Page 18 of He Has Santa (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Still is,” I say, remembering as my insides flip and a bubble of longing floats to the surface.
“Frankly, I’m impressed that he’s stepping up for Nicky with no questions asked.”
“Why would he ask?” I say. “It’s clear as day that Nicky is his child.”
Mom acknowledges with a nod. “Those ice-blue eyes. They always look so intense on him, but on Nicky, they twinkle with mischief. She’s got your sass June.”
After putting Nicky to bed, I call Logan back to apologize for abruptly hanging up.
“You’ll come to the game then and stay until the end?” He says, his voice softened with fatigue.
“Yes. And I’ll bring Nicky.”
A beat of silence follows, and I realize what I said, how it sounds. Of course, I would only go if I brought Nicky. Why else would I go? In spite of what my mother said, I wasn’t invited to go as Logan’s date, only as Nicky’s mom. The silence goes on another beat, and I try to think of what to say to make it not awkward, but he talks first.
“Would you have come without Nicky?” Of course, he asks. Of course, his voice rumbles low, like a tuning fork, sending vibrations through my belly. It’s low and gravelly, but there’s a spark of awareness in it, and whatever fatigue I’d heard before is gone.
It’s a dangerous question, and I don’t answer for a long time. But I feel a deep-seated need to be honest with him. Maybe to make up for the past six years, I owe him that.
“Yes. In a heartbeat. I… sorry.” I laugh, letting go of my tension, letting the curtain drop from my emotions.This is Logan. The man who held me made love to me and made Nicky with me. “You have me so turned around in circles I feel like a figure skater doing a spin.”
“You gain a new skill while you were gone?” The smile I hear in his voice sends a ripple of longing through me. Desire races right behind the longing, pushing in through the open door of my confusion, coloring everything, especially my cheeks, as the heat rises.
“Sure. I’ve gained lots of skills. But none of them includes me wearing a pair of figure skates.”
“I bet. I can’t wait to hear all about it, Junie.”
The familiarity of that old nickname only he ever uses kicks my heart into overdrive, sizzles my blood, and dissolves whatever distance I’ve been trying to keep. I’m once again that foolish young girl, and for the life of me, I can’t feel dismayed or worried or anything but giddy. Later maybe my foolishness will hit me, and I’ll lecture myself. But right now, the emotional muscle memory is too strong not to revive all those feelings we shared, all those intimacies, the pleasure and specialness of Logan’s singular attention, of being the object of his desire.
“You can wait one day,” I say.
He laughs. It’s what I always said to him whenever he said he couldn’t wait to see me the next day—which happened daily our senior year. Right up until the last day I saw him. I clear my throat. “Let me go now. I need to get Nicky to bed.” I lie because I need to escape him; the tension and dangerous heart rate could kill me if the draw of his charm doesn’t.
I’m like one of those moths flying too close to the flame, and I understand how they feel, why they’re drawn despite the heat and the danger. Even with the need coiling inside me, I know I need the break. I have no idea if he’s feeling the same desire for me, or worse, if he’s feeling it in spite of not forgiving me for Nicky, so I force the good-night past my desire to talk forever.
* * *
The next nightafter the game, Nicky seems wide awake to spite me, and we wait for Logan in the cement corridor outside the locker room. I refuse to go to the friends and family room. Ten minutes pass, Nicky leans into me, the excitement that had kept her alert clearly waning.
“How much longer, Mommy?” I’m hoping not much, but he has to shower and dress, and I’m afraid it’ll seem like forever to her. Then I look up, and there he is, emerging from the dressing room, hair glistening wet, scruffy beard, and sharp blue eyes all aimed at Nicky and me. I feel his smile right between my legs as he reaches us.
“I have something for you.”
“Look what I have for you,” he says, handing Nicki a puck. I notice it’s signed. It says“to my daughter Nicky—love Dad”It’s written in script, so Nicky can’t read it, but it’s one of those things I know she’ll treasure as my mind fast-forwards ten years from now seeing her as a well-loved young lady. Panic shakes me as tears rise. Nothing would mortify me more than to cry right now at something so small. My emotions run too high, and I need to get under control.
“A game puck?” Her face glows, and she reaches up to him, a yawn escaping. “Thank you so much.”
He lifts her into his arms, giving me a smile over her head. She leans against his shoulder and looks comfortable, making me sigh. My smile at Logan is genuine, and some of my tension eases as Nicky yawns, the night out catching up with her and overriding her precocious tendencies.
Until Brady Mack sees us and heads our way, I can see recognition on Brady’s face when he looks at Nicky. He’s going to assume she’s Logan’s daughter, and worse, he’ll assume we’re a happy little family. Nerves kick in again as I’m hoping Nicky is too sleepy to engage.
“You must be Logan’s wife and daughter.” He says before Logan can introduce us. Then he pats Nicky on the head and says, “I can see you have your dad’s eyes—they look better on you.” He winks at her. Her eyes flutter with drowsiness, and my heart hammers with fear, but I need to say something. My eyes lock on Logan’s, and he’s startled but not put out. In fact, I think he’s proud and glad that Brady recognizes the resemblance.
“Yes—there’s definitely a family resemblance,” I rush the words, hoping Nicky keeps quiet. I can see the confusion in her eyes. My poor girl.This is just the beginning of your confusion, I’m afraid. Logan angles her away from Brady, hugging her protectively as if he can magically make everything all right, make the pretense of a happy family real.
Brady looks at me and nods.
“This is June,” Logan says quietly. “Brady Mack.”
