Page 141 of Ice Dance Hockey

“Your dad’s hot, but he’s an asshole. We had chemistry last year when he was slinking around, making sure no one pulled Jack up to the NHL. I didn’t want anything to do with him?—”

“Despite all this chemistry?” I growl.

“Yes. But when Mercy asked for my help, I knew what I could do to get Maxwell to lay off.”

“I bet you did. God.” I take a breath to gather my thoughts. They’re consenting adults, them fucking isn’t a crime, but I’m not over my parents’ impending divorce.

“It was only supposed to be the one night, but … look, it’s over now. I’m sorry it ever happened. I broke things off with him in Hawaii when I heard he still planned to control Jack’s hockey career. I was so angry. I hoped that would be enough to bring him to his senses.”

The man looks pathetic. “Don’t tell me you fell for him.”

He scrubs a hand over his head, mussing up his sweat-dampened hair. “Just a little. I was stupid enough to think he’d fallen for me, too.”

I want to stay mad at Eddie, but aside from the fact that he’s done a lot for Jack, I can’t help thinking about how I would feel if Logan and I were ever separated for any reason. I’d donate both kidneys just to see him while I took my last breath.

“I think he did fall for you in the only way Maxwell Elkington can, but I guess not even love can cure egomania.”

“Guess not. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m gonna tell Mercy what happened, too, so he can have his turn at raking me over the coals.”

Mercy will forgive him quickly, but he will rake him over the coals. “You’re on your own with that, Coach.”

If I stay here a second longer, there’s going to be blood on the ice. I exercise the restraint of a storm, barreling into the locker room and ending the life of an innocent water cooler.

* * *

The saying about when it rains it pours … it’s fucking pouring.

“What’s that look on your face about?” Jack says, watching me stare at my phone with contempt. “It’s too early in the morning for murder, Rhett.”

I turn my phone around to show him the picture of us that some “Team Jackett” fan posted.

Jack laughs. “This is clearly photoshopped. I’ve never had abs like that, even in the middle of the season. It’s also a terrible ship name.”

RhettLo does have a better ring. “The eight thousand people who liked and commented on this post don’t seem to know the difference.”

“Meh. Post some cute RhettLo shit, and I bet you’ll get a Bella Poarch-worthy engagement spike.”

I scroll and turn my phone to show the last image my PR team posted of me with Logan. “Half. It’s half, Jack.”

He rolls his eyes. “I hate that you have to worry about that crap.”

Me too, but I do. I send a message to my PR team to see what they’re doing about the situation and once I’m satisfied, I call Logan.

“Baby? Everything, okay?” he says. His voice doesn’t sound right.

“Did you see the picture?”

“Yeah, but whoever made that has never seen Jack’s abs before. They’re nice, but these make him look like he’s saucing.”

My abs look like I’ve been saucing too, but I’ve never done a steroid in my life, blessed with supreme genetics. “You’re not upset?”

“Nope.” His breath hitches and it dawns on me what’s wrong with his voice. It’s stuffy sounding, but I know he’s not sick and I believe him that he’s not upset about the doctored Jack and Rhett photo.

“Logan.”

“I’m just having a moment. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think you understand how I work. Tell me what happened, or I’ll leave training camp to come find out for myself.” I’ve been hesitant to have Logan followed by my PI team without his permission and I’ve been meaning to bring it up. Maybe I should ask for forgiveness instead of permission on that one.

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