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I’ve lost track of Jack, too, and for some stupid reason, that’s got me uneasy. I thought I wanted a huge family, but maybe just the four of us is enough for me after all.
Merc grips my arm. “Come with me. I know a place you’ll like better.”
He leads me out of the kitchen, through the front door, and onto the porch where Jack’s other dad is rocking on the porch swing with the baby. Jack’s leaning against one of the wide oak beams, listening to a story.
Cliff. Jack’s other dad is called Cliff. We were introduced when he came in.
“Lo’s gonna sit with you two for a bit,” Merc says.
“Of course. Come over here, sweetheart,” Cliff says, patting the seat beside him with his free hand. The baby looks comfortable, asleep on the tall man’s shoulder.
I sit awkwardly, still holding the disgusting beer I took a sip of as a sweet breeze gusts across my face. The air blossoms with the scent of summer on its way and the whippy willow tree branches wave in the distance. Jack spins the brim of his hat so that it’s facing backward, and Merc kisses him while sliding a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
“You still okay with the baby, Cliff?” Merc asks.
“It’s only a matter of time before Ronnie steals him. I want to get my snuggles in. Think there will be more?” he says.
“Jesus, Dad. It’s a good thing I wasn’t drinkin’ anything, or I’d have spit my beer out. I think one’s good for now, unless Merc decides to bring more home. Never know with him.”
Mercy kisses Jack again and rubs noses with him. I’m getting used to their grossness, which I only realize when I don’t even roll my eyes at them. “I’d have a few more. I’m enjoying the hell out of this one for now, though,” Mercy tells Jack’s dad. “I’ll get everyone more drinks.”
“Except me,” I interject. “You can take this one.”
“I’m empty,” Jack says, reaching for the drink in my hand. “I’ll take it.”
“I was telling Jack an interesting story,” Cliff says when Mercy saunters off to play host.
“What’s that?”
I end up sorry I asked. It’s a story about Jack’s brother Damien and his love life. That one couldn’t make it, but the other one, Nicholas, is here. They both seem like nice guys, but I’m not particularly interested in their love lives. But Cliff’s happy enough to talk without me having to say anything in return, so I relax, drifting off in my mind, soaking up the sun.
It’s not raining for once, and dammit, thinking about the rain makes me think of Rhett and his “no getting wet in the rain” rule. There are a lot of rules to being an Elkington. How does he do it?
I tried to coax him into going for a ride on Merc’s bike with me if just to see the look on Merc’s face when we drove off together. He refused, quoting that he didn’t think it was appropriate, and asked me to be discreet. Here I thought my life was limited, at least I’ve experienced racing down the open road on a Harley.
And what a waste of a McLaren. I bet he’s never even taken it to top speed.
I check my phone, no, not to see if Rhett’s texted me back yet. He hasn’t, though, just a side note, but I do have an email notification. It’s my head skating coach. Shit. On a Saturday? They’re going to be brutal, aren’t they? Most figure skating coaches are, but some more than others. I think this team of coaches will fall into the “some more than others” category.
Dear Mister Logan Wescott …
Skimming, I glean that they’re sending out a new training regime for Monday and they’ll be assigning skate partners. Fuck, already? I know they chose me because I’m good as a pair, but the irony is that I hate being a pair.
Oh, wait. It’s in this email. I open the PDF to see who’s going to be metaphorically living and breathing with me for the next year.
Scott Orser.
Scott Orser!
This is fucking incredible news. If they’ve paired me with him, they think I’m good. Like, really good. I’d heard a rumor that Scott might be going to Columbia University, but that was unconfirmed. Scott’s handsome. Neat, dirty blond hair. Wide and muscular. Not the size of Rhett, but more than big enough to lift me. He’s the most gorgeous skater in our league. He’s also a Canadian boy. Pretty sure he lives in Vancouver. Would he want to meet before we go to school? We could get a head start.
“Look, Jacky. Our boy Lo’s happy about something,” Cliff says.
Yeah, I fucking am.
“Nah. He’s probably just texting his boyfriend again. Oh, shit,” he says with a hand over his mouth. His dad isn’t in on our house family secret. The one that was important to stay a secret, especially when my fake boyfriend is Jack’s ex-boyfriend.
That’s it. Jack’s getting voted off the island at the next family meeting.
