Logan Sargent - Fort Loverdale

Danemark (Logan's POV)

The afternoon at Zandvoort felt typical, maybe even a little too routine. I was deep in a discussion with the engineers about gear ratios, pit strategies, and weather forecasts when my phone buzzed. Sophie's name flashed on the screen, and I barely hesitated, excusing myself quickly to step into the hallway, where the buzz of track activity softened behind the closed door.

"Logan." Her voice was calm but carried a weight I picked up on immediately.

I straightened. "What's up, Soph?"

"Victoria's had an accident," she said, cutting straight to it. "During practice in Estonia. She took a bad fall, and it looks like her ankle got the worst of it. She's also got a mild concussion." Her voice softened as she continued, "Her parents picked her up at the airport, after Lars drove her to the airport, so she could rest up at home."

I took a moment to absorb it all. The idea of her back at home, hurt and recovering, brought this new ache in my chest. She had been so excited for this competition, for each new jump, and now...

After thanking Sophie and finishing the call, I quickly typed out a message to Victoria:

Logan: After the race weekend, I'll be free, and I'll do whatever you need. Promise.

But even as I sent it, I had something else in mind—something that went beyond just texts or calls. She needed more than that, and after the race, I knew exactly what I'd do.

The race weekend flew by in a blur of noise, focus, and adrenaline, but the second I stepped off the plane in Denmark, everything shifted. I'd already lined up some flowers—a bundle of tulips, bright and lively—and a box of her favorite chocolates. Holding the flowers, I quickly typed out another message:

Logan: I have a surprise for you...

With that, I made my way to her parents' home, the nervous energy building as I arrived at the door. I adjusted the collar of my jacket and took a deep breath before knocking, already rehearsing how I'd introduce myself in my head.

The door swung open, and in front of me stood a man I could only assume was Mr. Nielsen. He was tall—like, seriously tall, maybe a full head above me—and he had this look that could probably cut through steel. But he also had an air of warmth around him, a quiet kindness that made his intense stare more comforting than intimidating.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nielsen," I said, holding his gaze respectfully.

"Logan, yes?" His voice was deep, but there was a gentleness to it that surprised me.

"Yes, sir. Logan Sargeant," I said, offering a handshake, which he accepted with a surprisingly firm grip. "I hope this isn't too sudden. I wanted to check in on Victoria. I've brought some flowers and chocolates for her."

He gave me an approving nod. "Thank you, Logan. She'll be happy to see you. Come in."

As I stepped inside, I caught sight of Mrs. Nielsen, who was already beaming at me with a warm, motherly smile. She was the exact opposite of her husband—radiating friendliness and making me feel at ease instantly.

"Oh, Logan! She's been talking about you," she said softly. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, kindness written across her face as she reached out to touch my arm in greeting. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled with your visit."

She led me through the cozy, Scandinavian-style home—filled with soft, warm lighting, sleek furniture, and lots of white walls and earthy tones. We made our way down the hall, and Mrs. Nielsen stopped just outside a door, gesturing with a knowing smile. "I'll leave you here. She's been resting, so try not to startle her too much, hmm?"