Page 6 of Ice Dance Hockey

Once Jack’s gone, Merc the Terrible shows his face. He taps a finger on the table. “Jack does a lot for you. Be nicer to him.”

“Be nice or I’m gone?”

“No. Didn’t say that. I’m asking you. I don’t know why you’re so snappish with him.”

Truth is, I don’t know why either. I’m pretty sure it’s plain jealousy. Mercy adores him, meanwhile, he’s letting me live here out of obligation. Okay, so I do know. I’m not admitting to something that juvenile.

I shrug.

“That card ain’t coming free, kiddo. You’re gonna help me fix cars this summer,” he declares.

I should tell him now, about the housing thing. But how do I do that? I need a lot of money that he won’t have. He’ll have to ask Jack and that’ll add more stress to his already stressful life. Maybe I have to come to terms with the fact that I won’t be going to school.

He stands up, his chair scraping against the hardwood floors. “I’m gonna, uh, kiss Stan on the head, too,” he says.

Sure, he is. He’s going to grovel and then kiss Jack for a while. At this rate, I’d get my headphones faster if I ordered them. But at least his departure gets me out of having to decide if I’m telling Merc my little secret.

Truth is, I don’t like being a dick to Jack, but he’s a hindrance to my ultimate plan of staying with my brother for just a little longer than a few months. If I don’t come up with the money, I’ll need a place to live and if by some miracle I do—could always make an Only Fans account—I’ll need a place I can return to next summer and the summer after that, at least until I graduate. I don’t want to be anywhere near Mom ever again.

I guess we kind of need Jack’s money, though. God, I sound like an asshole even to myself, but it’s just facts. If only Jack did want to go back to his ex, and I did come into enough money to solve my problems, then I might feel comfortable settling in here. People like Jack are a threat to people like me. He’s wonderful. Perfect. People fall for him instantly and want to give him the moon.

People like me are the opposite of wonderful. I know what I am; high maintenance, demanding, sour. There are reasons I don’t have any friends aside from not wanting them.

If it boils down to me or Jack, Merc’s gonna pick Jack, and I can’t let that happen.

Chapter3

One Evil Plan

Rhett

Five … four … three … two … one and up and at ‘em. I go through my morning routine with a little more purpose this morning. There’s a pep in my step that’s been missing for some time. In addition to losing Jack last season, we didn’t even manage to make a cup run. My stats were on par, better than others, so I know it wasn’t my performance dragging the team down.

It didn’t stop the ear-splitting lecture I got from my father or the shattering stare of disappointment from my mother.

At least we got the best draft pick with our low numbers, and we got Jack. He’s a good team member, in a relationship and on the ice. He’s always there to accept the puck. We’ve always worked well together there, too, leading the charge down the ice. It’s going to be a perfect season with him by my side.

I don’t allow myself the twenty minutes of robe time relaxation I usually do. I want to get to the rink early. After a string of emails in which Jack was extremely apologetic, making it clear that he was not actively trying to flirt with me, I was awarded my ice time back. Not that I felt I’d ever truly lost it, but as Father always says, it’s better to let small details like that go when you can avoid a battle, thus saving your energy for a battle that requires more of it.

Accepting the ice time back graciously, I left it alone. I don’t believe for a second that Logan will be compliant the first few times, but I’m working on an investment now and Jack’s worth giving up a little of my ice time for.

At the rink, I don’t bother with my hockey gear, opting to remain dressed in my impeccable and rich attire. Logan doesn’t like hockey players and while being dressed in civilian clothes doesn’t make me any less of a hockey player, it’ll put him at ease when I talk to him.

I’m early. It’s four forty-five am. I take a seat in the stands, wishing I’d brought my noise-canceling headphones to prevent this auditory crud from reaching my eardrums. Why oh why must he be obsessed with this musical? There are far better ones. Or hell, what about that Wednesday Adams dance that was so popular on social media a while back? Logan is Wednesday Adams. He wouldn’t even have to wear make-up.

He's got the eyes for it too. Big. Sad. Haunted. He’s so thin that he’s a tad sallow in the face, too. None of it takes away from his beauty. He’s a pretty, tormented doll.

Sitting with my thick arms crossed over my barrel chest, I wait. I wore a blue sweater to bring out my hazel eyes. A chin like mine goes over better when I’m in a blazer and black slacks. He’ll see. I’m sure he’ll find me irresistible today.

He doesn’t know I’m here. Hasn’t spotted me yet. It’s good to know what someone looks like when they’ve let their defenses down, and for him, it’s when he’s on the ice. He’s lost in the music—awful as it is—skating at speeds I didn’t know figure skaters were capable of. Yesterday makes a bit more sense. I don’t pay much attention to the sport. Even calling it a sport seems generous when I consider the beating I take every night that I play.

Imagine being chased by a battering ram while you attempt to chase a tiny piece of rubber that is way too small, flying around way too fast. Now that’s a sport.

Tension holds me hostage as the little fool gets closer to the boards. He’s going to break his neck like that. Even I’d be slowing down by now and?—

Swish, whip!He turns and spins in the air and for three terrifying seconds, there’s a combination of violence and awe wrapping a chokehold around my lungs. No one can jump that high on skates and live to talk about it. Well, I mean, I might be able to do it because I’m me, but I’m a mountain. He’s so breakable. I don’t breathe until he lands on the ice with the grace of a swan.

Huh. Maybe he could have made that turn yesterday. Maybe I didn’t need to play white knight.

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