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“They came to your home,” I say gruffly. “They threatened you and your family when your wife and children were inside. If I were in your position, I’d want to tear them to pieces.”
Michael looks at me for a few long moments, seeming almost scared. “I’m sorry about the game, Log—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I cut in. I can’t hear this. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You got drunk and had a good time.”
I was the one fucking his daughter when he was sleeping off the liquor. I was the one falling more and more in love with her with each moment. I was the one who ruined what the friendship could’ve been.
“I shouldn’t have ghosted you like that.”
Ghosted, it’s a young person’s phrase. Talking with Emma has allowed a few of those to slip into my vocabulary.
“Why did you?” Michael asks in a small voice. For a second, he sounds so similar to Emma. “I know you’re busy. Life can get hectic. I don’t blame you if you wanted to ease up on the video chats, but…”
He sounds uncomfortable even to be bringing this up. I understand why, but telling him the truth would mean betraying Emma. I can’t lie, either.
“There are some things I can’t mention right now. I know that’ll make you curious as hell, but I’m sorry,Michel.” I almost switch to French, speaking as we used to, but then I remember he’s forgotten most of his. “I want to tell you, when we were kids, your friendship meant a lot. I was going through some bad things at home. My mom, she was—”
I swallow. This isn’t like when I told Emma, the tears almost sliding down my face. I keep my voice steady, but it’s still difficult to address this. “She had problems. She never hit me, but she hurt me in her own way. Your friendship and those hours on the ice were a refuge. It meant a lot. That’s all I wanted to say.”
I clear my throat and stare at the road, waiting.
“It meant a lot to me, too,” Michael says quietly. “All that stuff with my sister. The drama with her teacher, and then after.” He shudders. “When we were playing hockey, or even just skating, it was easy to forget about all that.”
“Amen,Michel,” I say. “Amen.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Emma
“I’m sorry for my reaction,” Mom says, sitting on the chair, folding her legs, suddenly poised and ready. “That wasn’t fair of me, Em. I don’t know all the details about your relationship.”
Mom has asked about my so-called boyfriend with the girlfriend a few times since Logan left, but I’ve always shrugged it off and told her I wasn’t ready. Now, I’m not sure what else to do. I don’t want her to think I’m the sort of woman who would do this.
“Hashe left his girlfriend?” she says after a pause.
I sit opposite her, summoning my courage. If there was ever a time for me to put my big girl pants on, it’s now. “He never had a girlfriend, Mom.”
Her eyes narrow. I can see her calculating, trying to think of worse options, even darker possibilities.If she lied about him having a girlfriend, how bad is the reality?I can see that question scrolling through her mind like the text at the bottom of a newscast.
“Explain,” she says shortly.
“He’s…” I press my hands together. It’s like there’s something lodged in my throat. Eric isn’t even here. He’s upstairs. Mom wanted to talk to himseparately. “Do you remember the hockey game?” I say after a pause.
Mom’s eyes look like they’re going toburstout of her skull. She grips the arms of the chair, leaning forward. “Wait a second… Are you saying?”
“Dad was in his room. It was just me and Logan. We… I don’t know what happened. We just got carried away. It was so romantic. It was so magical. It was everything I wished my first time would be.”
“Oh, yes. I’msurehe made it feel very magical and romantic for you!”
I flinch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Celebrities and their young women, Emma.That’swhat it’s supposed to mean.”
“Mom, you need to stop. Don’t start down that road. Seriously. You donothave all the facts.”
Mom sits up at my tone with a look of genuine regret on her face. She knows she can be a hothead sometimes, as much as I can be. When I was younger, we used to get into fights—nothing crazy, hardly any yelling, but usual daughter-mom stuff.
That seems so silly now, so immature. Now, we’re able to share a smile. She nods. “Fair enough. Then why don’t you explain it? You can understand my reaction, though.”
