Page 125 of Ice Dance Hockey

“They don’t hate you,” he says. “Father’s just … it’s not personal.”

I get him. I get him so hard. People would be pissed if they saw my mom in action. Mom’s latest has pissed me off enough I haven’t talked to her for months, but I know I’m going to forgive her eventually. I love her even when she’s an asshole.

Still frustrating to watch in action.

“I’m wearing the jacket, Rhett. You should join me.”

His jaw tightens. He looks like he’s preparing to chew a bowl of nails. “You’re infuriating.” He pushes the jacket into my chest and storms out of the closet.

Huh. I don’t feel like my world is going to fall apart. That’s new for me. I think Rhett’s managed to convince at least a small part of me that he’s mine. That’s never happened before. I smile to myself, selecting the rock T-shirt of Merc’s he gave me and slide into my leather jacket. I’m going to convince Rhett that we should rent a bike while we’re here. Fuck renting. He can buy us one. Yeah, we’re buying a Hawaii Harley.

I head from the closet to the ensuite bathroom to fix my hair how I like it and take some time to massage some of Rhett’s fancy moisturizer into my face.

I wander out of the bedroom a while later, but it’s to an empty suite. Old paranoias grip me quickly, snaking around my insides. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I pissed him off for the last time and he’s done with me. But on the counter, I spy a book lying open. It’s Rhett’s journal. The one we negotiated boundaries in. Has it only been a month? It feels like a lifetime ago.

Today’s date is written in the corner with Rhett’s perfect cursive underneath. Figures he would somehow know cursive. They don’t teach it in school anymore.

Me and you against the world.

I brush my finger over the words. Are they real? I sure fucking hope so.

“Me and you against the world, baby.”

* * *

Iwasn’t about to venture out of this suite alone. No way. I’ve learned to handle Rhett, but I’m still navigating the other Elkingtons. His dad’s way out of my league. I’ve hung my jacket over a chair and have made myself comfortable with coffee and my iPhone on the lanai. I’ve spent the last hour involved in a Meyer family group chat. All of them are at the campsite and they’ve been giving me play-by-plays.

Jack’s lucky hat almost got set on fire, so he’s locked it in their trailer, and everyone’s weirded out at the sight of him without a hat. Ari and Cody snuck the Meyer Teen Division a few beers and there’s epic video footage of a tipsy Dawson. Jack’s uploaded a bunch of snapshots of Stanley doing “firsts”. Stanley’s first nap outside in his pack-and-play. Stanley’s first campfire. Stanley’s first campground hockey game.

One of the images must have been taken by someone else. Jack’s holding Stanley with his green eyes focused on him and in the distance, Merc’s beaming adoration at the sight of them. Mercy’s admiring what anyone would, the utter love Jack has for Stanley.

It’s not the norm and we all know it. Twenty-five-year-olds don’t typically become the doting fathers of other people’s children overnight. But Jack isn’t usual. I wanted to hate him so fucking bad, but even I couldn’t because it’s stuff like this that makes you love him to death. It’s no wonder he’s managed to wrap my brother, of all people, around his not-so-little-pinky finger. Only Jack could.

The handle to the door jostles and my head snaps up. My brain can’t make sense of what’s walking through the door. I mean, I know it’s Rhett, but he doesn’t look like my boyfriend Rhett.

His—what Jack would call—hockey lettuce is styled differently. It’s only a subtle difference, but enough to give him a rugged appearance. He hasn’t shaved yet and his five o’clock shadow is thick enough to be sandpaper. I’m rubbing my face across that.

But that’s not all. Rhett,myRhett, is decked out in leather and blue jeans. It’s a thick cowhide coat that creaks when he moves and hangs off his wide shoulder girdle while form-fitting to it at the same time. Underneath is a black T-shirt. The jeans are dark blue. He’s even wearing black leather boots with a shit ton of silver buckles.

Holy fucking Hannah. My dick is instantly hard. As his boots plod heavily against the floor toward me, I’m frozen as I watch the devil come for me. He stands in the doorway, leaning sideways against it with an arm overhead, biting his pouty lip.

The bastard knows how good he looks. “Come here, rebel rouser,” he says.

Don’t have to ask me twice. I jump into his arms, and he slides a large hand across my cheek. We sink into a kiss that threatens to burn me alive. Fucking so be it. Perishing on this doorstep while being kissed by a hockey God in leather is a helluva way to go.

“I take it you like,” he says.

Fuck him. He knew I would. “Yeah, I do. Not what I expected after you told me I was infuriating and stormed off.”

He exhales a tired breath and pushes hair off my face. “You are infuriating, but it’s part of why I adore you so much. Never stop driving me mad with insanity. It’s like being pushed to do better on the ice, except you push me to do better as a person.”

“That’s sweet, gorilla, but I’m still not following how that led to this.”

“You infuriate me because you challenge me. Force me to re-evaluate. I’ve fallen in line my whole life for one person, fearing that if I didn’t, he wouldn’t love me as much as it feels like he does when I obey him. Meanwhile, he didn’t have the fucking decency to share something huge with me. Mother told Angelique, yet he couldn’t tell me. I thought we were best friends,” he adds.

He’s talking about his father, but he can’t say the word father.

“This isn’t to spite him. I don’t even know if I like this yet—though I do love your reaction—but I want to try new things. Different things. See what I like.” His eyes water. “Only a child worries about pleasing their parents. I don’t want to be a child; I want to be a man I can be proud of. Your man.”

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