Page 67 of Ice Dance Hockey

“All right, c’mon then.”

The three of us head up to Jack and Mercy’s bedroom. Since the baby is asleep, Jack places him down in his bassinet—where he should be when he sleeps anyway, in my opinion. From the walk-in closet, Jack pulls out an old box that a pair of hockey skates had once lived in. We sit on the floor and open the tattered lid like a pair of thieves.

From another box within the box, Jack pulls a bracelet so golden it looks like Rhett stole a ray of sunshine to tie around his wrist. “I was supposed to wear it all the time, but sometimes I didn’t because, look at it. Not very me. I mean, I loved the sentiment and so when I did wear it, I wore it with pride, but for every day? No. It drove Rhett nuts when I didn’t have it on.”

It’s probably worth a mint, but yeah, it’s gaudy. “I hope whatever he gets me is a lot different than this.”

“I have a feeling it will be. Now, level with me. I had an interesting meeting with him at the coffee shop.”

“What did he say?”

“Nuh-uh. You first.” Jack inclines his head and it’s clear he’s beginning to develop just a little of that parent eye. The one that gets you to do stuff. With him looking like that, it’s hard to remember that he’s only six years older than me.

Running hands through my hair and tugging at the collar of the sweatshirt of his I’m wearing—did it get hot in here?—I consider the various ways I can talk to Jack about fooling around with my fake boyfriend who happens to be his ex-boyfriend, but there’s no script for that.

“I might let Rhett be my first. Please don’t tell Merc.”

Jack might have a heart attack. “No way am I telling Merc that. He doesn’t like the situation with you two as it is.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, I’m actually … look, I think Rhett might be developing feelings for you.”

“Feelings? God, no, Jack. It would be a friends-with-benefits thing.”

His brows nearly crawl off his head in disbelief. “You two aresoin denial.”

“I like Scott,” I say as if it will fix this quickly devolving conversation. “I’m going to practice with Rhett, so I don’t make a fool of myself with Scott.”

“No. No, no, no. This is bad.” Jack clutches his chest.

“I can’t stay a virgin forever because my brother doesn’t like my choices in men. Besides, for once, I think Merc might be wrong.” Scott doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body. I can see why he came off as a fuckboy, but he isn’t one.

“I guess not, but just, please don’t be in a rush for that stuff. Even though I was younger than you when I had sex for the first time, it was with someone I cared about.”

He had that luxury. Everyone likes Jack. “That’s kinda old school, Jack. I’d rather get it out of the way.”

Jack huffs, stuffing the bracelet back into the small box and then shoving that box into the bigger box. “You don’t have even the tiniest spark of feeling for Rhett?”

“Now you want me to like Rhett?”

“Kinda, yeah. You’d be good for him.”

They’re giving me whiplash.

The moment by the car outside Rhett’s parents’ house comes to mind. “I feel safe with him, but I don’t know if that’s the same as liking. Scott gives me butterflies.” As soon as I say that, I remember a few times Rhett has given me butterflies. “Okay, maybe Rhett does, too, a little.”

But whatever little he might feel about me, it’s nothing compared to what he feels for Jack, so there’s no point in getting hung up over little moments and sparks. I can’t tell Jack that part.

We hear the door downstairs open and Jack jumps into action, stuffing his box of goods into the furthest reaches of the closest. He returns holding up his thick pinky finger. “This is Vegas. We’re not gonna talk about this stuff to Merc for now.”

I cling to his pinky with my smaller one. “Fuck, no.”

Shaking on it, we laugh together, and I think Jack and I might officially be friends. Goddammit. He’s impossible to hate. He picks up the baby monitor.

“You’re actually leaving Stan here?” It feels weird leaving him. He’s always with us in some way.

“Right, fuck it. I don’t wanna leave him all alone either. C’mere, buddy.” He lifts Stan to him and the wind screeches some more, but he doesn’t wake up. For a moment, we feel like a little club and I’m not ready to let it go yet. “I can fix cars,” I blurt out. “I’m stringing Merc along.”

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