Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Annie

I'm sitting in bed with my phone in my hand. I want to text Logan and find out where he is and see if he wants to come by.

Dad fumed about him all the way to the hotel. Mom was going along with it, too.

"How can you work with that guy?" Dad demanded. "He's an asshole. I should have punched him."

A band tightens around my chest, remembering it. I wanted to defend Logan, but I didn't, and then I felt like shit about it because I've gotten to know him better and he is not an asshole. But if I defend him, will they wonder why I'm sticking up for him so much? If they knew I'm sleeping with him, they'd flip right the fuck out.

If I thought I came second to my brothers before, I'd probably be expelled from the family if they found out about that .

I've gotten myself in a little pickle here.

Not only have I possibly put my job at risk by getting involved with Logan, I could lose my whole family.

Alright, that's dramatic, I know it. Still, after years of never being good enough, the thought of having the wrath of my family directed at me is worrisome.

Now I'm in bed, guilty and angry and sad, and thinking about Logan out in a bar somewhere with women coming on to him and then I remember how he looked at Ivan and I thought he was jealous and I sort of liked it.

I'm a mess.

I throw myself back into my pillows, expel air from my lungs, and stare at the ceiling.

All because I was stressed and horny and Logan has a hot body and a beautiful penis. And a great smile. And…

No. Stop thinking about him. And I certainly can't text him. In fact, we should probably stop whatever it is that we're doing. Sneaking around in a nun costume! I make a strangled noise that almost drowns out the chime of my phone.

A text.

I fumble with the phone to check the message, sure it's from Logan.

It's not

MOM: Our reservation for lunch is at 1, should we meet you there?

Right. Our Thanksgiving lunch at Tavern on the Green.

Glumly I type in my reply.

Sure.

I'm such an idiot. I'm not going to text him, but I want him to text me. I toss my phone onto the nightstand, turn off the lamp, and pull the covers over my head.

* * *

I endure all Mom's comments about what a cute couple Ivan and I are. She praises me to Ivan, and compliments him, and reminisces about our skating past. Ivan's nice enough to put up with it as we partake of mushroom soup, free-range turkey with all the sides, and pecan butterscotch tarts for dessert.

When Ivan goes to the men's room, she leans across the table. "He told me he's been in love with you forever."

"No, he didn't."

Her eyes widen. "You don't believe me?"

"No. He wouldn't say that." I don't think. No. He wouldn't.

"Stella." Dad's tone is quiet but firm. They exchange a look and Mom sits back in her seat. I can see her mind is still working, though.

When Ivan returns, Mom says, "Ivan, did I tell you I learned a little Russian?"

He gazes back at her. "Uh. No."

Ivan moved here from Russia when he was a little kid. He doesn't even have an accent anymore, and rarely speaks Russian. What is Mom doing?

"Well, I have." She looks back and forth between him and me. "Iz vas dvoikh mogli by rodit'sya prekrasnyye deti."

Ivan's mouth drops open, then he laughs and shakes his head. "Oh, Stella."

"What did she say?" I demand.

"Never mind." He flaps a hand.

"No, I want to know."

"I said you two would make beautiful babies." Mom beams at us.

"Oh my God." My chin hits my chest. "Mooooom." I look at Dad. "Please. Stop her."

He snorts. "As if I could do that." But he gives Mom another pointed look.

Since it's a clear, crisp day, we walk back to Ivan's place. As we stroll out of Central Park, I can't help but look down West 66th and think about Logan's apartment at the end of the street. I swallow a sigh.

Mom and Dad link arms and walk in front of us along the wide sidewalk. Ivan and I follow.

"Sorry about all the unsubtle hints from my mom," I say in a low voice.

"It was worth it for a free lunch at Tavern on the Green."

I snort-laugh and bump my shoulder into arm.

"She told me that you said you want to be more than friends."

I stop walking and gape at him. "No!"

He grins. "Yeah."

"I didn't say that."

"I know."

"She told me that you said you've been in love with me forever."

He laughs and we walk again. "You didn't believe her."

"Nope. She is shameless. Thanks for being a good friend."

After a moment, he says, "You seem down. What's up?"

"Oh geez. I'm not putting on a game face." I slap my gloved hands to my cheeks. "I'm usually good at that! Must smile more."

Ivan says nothing as we walk another half block and then I blurt out, "I don't think I can see Logan anymore."

"When you say ‘see him'…what do you mean by that? Dating? Or bedroom rodeo?"

I let out a strangled laugh. "We haven't exactly been dating. So…yeah, rodeo."

He nods. "It's complicated, huh."

"Yeah." I exhale slowly. "But it's okay, because like I said, it's not like we were in any kind of relationship. We just, uh, did some riding. At the rodeo."

"Hopefully not bareback."

I choke again. "Jesus! No!"

"Good, good. Things would be even more complicated if he knocked you up."

"Shhhh!"

He grins.

Mom turns to look at us at that point and I cringe at what she sees—us close together, heads leaning into each other. Greeeeat.

"What are you two talking about?" she calls playfully.

I hesitate only a beat. "Horses."

She frowns. "Oh. Okay." She turns back and they continue walking.

"Horses!" Ivan chokes out, laughing. "Jesus."

"We also texted a bunch. And talked on the phone." My bottom lip pouts. "The road trip with his dad was rough for him."

Ivan gives me a sideways glance with an arched brow. "That sounds kind of like…more than just bull riding."

"I guess we kind of got to be friends." Sadness squeezes my trachea. "Shit."

Mom and Dad come into Ivan's place to watch football. I don't watch football and I don't know anything about it. Neither does Mom. Or Ivan. Dad's the only one really interested, but it's Thanksgiving and I'm down for some junk food and beer. I change into a pair of soft joggers and a big sweatshirt.

Mom lifts her eyebrows when I come out of my room. "Why did you change? That dress was so pretty."

"I want to be comfy."

"Didn't you like that dress she had on, Ivan?" Mom looks to him. "You looked so nice in it, sweetie."

I can see Ivan trying not to laugh. "I didn't notice."

Mom sighs.

Her meddling is mildly annoying, but deep down inside, I feel bad for her. In the last year, she retired from her job as a teacher, and she lost her best friend to cancer. Dad's still coaching and on the road with the team a lot. I know Mom was feeling adrift and sad. Probably depressed. Then she started on a mission to get all her children paired up. So far she's been successful with three out of six of us. Now it's my turn. It's not going to work with me, though, so I wish I could convince her to let it go.

She means well. She wants her kids to be happy. Doesn't every mom?

* * *

I'm in my office Saturday morning when I get a visitor after the game day skate.

"Hey, Annie."

I look up to see Hunter Morrissette, still in his practice jersey. "Hi, Hunter. What's up?"

"I was talking to a friend of mine the other day." He takes a step into the office. "He plays for the New Jersey Storm. I was telling him about you and the coaching you're doing here, and he's really interested."

I grin. "Too bad he plays for the wrong team."

"I know." He grimaces. "He's wondering if you do any coaching on the side."

"Oh." I blink. "No. I mean, I haven't, but… I'm not sure if I could do that, working here. But I could check into it."

"Could I give him your number and you could talk to him?"

"Sure."

"His name is Dillon Landry."

"Okay. We can chat."

"Thanks! He'll be happy."

Huh. Okay. That's interesting.

I check the time. I better get going. I'm meeting Mom to go shopping. She decided to stay in New York after Dad went home. I know why, but apparently nobody can stop her.

We start with lunch in a lovely restaurant at Columbus Circle, with a table at the window and a view of the Christopher Columbus monument and Central Park. Then we walk toward Fifth Avenue. Our first stop on the way is Nordstrom. After browsing through handbags and Mom picking up a gorgeous Ferragamo tote, the price of which makes me break out in itchy welts, she wants to go down to the shoe department.

I love shoes, too, so I willingly follow her there and wander around admiring pretty heels and cute booties. I pause to fall in love with a pair of knee-high boots. The black leather is smooth and expensive looking, the heel a nice chunky shape. "I love everything about these," I say to Mom with a sigh. "Except the price."

She peers at the sticker on the sole. "Well, they're quite practical. Boots like that will always be in style."

"I suppose." I run my fingers over the leather.

I don't feel inferior to my brothers because they're rich and I'm not. They're all millionaires, and we grew up well off, although I'm not sure how Mom and Dad never went broke from putting all their kids into expensive sports like hockey and figure skating. But I've never made that kind of money. If my figure skating career had continued, I might have landed lucrative endorsements and maybe been able to make money from touring, but even so, that would never be close to what professional hockey players make. And that didn't happen anyway, so I'm the one in the family pinching pennies, living in New York City on a modest salary, squatting in my best friend's spare bedroom.

There are many reasons to feel inferior to my brothers, but money's the least of them.

I put the boot back on the display table.

"Try them on," Mom says. "What size do you need?"

"Six. But that's okay. I don't need them. Did you find anything?"

"I don't need much either." She makes a face. "Especially since I retired. But you know what, let's go look at the kids' clothes. I want to buy something for Ryder and Rowan."

My brother Jakob has twin boys, six years old. Mom's only grandchildren. She's crazy about them.

"Sure." I trail after her again.

"Oh my God, look at these sweaters!" She picks up cotton cardigans.

"Those are grandpa sweaters."

"But they'd look so cute on the boys!"

She moves from display to display, loading her arms up with designer sweats and shirts. Then she pauses at a display of dresses. "Ohhhh, look at these dresses."

"I don't know if Jakob would let the boys wear those."

She slides me a chiding glance. "I need a granddaughter."

"Ah."

She moves into the baby girls' area and finds a tiny dress covered in pink roses. "I love this!"

It is cute. "I would wear that."

"Annie." She looks up at me. "You need to have babies."

"Mom!"

"Just think. Beautiful little Russian babies."

I choke. "Mom!"

She picks up another little dress, red velvet with a tulle skirt. "This would be perfect for Christmas."

"I can't produce a baby that fast."

She sighs. "I know. But for next Christmas…I should buy it!"

"No!" I curl my hands into fists at my sides, my muscles tight. "Mom, please, stop. Fixing me up with Ivan isn't going to happen."

"I don't understand why not! You two are such good friends. And you're both so attractive. I?—"

"The truth is, I'm involved with someone else."

Oh no. Did I really just say that?

Mom stares at me. "What? Who? Why didn't you tell me?"

I rummage frantically through my brain to find an answer to those questions. "It's new. I don't want to say who it is."

She pouts. "Why not?"

"I just don't want to. Yet." I cough.

"Oh." She ponders this. "But it could be serious?"

"It's new," I say again. "Let's drop it."

"But I want to meet him while I'm here."

I shake my head.

"Annie! You can't tell me that and then drop it. You know I want you to be happy."

"I am happy."

Her eyes soften. "I want my children to have what your father and I have. Love. Commitment. Trust."

My heart becomes tender. "I know, Mom. You and Dad are couple goals. And I hope I will have that one day. But it will happen when it happens."

She worries her bottom lip for a few seconds, then lifts her chin. "I suppose you're right. You know I just want you to be happy, no matter who it's with."

Really? I try not to let my suspicion show on my face.

"As long as it's not someone like that nasty Logan Coates."

My smile slides right off my face.

"Whoever it is should feel lucky to be dating you." She slides her arm through mine. "Now, let's go buy those boots." She leads me away from the display of baby dresses.

I stumble along after her in a daze. "I don't need those boots."

"I know. But I'll buy them for you anyway because they're beautiful and so are you."

I frown. "Do you think buying me boots will make me tell you more?"

She stops and looks at me with a wounded expression that seems sincere. Guilt pokes me in the chest. "No. Of course not." She pouts. "I said, I'm buying them because I love you."

"I'm sorry." My face softens. "Thank you."

Oh God. She's my mom and I love her and she loves me, but wow, this is a mess.