Chapter 13 Asshole-ish
Thirteen
Asshole-ish
Logan
With the flip of a switch, Brie hates me again.
Truthfully, I don’t know if she ever stopped, but for twelve hours, she hated me less.
Is she mad I dodged the almost-kiss conversation?
Probably. But the truth—I was drowning from missing my deceased wife and you were right there—didn’t exactly scream “healthy boundaries.” My original answer sounds less asshole-ish.
Now, not only does she hate me again, but she’s actively trying to destroy my carnival.
Fuck with me. Fine. Fuck with the carnival.
Not going to happen. Prior to moving back, I had a lawyer friend scour the Mount Holly bylaws line by line, and because of sections forty-five to forty-seven, I made sure the carnival was just on the other side of the town’s boundary.
Now, it’s nine at night and SportsCenter is murmuring in the background while I pretend to read contracts. I’m a paragraph in when my phone rings, glancing at the screen Jason Clarkson, a former teammate, flashes across the top. I press the talk button. “Hey Clarkson, how are you doing?”
“I’m not so bad. How about yourself?”
“Good, good. Of course, you know, the holidays are always tough.” When I played in Chicago, he lost his girlfriend in a car accident. We’ve gotten close because of it.
“Yeah, they definitely are. So how is the change from big-city life to country boy treating you?”
If he only knew what the last few days have been like, he’d shit himself. “Well, actually not so bad. I kind of like it. It’s much slower paced.”
“I couldn’t do it. Too cold for me.”
“You played in Chicago with me for four years.”
“It still doesn’t change the fact that I hate the cold.”
“You played hockey.”
“Playing hockey in the cold differs from lounging around in a snowbank. You’re moving.
Working up a sweat. I don’t want to be wearing ten layers of clothes just to stay warm.
If I can walk around with my hockey gear on all the time, sure.
Anyway, how’s the carnival life treating you?
Did you find yourself some clowns? A magician? A Ferris wheel?”
I bark out a laugh. “Definitely no Ferris wheels.”
“Oh that’s right. You refused to come with us when we rode up to the top of the Willis Tower.”
“I value my life more than standing on top of a glass floor, one hundred and three stories in the air, with nothing but pavement below me. Hard pass.” Now it’s Jason’s turn to laugh.
“Anyway, wrong kind of carnival. This is more Christmas themed with games, vendors, and an ice rink. I’ve been busting my ass to get it up and running, and I even found myself in a Christmas war with a girl named Brie McKenna.
She’s in charge of the Christmas festival the town puts on. ”
“Well, you’ve always thrived on competition.”
“Oddly, it’s been the best distraction.”
“Perhaps a war in the streets and then later you can get freaky between the sheets.”
A laugh escapes me. I won’t lie, the thought has crossed my mind. “No. Nothing like that. Just when I see her, everything else disappears. She makes me feel.”
“I understand that.”
“Let me guess, once you get those feelings out, you move on to the next.”
“I did the settling down thing once. See how well that worked out for me? I’m trying a different approach now. It’s something you should try,” he suggests.
“I’ve never been the type of person to jump from bed to bed.”
“Jumping beds is pretty fun.”
“Plus, I don’t want Josie to see me with a different woman every week.”
“Yeah. That’s true. Alright, well, I just wanted to call and see how things are going. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
“It’ll keep me busy for sure.”
“Talk to ya.”
“Later.”
After hanging up, I kill the TV and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow will be better. Or Brie will find a new way to sabotage it, unless she’s given up. But if I know her, she doesn’t give up easily.
The next morning, after dropping Josie off at school, I drive to Reindeer Ridge. Once parked, I kill the ignition and climb out. My boots sink into the fresh powder from last night’s snowfall. Next to the barn, Henry’s muscling hay bales onto a trailer.
“Hey Henry!”
He straightens and pulls off his gloves. “Hey Logan.” We meet halfway and he greets me with a handshake.
“I wanted to stop by and arrange reindeer for the carnival.”
“About that…” He studies the snow like it holds answers. “They’re all booked.”
“All eighteen?” My stomach drops. Reindeer are a pivotal component of the carnival.
What Santa doesn’t have reindeer? Henry rubs the back of his neck.
I arch a brow. “Brie?” His gaze drifts up to meet mine, lips pressing into a thin line.
His silence confirms my answer. I grit my teeth.
“If she wants a Christmas war, she’ll get a Christmas war.
” I called it. I had a feeling it wouldn’t stop at the town’s boundary line.
I have to hand it to her; she’s grown a backbone since high school.
If she thinks a lack of reindeer at the carnival’s going to stop me, she’d better prepare for a little tit for tat.
Henry lifts his hands, palms out. “Leave me out of this. I still have a business to run.”
“Of course. I’ll be sure to add some extra signage for Reindeer Ridge around the carnival. By the way, what’s the tallest Christmas tree you have this year?”
“I have a fifteen-footer.”
“I’ll take it!”
He winces. “I usually save that for Brie.”
“I’ll pay you double.” Henry twists around, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes tick over the fields. “Triple.”
“Shit,” he mutters, then sighs. “That’s a really good price. Are you sure you’re not doing this to get back at Brie?”
Obviously, I am, but I also don’t want this to interfere with their friendship. “It’s business.” I lift a brow.
“Yeah.” He nods, dropping his gaze to the snow. “And I can definitely use it.” He drums his fingers on his thigh. “Alright. I can’t turn down the money.” I hold out my hand, and he grips it with his, shaking on it.
“What’s the second tallest tree?”
“I have three twelve-footers.”
“I’ll take those too.”
“Jesus,” he mutters.
“It’s business,” I reassure him, which is technically true, but also includes a side of revenge.
After moving my newly gained trees across the street, I spend the rest of the afternoon adding the finishing touches to the s’mores hut and lacing up my skates to test out the rink.
The second the blades cut into the ice, my brain quiets.
My mom likes to say I came into this world wearing ice skates.
It’s where I feel most comfortable. Most relaxed.
Plus, a winter carnival in Minnesota is like Santa without cookies—possible, but why?
Minutes turn to hours as the sky transforms to vibrant hues of red, orange, pink, and purple.
My fingers are numb, and my legs are pleasantly dead.
I glide toward one of several benches surrounding the rink and exchange my skates for my boots.
On my way home, I stop at the Crooked Reindeer.
As I step inside, the usual chorus of hi Logan and hey man, rolls through the bar followed by a couple of chin lifts and a few back slaps. At the end of the bar, I claim an empty stool.
Before I’m fully seated Simon slides a beer to me. “I found some of my old hockey equipment to donate for the junior league tournament if you want to pick it up, or I can drop it off?”
“Great. Thanks. I can pick it up. I tested the ice today, and it’s perfect.” I take a swig of beer.
“That didn’t take you long to lace up.” He tilts his head. “How’s the rest coming?”
“Good. I have everything set up and I have a wide variety of vendors. Everything’s coming along smoothly.”
“How many teams do you have for the hockey tournament?”
“Surprisingly, I have ten adult teams and six junior teams, which will make for a nice, long weekend of hockey.”
He goes quiet, eyes on mine. “Question for you. Are you doing the carnival because you want to? Or is there another reason?”
Organizing a Christmas carnival wasn’t on my bucket list. It’s not remotely close to anything on any list of mine, but it was on Brooke’s.
Over the years leading up to what was supposed to be the inaugural year, she’d often ask for my input on activities or my advice on what type of vendors to have, but otherwise she did the rest. She was only months away from making it happen. Then she was gone.
“Your silence is my answer.” He nods. “I’m going to be real with you. And you might hate me for it and won’t want to hear it, but it’s been three years. I think it’s time for you to live your life for yourself. And not someone else.”
A spark of heat shoots up my neck. “You’re right about one thing—I don’t want to hear it.”
He raises both hands and backs off a step. “Alright. As your friend, I want to be honest with you. I’ve known you for a long time. I only want to see you happy.”
I lift the beer to my lips, letting the cool liquid settle my jumbled thoughts.
When was the last time I was happy? Certainly not anytime in the last three years.
Sure, there were brief moments of joy, like when Josie nailed her part in the school play.
She was very excited. Or when she brought home her report card with all As.
Proud dad moment. Or the year she wanted ice skates for Christmas because she wanted to be like her dad, so we spent the afternoon skating at the park.
The first time I felt less alone was lying in the snowbank with Brie’s body pressed on top of mine.
I down another gulp of beer and scan the room, mostly to change the subject—and there she is. Brie throws her head back at something Willa says, laugh lines fanning at the corners of her eyes. Even when she hates me, she lights up a room. And she’s still beautiful when she does it.
“Brie’s looking good these days, huh?” Simon murmurs.
I tear my gaze away, hoping I didn’t stare too long. “Yeah.” Stunning would be more accurate.
“I was thinking of asking her out.” He shrugs.
My muscles tense. Simon likes Brie? No way. Not possible. “Why would you do that?”
He chuckles. “Well, we’ve been friends for a while. She’s single, and I’m single. Perhaps something will develop between us.” He throws the bar towel over his shoulder and rests his palms on the smooth wood surface in front of me.
The words “the fuck you will” get lodged in my throat. I have no claim on her. Then why do I want to reach across the bar and wrap my hands around his throat and tell him she’s mine?
“Unless you’re planning on asking her out?” He lifts his brow.
Oh shit. This is a test. We’re playing chicken. I make my mouth form the words. “You go right ahead.”
“Alright.” He straightens to his full height; eyebrow cocked like a challenge. “I’ll do that right now.”
“You do that.” My foot bounces on the ring of the barstool. My grip tightens on the bottle of beer, and I’m surprised I don’t crush it into a thousand shards.
He pivots on his heel and struts toward Brie.
He’s not going to ask her out. He’s probably just going to ask if she needs another drink.
Discreetly as possible, I glance over my shoulder to witness their interaction.
As soon as he reaches their table, all three of their heads turn to him.
His mouth moves, but I don’t know what he’s saying.
A second later, Brie jumps up from her stool and wraps her arms around his neck.
Their embrace lasts entirely too long for my liking.
Fuck. He just asked her out, didn’t he? They break apart, and he nods at the other two girls.
Simon returns wearing a smug little half-smile. “It’s done.”
“Congratulations.” I grit through my teeth.
Pain knifes through me—clean, sharp, just below the ribs.
Tipping back the last of my beer, I slam the bottle a little harder than necessary.
The stool screeches as I stand. “I forgot I have some things to take care of at home,” I mutter.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out some cash and toss it onto the bar before stomping my way toward the exit.
I punch through the door, the dark, cold, crisp night air smacking into me like a brick—a stark mirror to my current mood.