Chapter 27
Logan
“For fuck’s sake,” Dillon curses as the opposing team ties the game.
“It’s only the first period.” I don’t know why I bother trying to make him feel better. The only thing I like about Dillon is that he’s Emery’s ex and not still her husband.
“Why are you here?” He makes a point of looking around. “At a children’s hockey game.”
I watch the Cold River team trade fist bumps with players on their bench. “Isla invited me.”
“Isla invited you,” he says doubtfully. “And when did she do that?”
“This morning, in the stables.”
“Why are you in the stables with my daughter, Logan?”
I hear the unspoken accusation in his tone, the suspicion.
The way he says my name with complete disdain.
Any chance of this being a civil conversation has evaporated.
“Well, Dillon, we were shoveling horseshit, like we do every morning,” I say calmly.
“And if I were you, I’d be way less concerned about that part and more concerned about what Isla’s going through right now. ”
“Don’t tell me what I should be concerned about. She’s my daughter, not yours.”
“Only because I wasn’t around,” I blurt without meaning to. But it’s the truth. Emery would never have given this idiot a second chance.
He cocks his head. “Is that what this little thing”—he waggles his index finger back and forth between us—“is about? You’re mad that Emery married and had a child with me and not you?”
“Who says I’m mad?” I smirk. “If I were, believe me, you’d know it.”
Dillon hesitates, as if remembering what I’m capable of. “Bro, it’s not my fault you went away.”
“Bro? You’re not my fucking bro.”
“No, you don’t have one anymore.”
I’m off the glass and moving toward the prick before I realize what’s happening.
“Logan?”
My mother’s voice freezes my momentum. I take a step back as she closes in, her deep scarlet Canada Goose parka marking her anywhere in the rink. It was a Christmas gift some years back. The whole family went in to cover the steep price tag.
My father trails her.
“What happened with Isla?” Worry shines in her eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s for Emery’s daughter or for her son, for what she’s afraid I was about to do.
“Not sure. Emery went to see her.”
“Oh. Okay.” She fastens her zipper all the way up to her chin to ward off the cold.
“Hi, Annie,” Dillon offers cordially.
She responds with a tight-lipped smile. “Donna was looking for you.” Even a stranger can see she despises the man, and she has ever since the day Sandy McAllister broke the news about the affair.
Dillon peers over his shoulder at the stands but doesn’t take the hint.
My father rolls his eyes. He always says that if Annie Landry takes issue with you, it’s one hundred percent your fault because she’s a goddamn saint for all she’s put up with over the years.
I don’t disagree.
Emery reappears from the change room then.
“What’d Isla say?” Dillon pushes.
Her jaw is clenched, her focus locked, as she marches past us without a word, aiming for the stands.
We exchange frowns and then Dillon chases after his ex-wife.
Isla hovers near the door, out of her hockey gear and red-faced, both from the game and from crying.
Like a nickel to a magnet, my mother rushes for the girl.
“You can’t go anywhere without getting into it,” my dad mutters, and I can’t tell if he’s accusing me of something or stating a fact. “What was that all about, with you and him?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“A cheap shot about Jay. He was being a dick.” And reacting with my physical size has become second nature to me.
My father sighs heavily. “Yeah, he’s real good at that. I can’t tell you how many times Clive wanted to knock sense into that son-in-law of his. He was secretly thrilled when they split.”
“I know I was.” It felt like Christmas morning the day I read that update.
“He can make your life hell, though. I remember when your mother was getting permits for the market. It took a lot longer than it should have, and I think it had to do with him not wanting that competition for his family’s grocery store.
’Course, I can’t prove that.” My dad hesitates.
“Whatever is happening between you and Emery—”
“Nothing’s happening. Nothing.” No one asked why Emery left dinner abruptly that night.
They’re all smart enough to see that my relationship with her is a pile of broken mirror glass.
Sure, we could cobble the pieces together but not without earning ourselves countless cuts, and then what?
The finished product will never work like it used to.
“You have no leeway, Logan. Not an inch. You can’t lose your temper on anyone, but especially not on Cold River’s mayor in the middle of a packed arena.”
“Yeah. I know.” But I almost did. Hopefully no one noticed. I caught plenty of curious gazes when I walked through those arena doors, which is why I beelined for what I thought was a safe, quiet corner.
This is exactly why I don’t leave our property. But at least I got to talk to Emery.
“Holt!” my mother calls out. She hovers over Isla, gripping her shoulders with affection. “We’re gonna sit in the truck where it’s quiet.”
He nods, sparing a wink for Isla before those two vanish.
The buzzer goes and the Zamboni doors open, signaling a flood between the periods.
A man and woman follow Emery down the bleacher steps, their faces stony.
“Someone’s about to get their ass handed to them,” my father muses as Emery leads the couple—parents, I assume—our way, Dillon on their heels like a third tit trying to prove it has use.
“Erin Griffin!” Emery calls, beckoning the girl over with a two-finger waggle.
My dad and I stand against the boards and watch as the girl hobbles across the rubber mats, her gait awkward in her skates. The rest of her team heads for their change room.
“Hello, Erin, I’m Staff Sergeant McAllister,” Emery begins calmly but formally, her face a mask, revealing nothing. She was like this that night the girls threw the rock through my window.
Erin’s wary eyes dart to her parents. “I, uh, know who you are.”
“Good. My detachment is helping with the investigation—”
“What’s going on here?” the Cold River coach interrupts, his scowl severe as he storms in. “Come on, we’re in the middle of a game. Can’t this wait?”
“You’re in intermission for at least ten minutes, Bob, and no, this can’t wait,” Emery snaps before returning to Erin, her tone shifting back in an instant.
“We’re investigating Holly Monroe’s disappearance and looking for any possible leads.
Earlier, on the ice, did you tell Isla that Holly Monroe is deceased? ”
“I … I didn’t say that.” Erin’s lips wobble as she looks to her parents for help.
Anyone can see that she’s lying.
Erin’s mother folds her arms across her chest. “Tell the truth. This is serious.”
“I didn’t say that!” Tears roll down her cheeks.
Emery’s expression remains cool, unaffected. “I have a witness that confirmed you said something to Isla right before your altercation with her. So, what did you say, then?”
Erin falters. “I said that if they ever find Holly, she won’t be alive.”
My anger flares. No wonder Isla hit her.
“What do you know about Holly’s disappearance?” Emery is laser-focused on the girl.
“Nothing.” She emphasizes that with a vigorous headshake.
“Do you know who she was hanging out with? Who she was talking to?”
Erin keeps shaking her head as she’s peppered with questions.
“Did you see her that night?”
“No! We were away at a tournament that weekend. I’m not even friends with her!”
“Did you know that Isla is best friends with her?”
Erin’s eyes drop as she nods.
“Do you know anything about Holly’s disappearance that might suggest she’s no longer alive?” Emery asks slowly.
“No. I just said it because everyone’s saying it and—” Her words cut off.
“And?” Emery pushes.
“And I’m mad at Isla for leaving our team.” She’s sobbing now.
I almost feel sorry for the dumb kid.
Erin’s mother’s tough act crumbles as she pulls her crying daughter into her.
“Satisfied?” Her father stayed mute through questioning but now that Emery’s point has been made, he’s quickly souring to her tactics.
Emery offers a curt nod, and Erin’s parents lead her away. I doubt she’ll be much use for the rest of the game, if she even makes it back on the ice.
“Was that really necessary?” Dillon whispers.
“Making sure she is held accountable for her appalling behavior? Yes.” When Emery spins around to face him, her eyes are spewing fire and brimstone.
“And don’t you ever accuse me of not exploring every lead when it comes to finding Holly.
” She glares up at him, daring him to answer so she can chew him to pieces.
My blood rushes, watching her. God, she is beautiful, even when she’s raging. I want her in the worst way.
Will these feelings for her ever fade?
“Annie took Isla outside to wait in our truck,” my father offers, breaking their silent standoff.
“Perfect. We’re done here.” Emery charges out through the rink door.
“Guess the game’s over for us, eh?” My dad tucks his hands into his pockets with a shudder. “Time to go home.”
“I’m fine with that.” Because that’s where Emery will be.
I step back and admire the tack room wall that I spent two hours reorganizing. “I can’t believe they let it get like that.”
Copper and Biscuit neigh in unison as if answering. The third horse, a sable-colored quarter horse named Flapjack, ignores me. He’s a quiet one.
It wasn’t my plan to tidy up when I wandered into the barn after returning from Isla’s game. I was just looking to keep busy before I did something stupid—like walk across the field and land on Emery’s front porch.