Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
He leans back against the headboard, closing his eyes. I watch him through blurry eyes as he swallows what looks like a sob. He pushes it away. I want to tell him it’s okay. He can cry if he wants, but clearly, he doesn’t want to. When he opens his eyes, he seems steadier.
Gently, he strokes the tears from my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You deserved better than that,” I tell him. “Every child does.”
“Our child will,” Logan says forcefully. “Look at your parents. They’re an example of how to do it right. We’ll be like them. We’ll never hurt our kids. We’ll protect them. They’ll do sports if they want to but because they want to. Not so they can fall into a coma every night.”
“We’ll give them so much love,” I say.
“Love,” he repeats, looking down at me. For a second, I think he’s going to say I love you, but then he nods. “Yeah, we will. All the love in the world.”
A thought occurs to me. “Is that why you’re called Ice Demon? In homage, or a middle finger, to your childhood?”
“No,” he replies, with a slight smirk, a shadow of a real smirk. “That was a coincidence.”
“How did you realize the monsters weren’t real?” I ask. “You said you were fourteen.”
“It was small things,” he says. “When I was six or seven, or even nine or ten, she would say, I just fought with a monster, Edouard. I believed her, but as I got older, I started questioning it. Where are the cuts? The bruises? Wasn’t there a scuffle? Things like that.”
“Wait, who is Edou… How do I say it again?”
He smirks wider this time. “That’s my birth name. Edouard Boucher.” He pronounces it in a heavy French-Canadian accent. “That was how I sounded as a kid, but I moved out young and joined the minor leagues. I left my old life behind me, including my old name. Logan Ice. Logan after Wolverine, a Canadian superhero, you know, from X-Men. Michael used to loan me those comics and Ice because it’s all I’ve ever known. All I ever knew before you.”
My head spins. “So, what should I call you?”
He chuckles. There’s still a hint of pain in his eyes, but it seems to have retreated somewhat. “Logan. It’s my name. Legally. It’s who I am. I’ll admit I chose the name when I was eighteen. As I get older, I wonder if it’s too blunt. Logan Ice.”
“No, it’s great. You sound like you were destined to be a hockey star.” I pause. “But I guess you made your own destiny. I’m surprised the media hasn’t dredged this up.”
“I come from a tiny village. It was fairly simple to bribe local councilors to amend my birth certificate. I know it’s wrong, committing a crime.” When I slide my hand over his scraped knuckles, he laughs gruffly. “I’ve committed worse recently.”
“No, both were justified. I get it. You couldn’t be that scared little boy anymore. You had to forge your own path.” After a pause, I ask, “What about your mom? What happened to her?”
“She moved in with my aunt when I left home. She was scared of me going out into the world on my own. She thought the monsters would get me. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She left the county. After that, she got help. A few years ago, she reached out. That’s how I know who my dad is. Was.”
Conflicted emotion surges through me. This is his mother, and she was ill. “Did you talk?” I ask.
Logan grits his teeth. “Not much. It was easier to tell her I was busy. I’d been sending her money through my aunt for years. When she said she wanted to meet me, I offered to send her more.”
“And what did she say?”
“She stopped accepting my money. She said she wanted her son back instead. What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t handle it. I focused on the game. It was easier.”
“Did she say sorry?” I ask softly.
“Yeah, she did, but it wasn’t about whether or not she was sorry. It was what you said—not being that kid anymore.”
“Maybe…”
He closes his hand around mine. “I know she’s changed. I know she was ill, but…”
“It still hurts,” I murmur.
“Not as much as this will,” he says, his hand tightening around mine. “I don’t want to. I mean that, Emma. This is the last thing I want to do, but I have to leave.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Logan
It’s shocking how easy it was to tell Emma about the past, my name, and everything else. Maybe it was the relief of emptying myself inside her, joining with her, and then being able to hold her after. All the ice in me melted away as we lay together, the scent of our sex all around us.