Page 53 of Ice Dance Hockey

He wants to meet today at a local coffee shop near The Wicklow where Jack used to work. Originally, Jack had told the manager he’d work over the summer before he found out that he’d be moving up to the NHL. But with their limited time together before they both travel to work, he asked the manager if Bryce could take his place. He inquired about me getting hired too, but I turned it down, preferring the car work. Pubs have too many people in them.

I have zero clue as to what I should wear to meet Scott freaking Orser. Merc knocks on my door as I’m standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, debating on whether I wear a concert T-shirt, or one I got from a musical. My tastes vary from System of A Down to Wicked.

“What’s up, kid?”

“I’m meeting Scott Orser today and I have no idea what the fuck to wear—don’t you dare say be yourself. I can’t be myself. I have to be the opposite of myself.”

“Whoa, Lo. Sit down a sec or you’re gonna have an aneurysm.”

I take his advice and sit while he sifts through my closet. He returns with nothing.

“You wanna wear one of my concert T-shirts?”

Would I? Hell yeah. We like all the same music. It’s kinda eerie actually.

“I’ll take that smile to mean yes. Put some jeans on and I’ll get one I know you’ll like.”

I have a cool older brother who’s willing to lend me his concert T-shirts. And, I mean, lets me stay in his home and puts up with all my high-maintenance idiosyncrasies, but somehow this is cherry-on-top kind of special.

Tossing on a pair of black skinny jeans and some socks, I saunter into the open door of his bedroom, where Jack’s on the bed, cooing at Stanley. His wild “hockey lettuce” as he calls it, is messy, sticking up all over the place. He must have taken a mid-morning nap.

“You need a ride somewhere?” he offers.

“Naw. I’ll take my bike. It’s a nice day.”

Merc tosses a shirt at me. I open it up to take a look. “Motley Crüe?”

“Yep.”

I’ve had the hugest crush on Tommy Lee for the longest time. When Jack called me Tommy Lee in jest, I took it as a compliment.

I shrug into the T-shirt. It’s a little big, of course, but I can tuck it into my jeans, and it’ll look wicked with a large belt buckle. “Thanks, Merc,” I say and wander over to the bed where Jack is with Stan. I find myself running a hand over Stanley’s fuzzy head without thinking about it. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you guys later.”

I’m filled with possibility. Scott texted me. He wants to meet up with me. Me!

Jack and Merc exchange a look that says they’re wondering if I’ve been abducted by aliens. Jack opens his mouth, but Merc cuts him off. “Don’t say it. There’s no such thing as the Mandela Effect.”

Jack raises his brows and gestures toward me as if I’m undeniable proof that the Mandela Effect exists. “I dunno, Merc. He’s opposite Logan today, just sayin’. Only explanation I can think of is that we’ve quantum jumped into a new reality.”

Maybe we have because I can’t even think of something nasty to say in response. I’m smiling ear to ear.

“I think it’s just because he has a massive crush on a boy, Jack. The protective older brother in me wants to rain a long list of caution on his parade, but I’m going to exercise my inner Jack and look on the bright side. Have fun, Lo. I hope I’m wrong about him.”

That twists my gut, though. Merc’s intuition is seldom wrong, if ever, according to everyone.

Jack points at Merc. “Mandela Effect strikes again,” he whispers for my benefit.

* * *

I’m outside, gearing up to go. My phone buzzes and it’s the expected text from Rhett.

Father beat me to the punch. He wants us at dinner tomorrow night. I couldn’t say no. I apologize.

Rhett’s apologies are rare, and he wouldn’t dare give me one he didn’t mean. I’ve already let him know that shit like that won’t fly with me. Fuck, his dad is such a demanding prick. Doesn’t that irritate Rhett at all?

Yeah, baby. It’s okay. I can make it.

I slip my phone into my pocket and put my helmet on. Then I freeze because what the fuck did I just type? I would facepalm if I didn’t have a foot of helmet around my head. Maybe I can delete it before he sees it?

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