clatters to the floor, and he flops backwards onto his mattress, vision blurry.
He lays there, staring at the blades of his ceiling fan, for a very long time.
As he does, he reaches a few conclusions.
First, Jeff is a great big brother, and an even better son. He’s been carrying the brunt of looking after their mom and running the garage for years at the expense of his own life - with no complaints.
Second, as badly as Logan wants to run as far away from Munsen and his family garage as humanly possible, that’s not going to happen. It’s been a harsh reality that’s lingered in the back of his mind ever since the temporary break he got by starting at Briar, but the last 24 hours have brought the weight of it crashing back down on him in a whole new light.
Third; the acceptance of the fact that he’s not heading to the NHL. The only place he’s going is back to a dead end town and a dead end job, where he’ll spend the next twenty plus years of his life looking after a parent who seems determined to drink herself into an early grave. Coming to terms with that is really fucking hard.
He can’t be happy there.
It might sound rash, like he’s jumping the gun, but Logan knows better. Accepting a future of returning home to Munsen, and to his mom, means accepting a future where he’s unquestionably unhappy. Where everything, and everyone, gets to move on and live the life they’ve always wanted, while he fixes cars, tries to fix his mom, and watches the people he loves slowly forget about him.
Or worse, in Grace’s case, watch resentment and frustration begin to fester within her as she tries to be okay with him being late, cancelling plans, and being a generally shitty boyfriend, because something will have to give. Something will have to, Logan knows he won’t be able to do it all - last night had proven that. It can’t be the garage because that’s their source of income, and it can’t be leaving his mom unattended because one of these days she really will level the block with the propane tank.
That leaves his relationship.
Grace is one of the best people Logan knows, but a sob escapes him as he realizes that this is going to be too much, even for her.
The one shining light in his life isn’t permanent.
There’s going to come a day where the reality of his existence and responsibilities causes a fracture too big to fix with chaste kisses and breathless apologies.
Sooner rather than later, they’ll have to break up. And when they do? That might just be the thing that kills him.
His phone chimes, and Logan wipes the moisture from his eyes as he reads the message. Grace. Of course it’s Grace.
Class just finished. Coming over to check on you.
Fuck, Logan doesn’t want her to see him like this. Fingers flying over his keyboard he sends back; I don’t think that’s a good idea, gorgeous. I’m in a bad mood.
Her reply is almost immediate. I’m coming anyway.
Logan is stubborn, but Grace is even more so when she digs her heels in about something. There’s no talking her out of this, and the more he tries, the more determined she’ll become. With a heavy sigh Logan sets his phone down, rolls over onto his side to watch the door, and waits.
—
A soft knock announces Grace’s presence, and she opens his door slowly, eyes wide with worry. “Hey, you.”
The light from the hallway creates a halo around her silhouette, basking her in a golden glow that makes her look even more like an angel than usual.
Maybe that’s what she is, Logan muses. An angel. His angel. Sent to show him the greatest love he’s ever felt, then leave.
Voice rough from under use, he reaches out a hand and pulls her into a seated position on the bed beside him. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Grace’s eyebrows furrow, making her forehead crinkle in that outrageously endearing way Logan can’t get enough of. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? Because I’ve spent the last almost twenty four hours coming up with literally every single worst case scenario you can think of.”
He believes it. Grace babbles when she’s nervous, so he can only imagine the rabbit holes her brain has taken her down over this. “I’m in a bad mood.”
She actually snorts at that. “Based on what Garrett and Tucker said when I got here, that’s an understatement.”
“I’m going to kill them,” Logan grumbles, and Grace just laughs as she tugs him upright.
“I’m serious, Johnny. What’s going on? You send me 15 million texts apologizing for missing dinner because of a family emergency, which is something completely out of your control by the way, then this morning I wake up to a text from my dad saying I need to check on you-“ she pauses for air, just long enough for Logan to feel the rush of embarrassment from last night return. “Then I get out of my morning classes and Jules is texting asking me to make sure you’re okay. I…I’m scared.”
The admission catches them both a little off guard, and Logan hopes she can sense how genuine he is as he says, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Can you please just tell me what happened? What’s still happening, based on the look of things?”
Voice sticking uncomfortably in his throat, Logan nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I uh, walked in on my mom. Drunk.”
Real sadness washes over Grace as she squeezes his hand, “oh, John. I’m so sorry.”
The floodgates are open, and before he knows it all his thoughts and fears and realizations from the last day are tumbling from his lips. “She can’t stay sober, Gracie. She tries, she always tries, and she always ends up right back here. Which means she can’t be alone. She can’t run the garage without help. Jeff’s given so fucking much, and he needs a break. Which means it’s on me. I have to go back.”
Pausing, Grace traces patterns against his thigh. “What does that mean for you? For hockey?”
Somewhere in the deepest crevices of his mind Logan is able to appreciate that she doesn’t once judge or question his admission, just asks what it means. Unfortunately, he’s too distraught to be able to focus on that part of it.
With a halfhearted shrug he tells her, “Hockey isn’t happening.”
The words hang between them, and Grace doesn’t seem to know what to say. It’s a fair reaction, because Logan probably wouldn’t either in her position.
“Hockey isn’t happening. Nothing good is happening. Everyone is going to move on, and I’ll be stuck there. I’m going to be stuck, in a black fucking hole of a life.”
Grace’s thumb is soft against the back of his hand. “You have me.”
“For now.”
She visibly recoils, and Logan feels a rush of regret course through him at the idea of hurting her.
“What do you mean for now, Logan?”
Logan. Not John, not Johnny. She’s pissed. He probably deserves it.
It’s the truth though, whether she realizes it yet or not.
Shrugging, he lays it out as plainly as he can. “Think about it, Gracie. If I have to give up everything, if I have to spend the rest of my life in fucking Munsen, running a garage and being a full time babysitter for my mom, that’s the end of us. Someday soon you’ll see that, and when you do you won’t be able to unsee it. You won’t be able to unsee how much better you deserve, and you’ll leave me.”
Breathing heavily, his voice breaks as he adds, “and the worst part? I can’t even blame you. You should leave.” He stares at her, willing her to get it. Instead, Grace looks back at him with wide shocked eyes, and he watches them harden in real time.
Until this very moment, Logan didn’t think his day could get any worse. He truly didn’t believe anything could be more painful than accepting his future. But as he sees Grace’s spine stiffen, her guard going up right in front of him, he realizes just how wrong he was.
This, the way Grace is looking at him, is a million times more awful.