Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
If this were a different world, if Dad weren’t my dad, I’d think about this trait of Logan’s transferring to our future children—this same drive. They would do so well in the world having Logan as a father—not the money, but him, those glinting eyes beaming with support.
“I guess that’s why he made it to the big time,” I say, which is pretty much a non-comment. I’m finding it difficult to speak to Dad while sitting on this Logan-shaped landmine.
By the way, Dad, I think I’m in love with your best friend. Obviously, I’m not in love. That’s so over the top. I’m just a little love drunk, a crush. It’s my first crush. Okay, so I’m a late bloomer. I can deal with that. That isn’t so bad. That’s just what I’ll have to keep telling myself.
Dad leans forward, taking another eager sip of champagne, eyes fixed on the ice. “It’s going to be one hell of a game. A season opener, fine, but look at this arena. You know why they come here, Em? It’s to see him.”
“He’s clearly your favorite player.”
I mean for this to come out in a joking tone, playful and mischievous, but it comes out so bitter. I sound exactly like what I am—jealous and angry and pathetically desperate to stop hearing Logan’s name. At least then, I might have a chance to fight this feeling.
Dad sighs. “I know. I’m going on.”
“You’re not, Dad. I promise. I meant it as a joke.”
“It’s just…” Dad gets a faraway look in his eyes. “When we were kids, I left when I was sixteen, and he was eleven. He was big for his age. Nobody ever believed he was eleven, but he was. Five years… That’s a big difference when you’re that age.”
I say nothing, cautious of breaking whatever spell has come over Dad. He talks in a careful tone, as though he’s avoiding a few landmines of his own.
“He never spoke about what was going on at home. Our town, Em, was small. People didn’t talk about what happened behind closed doors. Sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes, he’d get this look in his eyes.”
Dad’s getting choked up. I reach over and place my hand on his arm, offering whatever comfort I can, so moved it almost hurts. Dad’s usually the strong, silent type, and just for this, I’m glad I came on this trip despite everything else. So he can show this side of himself.
“It was like he was terrified and ready to fight all at once. He’d get a wild look like he hated the world and hated himself. It’s the look he gets sometimes when he plays. That’s why he got the nickname ‘The Ice Demon’ a few years ago. I saw it when we were kids. I regret not doing anything.”
“But Dad, you didn’t know anything,” I say.
Dad turns to me, eyes bleak. “Something was happening. It was just him and his mom in that house next to the lake.” Dad suddenly stops, looking at his glass of champagne. “I shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“That’s why I’m so happy to see him doing well. I just wish he’d settle down. Find a woman. Start a family.”
I swallow. It’s like—and this is next-level, skipped several grades, early graduation level of crazy—my womb is pulsing inside me. I know that’s nonsense, but something is aching and calling out for this man like a howl across a tundra. “Maybe he doesn’t want that.”
“He used to talk about it.”
“When he was eleven?”
Dad chuckles, winking, looking like he’s fighting his dark mood. “You had an entire set of dolls when you were hardly a baby yourself. Used to feed them and everything.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t wait to be a mom one day. Sue me.”
“Logan was the same, but…” Dad waves a hand. “Let’s stop gossiping.”
“Okay, macho man, but just so you know, sharing your feelings isn’t gossiping.”
Dad takes my hand and squeezes it. “Love you, kiddo.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
“It’s going to be one hell of a game.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Logan
I pound the locker with my stick. It’s already dented from where another player must’ve beaten it before. I hit it again, almost cave in the metal, then drop onto the bench and stick my skates out. My teeth are clenched, and I’m breathing hard.
“Logan, relax, my man.” Chuck sits opposite me, his mop of red hair slick with sweat when he pulls his helmet off. “Long season ahead of us. No need to freak.”
“I know I’m throwing a tantrum,” I growl, slowing my breathing. I rest my helmet against the locker I just caved in. “But I made nine rudimentary errors back there, Chuck. Fucking nine. Five of them were basic skating errors. Skating. I can’t remember a time when I couldn’t skate.”
Before I even found hockey, I found some old ice skates several sizes too big. I wedged my feet into them with layers and layers of socks and glided across the ice, losing myself in the simplicity of it. The challenge. The logic. The world makes sense on the ice, but not tonight.