“You’re in huge shit, McKinnon,” he says.
I squint. “Um, do I know you?”
“Not yet, but I know you—or it feels like it anyway. My husband won’t shut up about you. He’s fucking pissed that Vancouver got you and New York didn’t. My mouth is working overtime thanks to you,” he says, massaging his jaw.
But he smiles as if he might like that. Heat creeps across my neck. Okay, so no boundaries, got it. Though, he did walk into my apartment as he pleased, so that should have been my first clue.
I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out who this is, but just to be sure. “Who the fuck are you, bro?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
I raise a brow. “Depends?”
“If you ask the City of Vancouver, I’m Logan Meyer-Elkington. If you ask my husband, I’m Mr. Elkington. Don’t tell him I haven’t changed my name.” He winks. “But anyway, what are we gonna do about this?”
He crosses his arms.
We?
Running a hand through my hair, I stare at the mess. We have one of those floor-to-ceiling windows on our North-facing wall. Perfect for viewing the North Shore Mountains, not so much for rogue hockey pucks. The glass completely shattered, too, leaving a sea of shards for at least a foot into the living room, and I know they shot further than that, landing on the sofa and coffee table. We’re gonna be finding glass up our ass for some time no matter how well we vacuum.
What was once the window is now a jagged outline with a cool breeze blowing in from the harbor beyond, salty Vancouver air tickling my nose.
Logan shakes his head. “You hockey players are all the same, McKinnon. I’m gonna call my brother, Mercy, and get the number for his plexiglass people.”
“Plexiglass people?”
“Yeah. This was a regular occurrence in our family. Mercy couldn’t keep up with the breakage, so he gave up and had the windows replaced with plexiglass. Um, don’t tell the strata, though. Better yet, I’ll have Rhett take care of it.”
“I’m all for it, believe me, but why are you helping me?”
“You don’t know it yet, but you’re about to join the family.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll be playing with the Alderchucks. I’ve already bet fifty bucks in the family betting pool on you and Casey becoming besties by the end of training camp, which means you’ll find your way into the Meyer house. It’s a whole thing.”
“Um, if you say so.” I’m just grateful for his help at this point. “Any chance we can have that all done before Luke gets home?”
“No chance, McKinnon,” a deep voice says from behind.
Logan and I turn at the same time. Luke’s standing there, sweaty from his gym workout, looking like a hurricane about to be unleashed. If I had a parachute, I’d jump right out of the new hole I made in our apartment.
Before I can start begging for mercy, a second large figure casts a shadow from the doorway. I’d recognize the man anywhere—Rhett Elkington.
“I’ve lost something that belongs to me,” he says, setting dark eyes on Logan. “What are you doing down here?”
“Making a friend. Everyone’s always telling me to make friends,” Logan says.
“Who? I’ve never said that.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “You can’t make jokes like that in front of new people. They’re going to think you’re insane, gorilla.”
Gorilla?
“Who’s joking?” He snags Logan’s wrist, snapping him to his larger body.
“Luke, this is Rhett, Rhett, Luke,” I say, even though I’ve never officially met the man in person either. But everything about this introduction is unhinged as it is, so I’m going with the vibe.
