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The truth is, I keep myself at a distance on purpose, but now I’m realizing something. I’ve never had to try before. The fight has been easy. Before I saw Emma in the background of a video chat, I thought I was damn near a robot. I thought maybe something was wrong with me, a technical mind that worked well in hockey, turning my body into a machine, but never made for romance. But as Emma and I stand, I know the truth. I’m all fire, melting the ice I’ve built around myself. I’ve spent my entire career defending, but I can’t defend against this.
This is low, man. This is really weak of me. I pretend my phone has just vibrated, take it out, and pretend to take a call. “I’m sorry, Michael,” I say, hanging up. “Some last-minute game stuff. I’m sorry.”
I never apologize this desperately, but he deserves it. I’ve never left a hotel so fast, but it’s my only choice. Either leave or go upstairs, be alone with her, kiss her lips, and taste her fertile young body.
CHAPTERTHREE
Emma
Dad and I sit at the bar in our private VIP booth. The bar overlooks the ice. I can tell Dad’s been fretting all day about how Logan suddenly took off, like some wild cat, surging across the savannah. I probably made a dork of myself when we spoke, but nerves were strangling me, making just talking seem challenging.
It was worse because I felt so cruddy, too, appearance-wise. Maybe I’m the she-frog who kisses the prince and becomes a princess or something, but that’s not how my stories go. In my stories, a lot of the characters are like me. Freaking out because I probably stink, and my crush is sitting opposite me, smirking, sometimes seeming interested, other times ice-cold.
The arena is slowly filling up. Dad seemed to be in a mood after Logan left, a dark cloud hanging over his optimism, but then he and Logan spoke on the phone. I can tell this is a difficult situation for Dad, not wanting to seem like he’s some hanger-on from the past. All the attention and the glamor are the exact opposite of his regular boots-and-mud life. He wears a shirt to work reluctantly, after all.
“As a player,” Dad says, his eyes a little out of focus from the champagne, “Logan is elite. Men his size don’t normally move as fast as he does.”
IfIdidn’t have one, I might jokingly comment,Dad, it sounds like you’ve got a crush. It would be lame and juvenile, anyway, but I couldn’t ever say anything like that.
I was so relieved when Logan blanked that woman who wanted him to sign his chest. As I entered the hotel, I walked past her, and she still had her coat halfway down, as if she thought he was going to rush back to her, demanding to sign. This jealousy isn’t normal. It’s a writhing army of snakes that won’t stop hissing.
“He’s extremely agile on his skates. I was quick in my day, too, but it didn’t make sense with him. He’d practice from sunup to sundown. He’d use his inline hockey skates if the ice thawed. He’d practice shooting and defending against his own shadow. Even as a kid, he was possessed.”
If this were a different world, if Dad weren’tmydad, 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, buthim, 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 notin 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 thisarena. You know why they come here, Em? It’s to see him.”
“He’s clearlyyourfavorite 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’tknowanything,” 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.”
