Page 178 of Ice Dance Hockey

A memory comes to mind of me not wanting to get up for hockey practice and Father slinging a younger version of me over his shoulder, carrying me to the car. It’s hard to believe I was ever small enough to do that with, and boy did I get an earful in the car. He made quite the impression on young Rhett and I was always apt to please him.

But I’m not a little boy anymore and I don’t care what Father does to me. He can take away my hockey career and my freedom, but Logan’s heart won’t be collateral.

Not ever.

I skate right off the ice.

Jack smiles, patting me on the back, knowing exactly what’s playing in my mind. “Nice! We gettin’ outta here, buddy?”

Steven is there. “Where do you two think you’re going? Get back out there. You have a job to do.”

“Move aside, Steven. We’re going back to our men,” Jack says.

“I’ll knock you over like a bowling ball, Steven.” I bare my teeth. I’d love to punch this guy in the throat.

“You won’t want to miss what’s about to take place on the ice,” the announcer guy reiterates, grinding any of the fragile restraint I’ve finally found for the first time tonight, into a pulp. “I don’t keep up enough with the Gram, but I’m told it’s the reunion we’ve all been waiting for…”

The crowd roars.

Fucking hell. Jack’s laughing. “Didn’t know so many people were Team Jackett,” he says. “I’m gonna rub that in for Merc when I see him. I bet it’ll lead to great?—”

“Jack, really not the time.”

“I know, but I’m fucking nervous, okay? This isn’t something I do every day.”

Me neither. The arena hushes as a red carpet’s rolled onto the ice.

“If I could get Jack Leslie and Rhett Elkington back to the ice,” the announcer man says. “The ceremony is about to begin.”

Ceremony?

The doors behind the attack zone open and a man in a suit struts down the red carpet. Others rush out to set up a small table.

What in the Gretzky is going on?

A second man in a suit runs toward us with microphones. “Mr. Elkington, we’re so honored that you’d have your wedding on home ice with us in Vancouver. Well, not your team’s home ice but where you’re from.” He hands me a microphone and one to Jack.

I look out at the arena full of people, holding their breath harder than a Stanley Cup game seven series final. Fuck me. This wasn’t my fault, but it’s become my problem. If I walk away, this will become a whole new disaster. I need to fix this.

My skate steps onto the ice, the crowd roars and I wave as I hit the carpet. I wait until the noise quiets. “I’m sorry to disappoint you all, but Jack and I aren’t getting married.”

“We’re not,” Jack adds, speaking into the microphone still off ice. “Sorry, folks!”

“Despite what you’ve heard on social media, I’m not in love with Jack. I’m desperately in love with someone else,” I add.

After this, I won’t be seeing him until who knows when, but I don’t think about that. I’m going to walk off the ice and then?—

“Do not let that man on the ice!” Steven shouts.

“Step aside, Steven,” Jack says, pinning Steven with one strong arm against the boards.

He’s thinner—he hasn’t been eating—but otherwise, he’s as fiery as ever, sprinting toward the entrance to the ice. He leaps like the ice dancer he is and lands on the red carpet, never missing a beat and catapulting into my arms. The weight of him settles into me like my missing piece.

“Rhett.”

“Lo.”

His strong legs wrap around me, and his hands cup my neck. Our noses meet.

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