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“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says with another laugh.
“Nothing’s funny,” I whisper.
“Maybe I have to laugh,” he grunts.
“I’m just so sorry.”
“My mother was ill. Schizophrenic. I didn’t know that at the time. I believed everything she told me since I was a kid.” Another laugh that breaks my heart, husky like he’s holding back tears. “Other parents tell their children there aren’t monsters in the closet. My mom, the poor woman, convinced me an army of monsters lived in our house. I know it sounds like nothing.”
“You don’t have to keep downplaying it,” I say softly, leaning up, kissing the light stubble on his cheek. “You were a child. That would have terrified me. You believe everything your parents tell you without question.”
“And that’s just it,” hegoes on. “It took me years to realize what she said wasn’t true. It was afterMichelleft. I think I was around fourteen or fifteen when I realized. Every night since I can remember, Mom set up a rocking chair in the corner of my bedroom. She slept during the day. I know now she had money from my dad, so she didn’t have to work. She rocked in her chair and watched me. Sometimes, she described the monsters in the room with us.”
I blink, tears stinging my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. “Oh, Logan.”
“It’s okay,” he says, but his voice is shaking too. “I was a kid. Dammit. It wasdecadesago.”
Neither of us says anything for a while, and then he keeps talking, his voice low. “But like I said, it helped me. Mom let me do whatever I wanted in the day. I went to school, stayed quiet, played hockey, and that was it. I skated like a demon until my whole body was sore until I could hardly walk.”
“Because otherwise,” I whisper, the tears flowing freely now, “you wouldn’t be able to sleep.”
“Exactly.” He sighs. “Even if I got to sleep, sometimes, Mom would wake me up. She’d say she just fought one of the monsters away. She had different names for different types…”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Ones with claws. One who belched acid. It all sounds so not scary, but it was back then.”
“Logan,” I say firmly, pushing past the sobs, trying to choke my words. “It sounds terrifying. As a little kid, being woken up every few hours, always on edge, thinking somebody would hurt you and your mom.”
He leans back against the headboard, closing his eyes. I watch him through blurry eyes as he swallows what looks like a sob. He pushes it away. I want to tell him it’s okay. He can cry if he wants, but clearly, he doesn’t want to. When he opens his eyes, he seems steadier.
Gently, he strokes the tears from my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You deserved better than that,” I tell him. “Every child does.”
“Ourchild will,” Logan says forcefully. “Look at your parents. They’re an example of how to do it right. We’ll be like them. We’ll never hurt our kids. We’ll protect them. They’ll do sports if they want to but becausetheywant to. Not so they can fall into a coma every night.”
“We’ll give them so much love,” I say.
“Love,” he repeats, looking down at me. For a second, I think he’s going to sayI love you, but then he nods. “Yeah, we will. All the love in the world.”
A thought occurs to me. “Is that why you’re called Ice Demon? In homage, or a middle finger, to your childhood?”
“No,” he replies, with a slight smirk, a shadow of a real smirk. “That was a coincidence.”
“How did you realize the monsters weren’t real?” I ask. “You said you were fourteen.”
“It was small things,” he says. “When I was six or seven, or even nine or ten, she would say,I just fought with a monster, Edouard. I believed her, but as I got older, I started questioning it. Where are the cuts? The bruises? Wasn’t there a scuffle? Things like that.”
“Wait, who is Edou… How do I say it again?”
He smirks wider this time. “That’s my birth name. Edouard Boucher.” He pronounces it in a heavy French-Canadian accent. “That was how I sounded as a kid, but I moved out young and joined the minor leagues. I left my old life behind me, including my old name. Logan Ice. Logan after Wolverine, a Canadian superhero, you know, fromX-Men. Michael used to loan me those comics and Ice because it’s all I’ve ever known. All I ever knew before you.”
My head spins. “So, what should I call you?”
He chuckles. There’s still a hint of pain in his eyes, but it seems to have retreated somewhat. “Logan. It’s my name. Legally. It’s who I am. I’ll admit I chose the name when I was eighteen. As I get older, I wonder if it’s too blunt. Logan Ice.”
