Page 119 of Ice Dance Hockey

I can’t hear what Scott’s saying, but maybe I can get an idea by watching Logan’s facial expressions. Sliding my way into the room, what I find is not what I expect. His body’s alive with nerves and coiled with tension. Huh. When I play his laugh over in my head, it’s not the carefree and easy laugh I’m used to, but my insane jealousy might have been playing tricks on my mind.

This is something worse than a bit of jealous fun. If Scott is doing anything I don’t like to Logan, I’ll?—

Logan sighs. “Yeah. I’ll work on that, too. Make a list and text it to me. I’ve got to head down for breakfast,” he lies.

Interesting.

He flops open like a starfish in the middle of the bed and allows his phone to bounce away from him. I stand over him with my arms crossed. “What was that all about?”

“You weren’t supposed to?—”

Snatching his ankle, I pull him toward me, yanking him upright and tilting his chin so that his blue-gray eyes focus on me. His eyes glass over and my teeth grind.

“I don’t give a fuck what I’m supposed to do, darling dear. What did he do?”

His lip trembles. It was bad. I’m going to tear Scott’s life apart, bone by ice-dancing bone. The words attempt to move to his lips a few times, but he can’t push them out. He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my shirt.

“Lo—”

“You wouldn’t know anything about it. You’re perfect and confident. Nothing ever pierces the skin of Rhett Elkington.”

He can’t be mad at me if he’s holding onto me as tight as he is. Using all he’s said, I piece together what could be upsetting him.

I’ll work on that too. A list. Confidence. Perfection.

“Has he been critiquing you?” Head nod. “Have you critiqued him?” Head shake.

He’s quiet as I run my fingers through his hair and think this through. It’s better to consider all angles and have a strategy than to be reactionary. I would ask if he believed Scott, but it’s clear that he does. He accuses me of being confident, but so is he, except for when it comes to two individuals that I know of.

His mother and Scott.

Sniffling, he pulls away. The stiffness filling his body says he’s given himself some kind of pep talk. He wipes his face on the back of his hand. “I should be able to take some criticism. I want to make the Olympics before I’m too old.”

I could go into a long lecture about how amazing he is on the ice. I’ve rarely seen dedication like he has. None of that will do any good. “I only take criticism from those whose opinions I value, like my coaches and a select few teammates. Not the internet and not idiotic individuals,” I say.

“I value his opinion, Rhett. He’s the best. There isn’t better.”

“Where’s his Olympic gold medal?”

“He has two. I’ve said so before.” His lips might be smiling against my torso.

I shrug. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never heard of this.”

His chest inflates, holding back a laugh. “If you’ve never heard of something, it didn’t happen?”

“You said it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Or very clever. I’m going to get Scott cancelled.” Punctuating that vow with a kiss on his crown, I pull him up. The coffee must be ready. He’s somber as I drag him to the counter that I was molesting him beside just minutes ago, but he perks up when I hand him his coffee. Black. “We should head down to breakfast before Father sends someone.”

“God, he will, won’t he? Are we going to survive four consecutive days of him?”

My gut churns. I wish there was a way for my father and my boyfriend to get along. But all will be okay. Father will let this thing with Jack go. Things will die down. He’ll fall in love with Logan.

“We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Downstairs, in the main outdoor dining area, a breakfast feast is prepared. The scent of bacon wafts across my nose. I snatch a mimosa off one of the trays on the way out the door to go with my coffee.

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