Chapter 36
Emery
Bobby’s whistle blast cuts through the sunny, cold afternoon as Jameson hits Logan into the boards. “Roughing!”
Logan laughs as his cousin throws his hands in the air.
“Come on! That was nothing.”
“No contact means no contact!” Bobby points toward the penalty box. “Two minutes on the clock, Macy!”
The five-year-old clutches a stopwatch in her mitten-clad hands. Beside her, Sarah operates the scoreboard and time keeper while Egan is suitably occupied with the bongo set Santa brought him, banging away without rhythm or rhyme.
The burn barrel blazes on the far side, and a cluster of cousins, spouses, and aunts huddle around it, absorbing warmth while Jill and Rhonda tend to the hot chocolate and mulled wine urns. The scent of smoking meat lingers in the air.
“Gosh, he really takes this seriously.” Jon’s sister-in-law Madison muses as Bobby skates past, his black-and-white referee shirt snug over layers of sweaters. Each year the three family patriarchs take their turn. This year, Holt and Wyatt are in net.
“That’s because the first Christmas we did this, Jameson landed in the ER with a broken collarbone,” Annie says. “And those two fools haven’t smartened up any.”
“Okay, good time to change!” Jon gestures to roll the lines as he comes off and the younger generation gets on.
With so many people here, they have plenty of players to make two teams. Because it’s a monumental year with Logan’s return, Jon had jerseys printed with logos for the Landry Bisons and the Barrow Bulls, designed by his lovely wife.
Bobby has already complained multiple times that the Sullivan Trees are not represented.
Isla hops on the ice, tagging Logan with a fist bump as he comes off.
“All right, boys! Let’s show these easterners how it’s done!” Jon’s brother Jacob hollers, cheering on his three teenage sons and Danielle’s boyfriend Jesse as they take to the ice against Isla, Thomas, and three of Bobby’s grandsons in the power play.
“It’s my turn!” Isla announces, taking center spot.
Jon’s seventeen-year-old nephew, Drew, squares off against her, both of them grinning at each other in challenge as they wait.
“Just let me get out of the way this time!” Bobby warns a moment before he drops the puck and hightails it out of there.
Isla’s faster than Drew, winning the draw and checking him as she skates past.
Thomas is ready, rushing forward to reach the puck, giving it to his cousin Christian. He carries it up the ice.
“Too fast!” Wyatt howls from his position in net as Christian passes it to Isla and she charges toward him, effortlessly dekeing around Drew’s younger brother Ryan. Her shot sails over Wyatt’s shoulder and into the top corner of the net.
The Landrys erupt in cheers and cowbells clang.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Drew glides in a circle around Isla, smiling.
“Pretty much,” she throws over her shoulder as she high-fives her teammates.
My heart swells. I wasn’t sure how long I’d have to wait to see her like this again—lighthearted, smiling, carefree. Even if it’s just for today, it’s a blessing.
And it’s not only her. Logan’s smile hasn’t faltered once since Isla and I arrived this morning and, unlike the weekend he returned home and Annie threw a welcome party, he isn’t hiding in a corner, looking ready to run.
I quietly watch him on the bench, laughing with his cousin’s husband as I toy with the delicate gold bracelet around my wrist. It was a gift from him this morning.
I got him concert tickets to a band we used to listen to on repeat when we were young.
It’ll require special permission from his PO, but I think I’ll be able to get that given I’m the one escorting him.
Annie leans in to whisper, “I remember when you and Logan were this age and looked at each other like that.” She nods to where Isla and Drew face off again.
“What? No.”
“Yes.” Annie’s thin eyebrows arch knowingly. “Kind of like you guys are looking at each other these days?”
I elbow her gently, earning her giggle.
“Relax. I know the rules.” She slides her fingers over her lips, mimicking a zipper closing, before she reaches out to grip my forearms. “I for one couldn’t be happier.”
A ping echoes as the puck hits the post and ricochets into the net, earning Isla a second goal.
“Okay, who invited the ringer?” Jon exclaims as another chorus of cheers erupts.
Laughter and the crisp sound of blades cutting across ice carry in the quiet night as I walk back to the Landrys after letting Duke out.
The teenagers have escaped the parents and are on the ice again, skating aimlessly as they chatter.
I spied on my daughter all night with Drew, and Annie may be right.
Logan is at the burn barrel, a box sitting by his boots. Flames dance into the sky as he feeds the fire.
I veer that way. “What are you doing?”
“Multitasking.” He reaches down to collect another pile of paper.
“Burning Jay’s shit and watching him.” His jaw juts toward Drew, racing across the length of the rink against his younger brother to prove who’s faster as Isla fires shots at an empty net.
“What do you make of this clown chasing after your daughter?”
“I like seeing her smile again.” And she’s been smiling nonstop all day. Smiling and laughing, and none of it is forced. Isla is like me—not good at pretending.
Logan’s expression softens. “Yeah. Same.”
My thoughts drift to Holly, as they do at some point every day. She’s a girl I never particularly liked, and yet I would do anything to find her.
“Remember what we were doin’ at their age?” Logan jabs at the fire with a long poker stick.
“I remember what we were doing last night.” The urge to reach out to Logan now is overwhelming. Spending an entire day pretending we’re not together so no one’s the wiser is its own special kind of foreplay, I’m learning. Every eye graze becomes a touch, every smile a stroke across bare skin.
Logan grunts as he reaches for another stack of paper to burn.
The corner of the Toronto Star peeks out. “Wait, not that.” I slide the newspaper from his grip and tuck it under my arm. “I still want to look through it.” Isla showed up and all else was forgotten.
“I don’t think it’s anything. It just got tossed in with the clutter.” Logan breaks down the cardboard box and drops it into the fire, anchoring it all with a chunk of wood. “Hank’s probably full of shit and bitter that Ian trusted Jay more than he obviously trusted him.”
“I don’t want to believe that.” It makes the whole ordeal with Travis Dorsey and the added years to Logan’s sentence an even bigger pill to swallow.
And it makes Hank’s continued lurking and threats all the more concerning because when will they end? When he’s locked away, I suppose.
“You want to head back in?” I ask.
“To that?” He nods toward the main house, packed and brimming with life, the windows cracked for fresh air to flow in and laughter and music and overtired children’s screams out.
“Hell no. I was done about two hours ago. Come on.” He guides me away from the fire’s warmth and the rink, following a narrow path that leads to the garage.
We fall into step quietly as we round the corner and duck inside.
The second the door shuts, my back is against the wall and Logan’s overwhelming size is pressed against me, his mouth claiming mine.