Page 21 of Ice Dance Hockey

Logan crosses his arms, brimming with challenge. Fuck that gets me hard. He’s absolutely fascinating. “I’m not going anywhere with you. If you have to use force, then you’re nothing but an ogre.”

Hmmm. There’s something in his body language that contradicts his words. Let’s see if he likes ogres. He’s fast, but I’m faster. He turns to run, but I’ve already got his wrist in my hand. It’s an easy lift and swoop to get him over my shoulder, something that while I could somewhat manage with Jack, it wasn’t easy. I’ve got a few inches on Jack, but I had to really get under him and lift him as more of a fireman’s carry.

Logan’s light—eerily light.

But then he starts kicking like a maniac. He won’t hurt me, but I’m worried he’ll hurt himself. I hook the heels around the hand that’s helping me hold his legs and then use my now free hand to lay a crisp smack to his bottom. It all just happens, the symphony of those movements natural. I cringe inside though, waiting for Merc to step in and claim I’ve mistreated him.

“You did not just smack my ass, Elkington. When I get down from here, I’ll skin you alive.”

Impossibly, I glance at Mercy, hoping for help on that one. Logan is small and fragile, but he’s also terrifying.

Mercy laughs. “I’m gonna let you two figure that out.”

Huh. I get the overwhelming sensation that Merc’s wanted to do what I just did, maybe a few times.

Logan has calmed down, though, and hangs over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Washroom?” I ask the room.

“Through the living room and up the stairs,” Jack says, doing a bad job of concealing how hilarious he finds this whole ordeal.

Have I maybe gotten myself into it a little more than I like to? Yes. Logan is messy. I don’t like messy. This relationship is going to require some ground rules.

There’s a wall between the kitchen and the living room. It’s plastered with flowers cut from various colors of construction paper, in all different shapes and sizes. It’s unfinished artwork. It’s as if someone glued on a few and then a few more, but there’s still unclaimed wall space, waiting for a few more.

Lorelei and Theo are on the couch on the other side of another child who’s clearly a Meyer. How many of them are there?

“There he is. I’m gonna bite his ankles,” Theo says, getting off the couch to run at me, his little mouth going straight for my ankle.

To his credit, his teeth sink into my pants and sock-covered ankle with acuity, but not only does the padding prevent him from doing much damage, I’m too used to shouldering large amounts of pain. It’s got to be a heavy hit if you want to make me flinch. I loom above him and wait for his mouth to release me.

“Hey, how come that didn’t hurt you?” he says with fascinated eyes.

“Because I’m a hockey player.”

“Spare us all,” Logan says from over my shoulder. I feel him cross his arms and imagine his bored expression. He’ll be angrier than a wasp when I release him, and I buzz with the excitement of that.

“Not fair. I’m just a little boy. You should let me get you.”

“Nuh-uh. You want to hurt me, you can learn to do it properly, or else you’re not ready to do stuff like that,” I tell him. My nuclear family may not be so big, but I’ve got a mountain of cousins on both sides. I know how to deal with little ankle-biters.

“You’re gonna be in trouble, Theo. No fighting off the ice,” Lorelei recites. Does she play too? Right. It’s probably a Meyer family recreation. Some families duke it out over a Monopoly board, the Meyers use hockey. I kind of like that.

“Whatever. He said I could. I wanna learn, Mister.”

Mister. This kid. I kind of like him. “I’ll teach you, but not today. I’m taking your brother out to dinner.”

I’m well aware of the ins and out of the relations in this family. Aside from my investigatory work, anyone with eyes could determine after that overprotective display in the kitchen, how much Logan means to Mercy, and I’m going to go ahead and assume he’s already declared Logan one of their siblings.

“No, he isn’t. If one of you could help me out, it would be appreciated,” Logan says.

“Sorry, Lo. He’s too big and hasn’t taught me how to defeat him yet.” Theo leaves and climbs back onto the couch.

“I’ll help you after this, Lo,” Lorelei promises, referring to whatever she’s watching on the TV.

“I don’t feel like it,” the other child says.

Logan mutters inaudibly from behind me and I proceed up the stairs that are built into the far wall of the living room. This house is a bit of a maze.

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