Charging (Gold Hockey Book 10)

by Elise Faber

  In this case, he’d ensured the fishing hole and the bugs it was drawing toward the house were taken care of—what his mother objected to but seemed unable to give voice to, at least when that person was her husband. Then Logan had hired a custom cabinetmaker to make the craft room everything his mom had hoped it would be. He’d footed the bill because he could afford it, and his mom deserved to have something nice.

  But he wished he didn’t have to.

  Not paying. That he was fine with.

  It was all the rest of it that had become unbearable. The phone calls and aggravation. The fights and placating. But . . . he’d also learned here was no point in arguing with them or attempting to have them hash out their own issues.

  That time had long passed.

  In his teenage years, they’d stopped trying to put a happy face on their relationship. Logan wasn’t sure if pretending had gotten too difficult or if they just figured he was old enough to deal, but one day the veil had lifted, and he’d seen exactly what was between them.

  Tension and resentment.

  And then he’d looked back and seen all the other times that had bled through. The sharp comments and hard looks. The anger, the coldness, the distance.

  Not healthy. Not fulfilling.

  Not anything like he had with Char.

  But putting the woman he loved aside for the moment, Logan knew if he didn’t step into situations like the Craft Room, he had to listen to complaints from both sides, and life was too damned short to deal with that.

  His father exalting all the points of how his mother was controlling and demanding. His mother citing every instance over the course of their relationship of how his father didn’t care about her feelings.

  No, it wasn’t healthy to step in.

  He knew that.

  Still, he also knew that, at this moment in time, stepping in was making his life less drama filled.

  So, peacemaker for the moment.

  Until he figured out how to get them to see what they were doing was alienating their children. Hell, John had moved miles away. Cecily was in another country. The only thing that had them all returning home at regular intervals was that they were all aware their mom and dad had been excellent parents.

  Once.

  Now, they were a burden.

  One that Logan wished he hadn’t decided to shoulder.

  He leaned against the doorframe that led into the kitchen, watching his mom aggressively knead a giant pile of dough. She was making cinnamon rolls, both because they were Logan’s favorite, but also for the seniors at the center. She had a shift later, and his father was unhappy she hadn’t taken the time off to be with Logan.

  “They don’t need you,” his dad was grumbling. “They got on just fine without you for all these years.”

  “I promised I would be there,” she said. “So, I will be there. It’s four hours, and then I’ll be home. Lacy has already promised to cover for me on Friday.”

  “She—”

  “Can’t cover for me today, as I told you this morning and told Logan when he called to tell us he was coming two days ago,” she snapped, punching hard enough into the dough that Log wondered if the rolls would be as hard as rocks or the best ever. Did violence count in kneading? Because if so, she’d be getting the gold star.

  “They—”

  Enough.

  “It’s fine, Mom,” he interrupted, crossing over to her and hugging her from behind. He kissed the top of her head, met his dad’s eyes, silently telling him to let this go. “My visit is last minute. I can’t expect you guys to drop everything.”

  His father’s glare intensified, and Logan prepared himself for his next peacemaking operation.

  Read: torture.

  “Plus, that will give us time to go fishing.”

  His dad’s face lit up.

  His mom stiffened in his arms, knowing that he hated fishing. But as much as he disliked the tension between his parents, he did enjoy spending time with them one-on-one.

  He could throw his bobber in the water, pretend to care about fish for an hour or two, especially if it meant he got a glimpse of how his dad used to be.

  “I’ll go get the gear ready.”

  Sighing, after his dad left, his mom nudged him back. “You shouldn’t keep doing that, you know.”

  “Doing what?”

  She touched his cheek, sadness in her eyes. “I can handle him.”

  “I know you can.” He covered her hand with his. “But you need to actually talk to him, Mom. Not just snip and complain.”

  “I haven’t been doing very well, have I?” She winced when he didn’t respond, turned back to the rolls, and he felt guilt slide through him. “I’m sorry, Logie Bear. This hasn’t been fair to you. I’ll do better.”

  Dammit.

  He didn’t want her feeling bad.

  He didn’t want his mom to hurt any more than he wanted Char to.

  She was his mom. She’d baked cakes and driven to the rink at God knew what hour. She’d held his hand when he broke his arm, flew out and took care of him when he had knee surgery.

  He just wanted his parents to get along.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how to go about that.

  So, instead of belaboring the point, instead of advising as he’d done for far too long, to just sit down with his dad and talk, Logan leaned next to his mom on the counter and asked, “Will you teach me how to cook something later?”

  Green eyes that mirrored his own widening. “You? Cook?”

  “Just one meal. Something a novice like me can accomplish, but something delicious.”

  Eyes now narrowing. “It’s a woman.”

  He grinned. “It’s a woman.”

  She smiled, wide enough that he felt its impact in his solar plexus. “Oh, Logie Bear, I’m so happy for you,” she said, setting down the dough and hugging him tight. “Will you tell me about her?”

  “Do I still get to be your taste-tester?”

  “Cheeky boy.” She kissed his cheek, opened the cookie jar in front of her, and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie the size of his head.

  Not on the diet plan.

  But his mom was smiling, and he was going to get to talk about his favorite thing in the world—Char.

  He could work with that.

  By the time the cinnamon rolls were in the oven, he’d confessed all, had planned out a meal his mom was confident he could execute, and eaten two more chocolate chip cookies.

  Definitely not on the meal plan.

  But definitely better than the day had begun.

  Of course, he still had to survive fishing.

  “Hey, Starlight,” he said, answering his cell as he pushed out the front door and stepped onto the porch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He blinked, realized that his parents and their bickering were bleeding over into his interactions with Char, and quickly shoved the dark emotions down. Never would he allow that to happen again. Never would he let his baggage affect what he and Char were building.

  Not fucking ever.

  “I’m fine,” he told her, leaning against the waist-high railing and staring out at the lake. His dad was putzing around at the shed near the pond, would no doubt be waving him down in a couple of minutes.

  But for now, he had his woman on the phone, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment.

  They’d only had one quick chat, her letting him know she’d arrived safely at her parents’ house, and then exchanged a few texts. He’d missed her, even though they’d only been apart for two days, but hadn’t wanted to intrude on her family time.

  She needed this time.

  “You’re not fine,” she accused.

  The urge to disagree with her, to push her back and pretend all was good was strong.

  Except . . . that wasn’t what he wanted to build. That wasn’t what Char needed, and she’d been explicit about that fact. He couldn’t be the only one who protected and took care. He needed to be open and let h
er in and not presume to know the best course of action.

  Which was why he shoved down the urge to continue with the I’m-Fine-Everything-Is-Fine path and admitted, “My parents are getting to me.”

  “You—”

  She cut herself off, and he got the impression she’d been about to yell at him for not telling her the truth.

  Then her voice softened. “Shit, I’m sorry, Log.”

  “It’s nothing more than I expected,” he said. “It’s just . . .”

  “What you expected.”

  “Yeah.” He made a face. “That.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Heart pulsing, he forced himself to not ask her to come up, to rescue him. Even putting aside his urge to be the rescuer, he wasn’t going to take her away from her family. “Just call me every once in a while, Starlight,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of experience dealing with them. Plus, I’ll be home and in my cabin soon enough.”

  Silence, and he braced himself, wondering if she’d want more than that.

  He’d give it, of course. He loved her, would flay himself to the bone if need be. But just admitting that he was upset felt like he’d given into the bullshit that his parents created.

  Drama. Resentment.

  God, he just wanted to have a visit where he could sit in a room with them and enjoy himself. No placating. No refereeing.

  Just being.

  Like it was when he was with Char.

  But that wasn’t going to happen, and he needed to learn to deal if he was going to keep visiting. To not allow his parents and their drama to derail him, to smother him in their bullshit.

  He wanted to be a mountain undergoing an avalanche, its snow sliding off in one large sheet, revealing the steady and unbreakable granite beneath. He wanted to be untouched and unmarred. To be able to love the woman in his heart without baggage.

  Ah. Hopes and wishes . . . and then reality.

  So, he braced himself and waited for more questions.

  “I learned how to make a meal you might like,” she murmured, instead of interrogating him. “Barbeque chicken with spicy rice and a bean salad. It’s low calorie, tasty, and I nearly cut my thumb off last night when I tried to help my dad cook it.”

  Now he struggled for words, love for this woman in every cell, wanting to find a way to tell her exactly how much that meant to him.

  But he didn’t want to weigh down the moment. Instead, he asked lightly, “Is it still attached?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “The chicken or the thumb?”

  He laughed out loud. “Starlight,” he warned.

  “It’s barely a scratch,” she said then her voice went serious. “But . . . thank you, Log. For talking to me. For letting me in.”

  “I—”

  “I know everyone thinks I’m the open book because I’m good at pretending I have my shit together and don’t hold back in the media or negotiations,” she murmured. “But just like you could see through that mask, I can see through yours, baby.”

  His pulse raced. “Char.”

  “I see you underneath all that smooth, carefree charm—”

  Throat tightening, he went for a joke. “You think I’m charming?”

  A chuckle. “Case in point, right there. But yes, honey, I do. You’re very charming—so charming that people don’t realize you’re hurting inside.” She paused. “You’re allowed to wish things are different.”

  Heart pounding, he sucked in a breath. “If only wishes could turn into reality,” he said lightly.

  A long beat of quiet. “I know you do.”

  Another breath, releasing the hurt of the morning, the strain since he’d arrived the night before. His jaw ached from clenching it. His shoulders were riddled with knots.

  But he was on the phone with Char.

  And that was enough.

  “I really am okay, Starlight,” he said and took the next step, letting her in a little deeper, done with pretending he was an island and nothing affected him—not the tide or a hurricane or an invasive species. “I just . . . sometimes I forget how bad it is. The tension between them is unbearable, and I seem to always want to default back to placating everyone. It just never really works.”

  “They need to grow up and leave you out of it.” Sharp words now, but not directed at him, even though he clearly owned some of that burden by always interceding.

  Still, the words were true.

  His parents did need to grow up, did need to leave him out of it.

  And . . . he needed to not let himself get drawn in.

  “Unfortunately, you can’t make people grow up,” she said, voice gentle. “And they’re your parents. You love them, want to see them happy.”

  “I’m starting to think they’re at their happiest when they’re the most miserable.”

  A beat as she considered that. “Somehow that makes sense.”

  “Logan!” his dad shouted from down by the pond. “Let’s go!”

  A soft giggle in his ear. “It sounds like you’re being summoned.”

  “Fishing,” he muttered.

  Another giggle. “I thought you hated fishing.”

  Hate was too gentle a word. He despised it. But . . . it was time with his dad. Hopefully, peaceful time. And the plus was that the yelling would probably scare the fish away, so he’d be unlikely to deal with actually catching a fish. “I do.”

  “Fuck, I love you,” she said.

  “Sweet,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “I’d almost forgotten how damned sweet you are,” he said. “Thank you for giving me that.”

  “I think I’d give you just about anything, Log.” A beat. “Because I know you’ll give me the same back.”

  “I love you,” he told her.

  “Show it to me on the ice next season,” she teased then hesitated. “I should let you go.”

  “Yeah.”

  Except, he didn’t want to hang up.

  “I don’t want to go,” he admitted.

  “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “Logan!”

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Laughter in his ear. “I’ll talk to you later. Text me a picture of all the fish you catch.”

  “That’s just mean.”

  Her voice gentled. “Bye, honey.”

  “Bye, Starlight.”

  He hung up, pocketed his phone, and made his way down to the pond.

  Fuck.

  Now he had to catch a goddamned fish.

  Fishing was proceeding as expected.

  Which basically meant it was proceeding in silence.

  They’d picked up their rods, walked to the end of the small pier he’d helped his dad assemble the previous summer. All metal and floating plastic barrels, it was meant for a much larger lake.

  But it floated, got them into the middle, and his dad was happy.

  Easy enough.

  Log had plunked his ass into a rickety chair that didn’t look like it had a hope in hell of supporting him and cast his line out into the water after baiting it and tying on a weight and lure.

  No small talk.

  Nothing biting.

  Just sitting in silence as he figured out what had to change.

  Funny how he’d spent years living in this exact scenario, but it wasn’t until this visit that it felt absolutely stifling. Like his skin was too small. As though he couldn’t breathe.

  Because of Char.

  Because it was so easy with her.

  Because he would do anything to make her happy.

  His parents, his dad in particular, didn’t seem to give a damn either way. He sighed, reeled his line in, cast again.

  And maybe sighed again. But, fuck, it just didn’t make any sense. How could his dad not care that his mom was unhappy? Why didn’t his mom make her wishes known and stand up for herself?

  Why did they stay together when they were so fucking miserable?

  Another sigh, this one stifled because he
was trying to find a conversational topic that wasn’t his parents and could bring about some enjoyment.

  “What’s got your panties in a bunch?” his dad asked.

  Suddenly, Logan didn’t give a fuck about enjoyment.

  Suddenly, he was the resentful one. Furious that he’d allowed himself to be drawn into this battle between him and his parents.

  “You,” he said on an exhale. “You and Mom have me all twisted up inside.”

  A grunt, his dad’s eyes on the lake, but no more words or inquiries. Just the requisite question and going back to his own fucking bubble.

  “The fighting has taken a toll on everyone,” he said, forcing himself to be calm. “I don’t know why you and Mom can’t just sit down and sort it out. Why you have to bicker and argue all the time. It makes it really not fun to be around you.”

  His dad reeled in the line, cast again.

  But he didn’t say anything.

  And Logan’s temper flared. “You don’t give a fuck, do you?”

  Steady green eyes finally came to his. “Give a fuck about what?”

  “That this tension between you and Mom is driving me away, pushing Cecily and Josh away. That you both are fucking miserable and make everyone around you miserable, too.”

  Silence.

  Logan gripped the fishing rod, the fiberglass handle making a cracking sound that had him loosening his fingers and striving for patience. “It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even want to come home.”

  A shrug. “Then don’t.”

  He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. “Why are you doing this?”

  Maybe it was something more. Dementia or a sudden hormone imbalance that had caused the change. But . . . it wasn’t a sudden change, was it? This had been brewing for years, growing progressively worse as the roots of whatever darkness between his parents festered.

  “I’m not doing anything,” his dad muttered. “Aside from trying to fish.”

  “And fight with Mom about stupid shit.”

  “What’s between your mother and I isn’t any business of yours.”

  Except, they’d made it his business. Over and over and over again. Logan reeled in his fishing line, secured the hook, and dropped the rod on the dock. “Do you really believe your own bullshit?” he asked, turning toward his dad.

  Who slowly faced him and whose only response was a raised eyebrow.