Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
As expected, Axel refused to answer questions.
Isla wasn’t much help when I asked, though she did confirm that Holly knew Axel through her friendship with Kyle and that he’d given her a ride a few times. It’s far from a smoking gun, but it does confirm that they weren’t strangers.
“I was thinking I could spend all of Christmas here this year instead of going to Dad’s,” Isla says.
“Oh.” I pause. “Is there a reason?”
She shrugs. “I just feel like staying close to home.”
If I had to guess, it has more to do with not wanting to deal with the onslaught of conversation around Holly’s case that her stepmother’s family will no doubt stir. “It’s totally up to you. You’re old enough to choose.” Selfishly, I’m happy she’s choosing me.
“Dad’s gonna put up a fight, though.”
I reach back to rub an exceptionally sore spot on my neck. “You let me handle your dad.” Fighting with him is what I’m good at. But maybe after I get a massage.
She nods, as if deciding something. “I think it’ll be fun over at the Landrys. Annie said she’s going all out.”
“That’s what you want to do? Spend Christmas over there?”
“Yeah, I think so. They feel like family. Way more than Donna’s people.” She hesitates. “Don’t you want to spend it with Logan?”
That feels like a loaded question. What have those two been talking about during their early-morning muck sessions? Surely not a certain transgression. But does she suspect anything?
After my meltdown in the tack room with Logan that night, our paths have crossed a handful of times for one reason or another, and our exchanges have been superficial but not unpleasant. “Sure.” It’s the safest answer.
Isla wanders over to the kitchen window. It’s a sunny day with a crisp blue sky and not so much as a hint of a breeze. Cold, but beautiful. “Jon’s brother and family are flying over from Calgary. He said we should have enough players for a—” She stops mid-sentence, her jaw hanging.
“What’s wrong?”
“That rat!” Slamming her mug on the counter, Isla bolts for the mudroom, shedding her robe and leaving it sprawled on the floor.
Duke struggles to heave his arthritic body off the grate to follow her.
“What are you doing?” I listen to zippers unfurling and cupboards slapping, while getting no answer. By the time I climb out of my seat, Isla has jammed her boots on and is running out the door with her coat in one hand and her skates in the other.
“It’s minus fifteen out there!” I holler, moving to the window she abandoned.
Isla charges across the field to the Landrys’ side, to where Thomas skates laps around the rink Jon and Logan built together. Jon’s been out flooding and checking the surface of that thing every day in his usual obsessive manner, waiting for ideal ice so they can have their annual ceremonial ribbon-cutting ceremony.
With such a nice morning, I guess Thomas didn’t want to wait anymore.
I head for my coat and boots.
Four tall male figures lean against the boards, watching the kids skate. It’s the one on the far right—dressed in a heavy army-green parka and knit cap—that makes me take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
“I’ll bet this brings back memories,” I say by way of greeting, sidling up at the end of the row. For years, Jay and Logan would build an ice pad in this exact spot. We’d spend hours on it after school and on weekends.
Logan turns to regard me, and flutters stir in my stomach. The thick stubble has morphed into a tidy beard and, while I would never choose to cover up that beautiful angular jaw of his, this new rugged version suits him well. Because that’s what I needed in my life—a more attractive version of Logan that I can’t have.
“This?” He points at the super rink. “This does not bring back memories.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. It’s a bit more elaborate.” All we used way back when was a tarp and some two by fours, and our ice pad was a third the size.
Isla put her skates on in record time today and is racing Thomas.
“Hey!” I hold out her hat, scarf, and a better pair of gloves for her to grab on her way past.
“Jon doesn’t know how to do basic.” Holt shakes his head, but I know he secretly loves the effort. The first year Jon sprayed a giant North Country Bison logo at center ice, I must have caught Holt staring at the thing every morning for a month.
Jon looks up from his iPad, a hint of a toque peeking out from the rim of his cowboy hat. The others have forgone theirs for knit hats to ward off the cold, but not Jon. It’s a whole aesthetic for him. “Hey, stranger. It’s been a few weeks.”