Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
After attending my morning classes on Monday, I drove straight over to the warehouse.
In Jenna’s car this time. Rob and Sharla were back from the tournament.
Maddie filled me in when we met up outside the cafeteria.
Douglas took third, which was right in line with what they’d hoped, considering all the new blood on the team.
Of course, it had to be Maddie’s numbers that accomplished that.
My “orientation” had been about three minutes of discussion with Norman’s assistant and one gesture at a mountain of boxes. I found the supply closet and committed to being the world’s best art janitor.
By two-oh-five, I’d already inhaled enough dust to qualify for a miner’s pension. Norman’s warehouse smelled like wet concrete and old coffee, with a top note of varnish that made the back of my tongue feel weirdly minty. They’d have to mitigate that before the opening.
Thankfully, my Walkman made all my tasks manageable. After breaking down boxes for over an hour, I was in the process of flipping my mix tape when I heard footsteps.
I spun to see Logan approaching. “What are you doing here?” I pulled my headphones off.
His mom, Alice, walked up behind him. Hair neat, pea coat perfectly pressed. She carried a bag full of what looked to be blue painter’s tape and a label maker.
“Morning,” she said warmly. “First day. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I shoved the tape back into its slot and clicked the Walkman tray closed.
She looked between the two of us and said, “Alright. Well, you two have fun,” then spun on her heel and walked back toward Norman’s makeshift office.
Logan bounced on his heels, all six feet and change of testosterone-fueled muscle. “Where do you want me?”
It took me a second to process the sentence. “Uh, right now?”
“Thought I’d pitch in. Norman’s got board people touring.”
“Your mom told you that?”
He smirked. “Technically, you did. Because why wouldn’t I want to spend time with my girlfriend after practice?”
My lips drew into a line. “Is this what we’re doing?” After talking Jenna and Lindsey down last night, swearing them to secrecy, and barely getting to sleep around two, I was not mentally prepared to adjust my game plan.
I’d geared myself up for four events with Logan. Four times we had to pretend to be together, that was it. But if he was going to show up every day that I went to work? If Norman was there? Was he going to have to touch me?
“Norman Marcus doesn’t know your practice schedule,” I hissed, handing him a broom. I picked up the box cutter and went back to work.
“Oh. So you don’t want me here?”
I levelled my gaze at him, knife at the ready. “If your mom’s here, I’m assuming he is, too?” Logan nodded. “Right, so he’s going to . . . you know. Expect us to look like a couple.”
It was impossible to whisper in here. The smallest sound echoed. Thankfully, Logan’s sweeping made a good white noise buffer. “We’re just working.”
“And when we’re not?”
He bent over to pick up a piece of packing tape stuck to the floor. “We just need to come up with ground rules.”
“Perfect.” I sliced through the next box, folded it flat and tossed it on the pile. “How about no photos.”
“Like, ever? Aren’t we going to press—”
“Yes, but the only reason I’m here is to get you to come, which I still don’t understand, by the way.”
Logan frowned, resting his hands on the broom handle. “Why do you think that?”
“That’s what Norman Marcus said.”
“Can you stop with the name?”
“It’s his name, Logan. It’s like Celine Dion. You have to say both.”
He resumed sweeping. “I would’ve come to those events. My mom is being featured here.”
“That’s what I assumed, but then he made it sound like I would have to convince you. He said I had you wrapped around my finger.”
Logan winced, then muttered a few choice curse words under his breath.
I paused mid box cut. “What?”
He set the broom handle against the wall and went back for the dust pan. “I think this is Alice’s doing.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah. My mom.” He flipped his hat around backward and dropped into a squat, trying to hold the dust pan with one hand and maneuver the broom with the other.
“Stop.” I dropped the box cutter and jogged over. He handed me the broom, and we worked together to clean up the pile.
Logan dumped it into the trash bag. “My parents were at the game the other night.
They saw . . . a few unfortunate things in the stands.
Douglas girls with signs. And then they came down to the tunnel after, and you know, friends and girlfriends hang out there, and they always bring people along who want to go out after.
“More girls.”
He had the decency to look a little chagrined. “Yep.”
I started to put two and two together. If Logan’s parents were upset about his pictures from World Juniors, how would they take getting a glimpse of the potential he had for hookups on a daily basis?
“But you’re, what, twenty?”
He blew out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. My parents won’t ever stop worrying about me. With these guns—” He flexed his arm and pretended to kiss his bicep.
“Oh my gosh, stop.” I shoved his shoulder and walked back to my box cave. “So what, you think your mom decided to pretend you had a girlfriend? So everyone would find out and you’d be pressured to stay celibate?” I snorted. “Didn’t they see what happened last time?”
I tried to swallow the words as they were coming out, but couldn’t stop them. My head shot up. “I’m sorry, Logan, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s good.”
“It’s not good. You told me what happened, and then I put you right back in that box.” I lifted the half-disassembled cardboard next to me for emphasis.
Logan’s mouth twitched like he was hiding a smile. “Well. I guess you’re just a terrible person.”
“This has already been established.”
Logan looked like he was going to say something, but didn’t. He picked up the broom and moved to my side of the room. “So. Rules.”
Right. I was more than glad for the change of subject until I remembered what had distracted us. If Logan’s mom had put this whole thing into place so Logan would be held accountable, could I still avoid taking photos without causing a problem?
My heart started to race. Every time Logan was in the press, it was blasted across Douglas U. I couldn’t be in a picture with him without the entire campus finding out. “I don’t want to do photos.”
He nodded. “Okay. What are we going to say?”
“That I believe cameras steal souls?”
Logan blinked. “You’re going to pretend to be Indigenous?”
“Or Amish.” Either way, it sounded bad when I said it out loud. “Okay, maybe not. How about that I’m super insecure and have body image issues.”
Logan made a sound in his throat. “You have pink hair, Crystal. Not the choice you’d make if you wanted to blend into the background.”
“Maybe I’m overcompensating. And besides, artists are always odd ducks. I could be expressing myself only for me, you know? This isn’t for other people.” I gestured at my highlights.
Logan laughed. “Where do you even come up with that?”
I tapped my head. “It gets weird in here. You’re lucky I have a filter.”
“Not good enough to keep the Logan insults at bay.”
I flinched. “I said I was sorry!”
“Kidding, it’s fine.”
He pushed the broom, and dirt clouded between us. I coughed and stepped back, waiting for it to settle.
“Okay, no photos. What else?”
“No touching. Unless we absolutely have to.” I moved to the other side of the mountain and started there.
“Why would we have to?” Logan waggled an eyebrow.
“You’re impossible.” His grin only widened, and a thought hit me square in the chest. Was this how he was with Shar?
I thought back to every moment at Ranchman’s.
Logan was larger than life, but was his attention ever on her like this?
Maybe it was like this in the beginning.
His charm was turned up to the max, and then once they were together—once he’d gotten what he wanted—he didn’t have to try so hard.
“You okay?” Logan paused his sweeping.
I waved him off. “Oh, yeah. Just a brain fart.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but I ignored him and started in on a box that must’ve held a refrigerator. “We might have to touch if we’re walking somewhere together or we’re sitting beside each other for a long time. To make it look realistic.”
“Got it. So you’re talking an arm around the shoulder or holding hands?”
I cringed. “Who holds hands?”
“Wow. Jake from Vancouver must’ve been a real romantic.”
I picked up a box the size of my head and threw it at him. It died and landed at his feet. “That’s what you get.”
Logan chortled and picked up the box, chucking it back at me. His throw would’ve done some damage if I hadn’t dodged.
“What about kissing?” He asked, lobbing another box my direction.
“Hard pass.”
“Second base?”
“You play hockey. No need for bases.” I ducked behind a pillar and kicked a box at his head. Logan caught it, but barely.
“Perfect. So straight to the net, eh?”
“Ugh. You would.” I pressed myself flat behind the pillar, but when nothing flew past after a few seconds, I braved a look. That ended with me screaming and stumbling back because Logan was inches in front of my face with a box in his hands.
“Shit! Crystal, what—” Logan dropped the box and lunged after me, grabbing my arm before I fell completely on my ass.
When I found my footing, I smacked him in the chest. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Ow! You started it!” Logan tugged on my arm, pulling me close and giving me a nougie.
“Logan!” I pressed my fingers into his sides to get free, but that only made him squeeze tighter, locking my arms to my sides while I laughed until I could barely breathe. “Logan, I’m going to pass out!”
“Don’t tickle me,” he laughed, breathless.
“I wasn’t! I swear!”
He loosened his grip, but as soon as I moved, he locked down again.
“I’m not going to do it!” I sucked in a breath and pushed back, finally getting some separation, when a voice from across the room made me jump.
“Creating a mosaic?”
I jumped to attention, recognizing Norman’s tone before I spotted him. He stood back by the broom, two men with him. Both with camera equipment.
“We hoped we could get a photo for documentation? The floor goes in at the end of the week, and then we’re on to trim, finishing touches, and my favourite part. The artwork.” He beamed at us.
Heat climbed my neck. How much had he seen? “Um, sure. Let me just get out of the way—”
Norman clicked his tongue. “I want both of you in it, please.”
I looked to Logan with a panicked expression, but what was he supposed to do?
“Come a little closer,” Norman said, pointing to a spot in front of the now deconstructed pile of boxes. We obeyed, and he gave a satisfied nod.
Then, as the men lifted their cameras, Logan leaned down, picked up a box, and dropped it directly over my head.
Norman said something, but Logan only chuckled. “It's artistic. People will love it.”
I couldn’t have wiped the grin off my face if I tried.
_____
The rest of the week unspooled in typical fashion with notable highlights.
I completed my armature in the pottery studio and was mostly happy with it.
These days, that was the highest compliment.
I attended an excellent Art History lecture, slept better than usual, and Norman reached out to see if I could help with some administrative tasks like organizing and responding to some of his emails.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find all of it fascinating. Once he gave me access, I read every single message, sometimes scrolling back in the chain for months. Logan was on a week-long away game tour. Ottawa, Toronto, and one game south of the border.
By Friday afternoon, I was home alone, wearing socks and drinking tea. It couldn’t have been more idyllic before the pounding on the front door started. I debated ignoring it completely, but this person didn’t walk away after a minute. Or three.
I finally got up and opened it to find Maddie, hair in a ponytail, eyes flashing. She held up the Calgary Herald like a cop flashing a badge, and my stomach clenched.
Front page of the City section, there was a photo of me and Logan at the warehouse, but not the one with the box on my head. I was in his arms, both of our faces thrown back and shaped by laughter.
The caption was in bold: BLIZZARD STAR LOGAN KEMP AND DOUGLAS UNIVERSITY STUDENT PITCH IN AS NEW GALLERY TAKES SHAPE. The subhead: ‘Young artist’ and Kemp’s girlfriend, Crystal MacMillan, leads the charge.
Maddie tapped her foot on the steps. “Explain.”