Norman steepled his fingers, gaze sharp. “So. Logan. Tell us how you got to this point. Competition in hockey is cutthroat.”
Logan chuckled. “Yeah. You have to be a little obsessive, I think.” He glanced up at Alice, and she nodded in agreement.
“From the very beginning, Logan was always driven,” she said. “Always aiming higher than the child next to him.”
“He didn’t settle,” Logan’s dad added. “If you can give ninety percent, you can give one hundred. Why stop short?”
Logan chuckled, his jaw still tight.
His dad continued, “Principles and work ethic. Excellence is excellence.”
Alice picked up the thread without missing a beat. “He delivered, always. Never complacent. Never lazy. Even when he was sick, he’d insist on practice.”
“Remember the flu tournament?” His dad chuckled. “He knew he’d set the wrong precedent if he sat out.”
Did he know? Or was he told? Logan didn’t seem to be enjoying these anecdotes nearly as much as they were. He wasn’t basking in the praise. He was enduring it.
“I know a little of ambition,” Bridet murmured, taking another sip of wine.
Logan’s hand was ice cold. I saw my opening, and took it. “That kind of work is inspiring. But I think it also comes at a cost.”
All the heads turned toward me. I swallowed hard and continued. “Like you said, the competition in hockey is fierce. How many young players have the work ethic but never get the opportunity? It’s the same in the art world. That’s what’s so beautiful about what Norman’s doing with this new collective. He’s giving a stepping stool to artists who may not have the natural connections or resources that some of us do.” I met Logan’s gaze. His eyes were fixed on me, and I hoped I wasn’t crossing any lines. I ran my thumb over his wrist.
“Like you, Mr. Bridet. You’re opening up new possibilities in kinetic art, opening our minds to a new way of presenting movement. But the first time I saw your work was because of Norman. I didn’t know it existed.” My heart sped up. This was the moment I would likely kill my chances of working in the Calgary art world. “I realize parts of the consignment anddisplay process are problematic for artists, but I hope you’ll consider making your work more accessible. Young artists like me need to see what’s possible. We need more Logans in the world to inspire us.”
I picked up the champagne glass Logan had set in front of me and took a sip. The bubbles popped on my tongue, giving me something else to focus on besides my trembling fingers.
Logan looked at me then, and something flickered behind his eyes. He dropped my hand and slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. His warmth enveloped me, and I let out an involuntary sigh of relief.
What was happening between us? Logan wasn’t anything like I expected based on Shar’s description of their relationship. He was attentive and kind. That surprise he pulled with the Outlaws? I’d never been treated more like royalty in my life.
But Shar’s words clanged in my head like a church bell.I don’t want you to get hurt.
Bridet tapped his wine glass, his brow furrowed. “I can’t say I’ve ever considered that.”
I had to remind myself what our topic of conversation was.What had I said that he hadn’t considered?Something about making his work more accessible?
A woman who’d been silent until that moment spoke up. “I agree wholeheartedly. There’s too much gatekeeping in this industry, and the old guard is dying off.” She shrugged when Alice frowned at that comment. “It’s true. We need new blood and we’re not going to get it if the barriers to entry are too high.”
The woman put out a hand toward me, and I shook it. “Alison Kerr. Glenbow Museum.”
So, this was who Norman was talking about the other day. I liked her already. “Crystal MacMillan.”
Norman’s eyes gleamed, turning the attention back to Bridet. “I’d love to discuss options for a feature in December . . .” He closed in, and I sank into Logan.
“Thank you,” he murmured when the conversation had thankfully turned away from us.
I played it off, taking another sip of champagne. I’d hoped it would settle my pulse, but it wasn’t working. Not when Alice kept laughing at Logan’s dad’s jokes, all while her gaze kept slipping to Norman.
I had to tell him. I couldn’t keep this in my body, and he deserved to know. But how did you drop a bomb like that on someone? Or . . . was it possible he already knew? Alice did spend a lot of time with Norman, and Logan didn’t seem especially close with his dad. Was it a secret he was in on?
That thought dropped a pile of rocks into my gut. No. He wouldn’t do that to someone, would he? Even if he and his dad had issues, would he keep a secret like that? Knowing how hurtful it was?
“You okay?” Logan asked.
I nodded, pretending to be listening when all I could hear was white noise. I couldn’t eat. I still accepted food that was offered and took small bites, then found opportunities to hide the rest in my napkin. When Logan finally took a break to use the washroom, I snatched my chance to escape.
I ducked into the ladies’ room, my stomach pitching so hard I thought I might faint onto the marble countertop. I braced my hands on the cool sink, willing my breathing to slow. “Pull it together,” I whispered to myself. “You’re fine.”
