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“He’s a good kid and a hell of an athlete. He just needs discipline and focus. But you seem like a good influence. He’s training and even posting updates to social media after I bug him enough. Looks like his head is finally back in the game.”
Ducking my chin, I did my best to hide the blush blooming across my cheeks. It was a strange thing to get coy about, especially given my feminist leanings, but I secretly loved that this marriage was helping him in a small way.
Because he deserved that. A partner who could build him up and help him reach his goals. And although this was temporary, I took pride in encouraging him.
So I was here, dressed the part and ready to support him in a denim skirt, a cute pair of boots Lydia had loaned me, and a blue flannel shirt that I’d ordered from Racine’s website so that my outfit coordinated with what he wore when he competed. Lydia insisted I tie it at the waist, and though I’d scoffed and argued that it was cheesy, I secretly liked it.
The massive chainsaws scared the shit out of me, but the events were all fast paced and exciting. Goldie, Tucker, and I perused the food trucks, and I cheered along with the entire Gagnon family when Remy came in first in the block chop, his best event.
The speed climb was the final event of the day. After the announcer gave a brief overview of what to expect—a ninety-foot climb up a cedar pole, where each contestant would ring a bell before returning to the ground using only spiked shoes and a steel core climbing rope—I buried my head in Alice’s shoulder, too terrified to watch.
No matter how many times I reminded myself that he was an expert tree climber and would be wearing safety wires, it never got easier. Watching him practice on the trees at home, which were far shorter, always made my stomach clench and my heart rate race, and not in a good way. And this? It was so much worse.
“It’s okay,” Alice said, draping an arm around me and patting my back. “He’s been doing this since he learned to walk. Plus, he’s going to kick Cedric LeBlanc’s butt.”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. He wasn’t from Lovewell, but maybe Remy had mentioned him when talking about tournaments. There were so many guys in Maine who competed that it was hard to keep all the teams and families straight.
Remy was waiting for his safety gear check, standing near a generic-looking, fair-haired lumberjack.
My husband, on the other hand, looked like he had just stepped out of a Racine catalog, even after finishing his fifth event of the day, several of which included using chainsaws.
But something was off.
While the previous set of competitors were being unhooked from their harnesses, at a time when Remy would normally be shouting encouragements—because my husband was that kind of guy; he was the best of the best, but he cheered everyone on as he went—his posture, though normally relaxed, was tense. His broad shoulders were bunched at his ears, and his attention was fixed on his boots.
After his last event, he had been blowing kisses to his mom and taking photos with every kid who approached him, but sometime in the last thirty minutes, his mood had tanked.
Tucker leaned across his mom. “Aunt Hazel, is Uncle Remy okay?”
I studied him, watching his pale, drawn face, my stomach plummeting. Surveying Remy’s surroundings in search of what could have such an effect on him, I found the culprit. Crystal. Looking like Malibu Barbie after a bender, she was flicking her hair extensions and cooing at the other guy. He looked like a generic corporate guy. A little out of place at a lumberjack competition, but this was Maine, so I supposed it wasn’t all that strange. Heck, Paz, Mr. Brooks Brothers, had supposedly competed on a team with Remy and Henri in some of the smaller events in the past.
Ahh. This had to be thehim. The one she cheated with. A lawyer or something, from what I’d heard. Remy had predicted that it would be difficult to see them together. And by the looks of his body language, he was right.
She was obnoxious, pawing all over him and taking selfies. She’d probably be posting them to Instagram with grammatically incorrect captions later. I clenched my fists, wishing that I could punch her.
But Crystal didn’t matter right now. First, I needed to help my husband. Though at the moment, my logic was inaccessible. Instead, I acted on pure instinct.
I turned to Lydia. “Distract my brother.”
She nodded and I stomped to the competition area and hopped over the plastic fence that separated the spectators from the competitors—without landing on my face, I might add.
“Gagnon!” I yelled.
He looked up and scanned the crowd, stopping when we made eye contact. My heart was racing, and I probably looked like a crazy person trying to crash a tree climb, but I didn’t care. All I saw was the spark in his eye when he caught sight of me.
I waved him over, and when he was an arm’s length from me, I grasped the front of his blue Racine shirt and tugged so he was flush up against my chest.
“Look at me,” I said softly. When he complied, I went on. “You are going to kick ass right now. You are stronger and smarter and so much better-looking than that douche canoe over there.”
He laughed, a small but genuine smile creeping up his face.
“I mean it. I’m proud of you.”
That smile grew, and he closed his eyes for half a second like he was letting the truth sink in. “Thanks.”
But it wasn’t enough. He needed to forget about all the draining drama standing a few feet away and focus on what was really important.
So I did it.
