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I’ve just locked up my bike in the hospital lot when Logan Butterson comes strolling out the front door, dressed in his police uniform.
I freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Is my mom okay? Did something happen?”
He holds up a hand. “Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about. I just stopped in to see Lucy.”
“And ask her about what happened?” I fiddle with my backpack strap. Something hard is digging into the base of my spine.
He nods. “Yeah. I was hoping she might be able to fill in some of the gaps, but she’s having trouble remembering.”
“The doctors call it event amnesia. It’s because she hit her head and has a concussion.” I hate how on edge I am.
“Yeah, that’s what they were saying.” He rocks back on his heels. He has kind eyes that are so blue they remind me of tropical beaches. He looks like a Ken doll in a cop uniform, but with a rugged edge. “You mind if I ask you a couple of questions about what happened?”
“I wasn’t home.” I swallow down the guilt.
“Yeah, that’s what your dad said last night. He mentioned you hadn’t been honest about where you were, what you were doing, and who you were doing it with.” He tucks his thumbs into his pockets. Casual. Easy. Open.
I bite back a scathing response and pinch the bridge of my nose. “He doesn’t want me to play hockey, and he doesn’t want me to hang out with BJ. I was doing both behind my parents’ back.”
“You’re over eighteen, yeah?”
I nod. “I’ll be twenty in the fall.”
He hums and leans against the brick wall. “Are things a bit rigid at home?”
“Rigid?”
“You’re an adult. You’re playing competitive hockey, you have a job, and you seem pretty responsible, at least from where I’m standing. Doesn’t make sense that your parents would keep you on such a tight leash.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, it wouldn’t make sense to someone like you. And it’s not my parents; it’s mostly my dad.” I cringe. “Fuck. Sorry. That was disrespectful, and that’s not how I meant it.”
A half smile quirks up. “Don’t sweat it. You’re under a lot of stress. Want to have a seat and explain what you mean?” He nods to the bench nearby.
“Sure. Okay.” Saying no to a cop seems like a bad idea.
I fall into step beside him, his strides slow and measured.
“Your dad is a hockey legend,” I note.
“Yup. He sure is.”
“So you grew up comfortable, right? Lots of opportunities?” I shrug off my backpack and drop down on the bench, setting it at my feet.
“I did.” He takes a seat beside me but leaves a foot of space between us.
“You’ve seen my house. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived, which is saying something.”
“Lots of people struggle financially.” He crosses his legs, ankle resting on his knee.
“I know. But it’s more than the financial struggle.” What BJ said about not staying inside the box that’s been made for me anymore is starting to make sense. Keeping these dirty family secrets isn’t doing me any good. All it does is tether me to a life I don’t want. “Hockey is expensive, so the money thing is an issue, but more than that, it costs me time, when I don’t have much to spare. My dad thinks I should be working more instead of playing so I can help with the household expenses.”
Logan shifts and rests his arm on the back of the bench. “Aren’t you doing that with your job at Boones?”
“Yeah, but playing hockey means I’m not home to do the chores, like cut the grass, or make dinner, or make sure the garbage is taken care of and the house is clean. And in his eyes, hanging out with BJ is another way I’m shirking my responsibilities. Plus, he lives on the nice side of the lake.”
“So do you,” he points out.
“Yeah, but the cabin is falling apart. Hanging out with BJ and his friends, playing for the Hockey Academy, to my dad, it’s me striving for something I shouldn’t. He thinks I should be happy with what I have. And the worst part is, I get where he’s coming from, even though I don’t want to.”
