Page 147 of Ice Dance Hockey

His fingers press with bruising pressure into my back. “No. There’s no more Scott. I mean it, Logan. He’s done, as in finished. When I’m through with him?—”

“He’ll never skate in this town again…?”

“Yes,” he hisses, gritting his teeth.

“It’s too late for me to start a new routine with someone new. I’m going to see your nutrition person. I’ve been handling Scott the whole time, please trust me to keep handling him. I’ll tell you the moment I can’t,” I add when his stone glare doesn’t change.

I let that settle between us, and let Rhett think about it now that I know he’s the kind of guy who needs a little processing time. I didn’t tell him that I loved him lightly. I wouldn’t want him doing things with people that I considered dangerous either, so if he’s that worried, I’ll stop skating with Scott.

“I’m going to be sick about it, Logan, especially while I’m on the road. You’ll check in with the nutritionist three times a week?”

“Four if you want.”

His chin nods against the top of my head and I squeeze him. “Okay, but Scott and I will be having another chat.”

“Please don’t end up in jail.”

“I’m an Elkington, dearest. We don’t go to jail, but Scott might.”

* * *

Ihop on the subway from 116thStreet. My destination? Madison Square Garden. Rhett really didn’t want me taking the subway by myself, but I fought him on it and won … this time. I could tell he was scheming and pandering at the same time, which is a feat only he could pull off.

I’ve been given my first assignment as “Hockey Husband”, Rhett and Jack’s first regular season game. He said it was vital that I go. But also, I want to support my man however I can, the same way he supports me. That man is my biggest fucking fan. It’s hard to get to some of the games because of the stupid dorm curfew.

One of the conditions for taking the subway by myself was to stay alert at all times, but I need a bit of a distraction. I have to have drinks before the game in the “Wives and Husbands’ Room”. To say I’m on edge would be an understatement. Even Rhett sounded fucking nervous on my behalf, and despite his lies that there was no reason to be nervous, I knew there had to be, so I grilled him until he spilled.

“Look, don’t be mad, but you’re not supposed to get an invite to the room unless you’re considered a serious boyfriend, which you are to me, but won’t be to them.”

“Okay.”

We were on the phone. He was in Calgary for his final exhibition game. “I might have flirted with the head wife just a little bit to get you invited, but you’re in, darling dear. It will look good in the papers. Make sure to get a selfie with someone.”

“Flirted with the …Rhett!”

“And they’re a bit of a catty bunch. Only some of them. I’m sure there are some nice ones in the group. I don’t know them well.”

“Then how do you know they’re catty?”

“Don’t be mad?—”

“Already fucking mad, Rhett.”

He sighed and I pictured him massaging away the tension in his forehead. “Last season, I slept with one of the husbands.Last season,” he repeats, just in case I missed that part. “It went badly.”

“You slept with someone’s husband? You’re the fucking worst.”

“In my defense, they said they were looking for a third, and it was supposed to be a one-night thing. It wasn’t behind anyone’s back, but still ended up being a mistake because he liked me a little too much. I never did it again.”

At least he’s not a homewrecker, but now I’ll be at an event with this guy. I still haven’t forgiven Rhett since our phone conversation and fully plan on killing him when I see him.

For now, I give in and scroll through the Gram. I don’t know what possesses me to check the Elkington family Gram account, but I do, maybe hoping for some good news, I guess. It’s not good news. It’s comment after comment about me. I don’t smile enough, I’m not sweet enough, I’m only dating Rhett for his money. They think I’m influencing Rhett in a bad way, and many of the comments under his pictures express how worried they are for his welfare.

Our public popularity has gone down too many points because we’ve ignored them for too long, caught up in a love bubble, trying to carve out a little time for each other with two insanely busy schedules. I’m mostly immune to the internet trolls, but this will make that wicked line of stress form across Rhett’s brow. His perfect face isn’t supposed to have lines. It’s even worse that the tide decided to change at the start of the season.

“Hey, I’m walkin’ here,” a man says, as I try to exit at 34thPenn Station.

“Sorry!” I call after him, even though he’s the one who pushed ahead of me, and I almost trip over a rat having a meal in an abandoned food container. I swear it gives me the finger.

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