Page 112 of Ice King

Except there was one piece missing.

I had a new life, a new name. A new job. A new phone. A new place to live. And one hot as sin shifter boyfriend.

What I didn’t have was my father in my life and that was just unacceptable.

Maybe I was crazy or risking all the new happiness, but I needed to hear his voice.

So I called him, the number one I’d had memorized for years.

And thankfully, he picked up on the second ring.

“Hi, Daddy.”

* * *

Ford

Flying.

That’s what the moment felt like, as if I was a bird free to storm and take over the sky.

I dug the inner edges of my blades into the frosted surface, exploding forward with a burst of controlled violence.

As I flew by Beck, ignoring his defensive actions, I realized how in tune to my body I’d become. Almost as if I was one with the stick.

Just like my wild little Georgia had suggested I needed. Okay, so she was right after all. I was no longer fighting with the stick, instead using it as an extension of my body. I mapped the ice three moves ahead, ignoring everything else but the rhythm of the game.

My brothers moved with me, the three of us playing off each other. But I was the one commanding the puck. No longer was it just rubber, now tethered to the end of my stick as if with invisible thread.

It had been a long time since I’d felt this exhilarated.

At that moment, I decided to take the shot.

The Dominator thought he was all over it, determined it wouldn’t make the goal.

But he was wrong.

Again.

Four goals in thirty minutes. This time, I threw up my arms and enjoyed the victory lap. Why the hell not?

The practice felt damn good. In fact, better than ever.

As I slowed, I rubbed my arm across my face, gathering the sweat.

“You are freaking on fire out there,” Cole told me.

I chuckled as he moved around me, skating back and forth just to be annoying. “You weren’t too bad yourself. Although…” I laughed after leaving the sentence open ended. I was damn proud of him, although I had to admit, making the Wild team when I wasn’t certain if I’d be playing at all in a couple of months did sting.

However, he’d earned the spot. I slowed down even more while glancing up in the stands. Some guy had been sitting with Georgia for at least half an hour.

Beck flanked my side, following my line of sight. “Who do you think she’s talking to?”

“Hell if I know. But he’s in a suit,” I threw back.

“You don’t think that’s the ex-asshole, do you?”

Now I snorted. “He’d be flat on his back if that was the fucker.” I’d checked on her damn boyfriend. The asshole was a piece of work. In fact, I’d dug up a little dirt on the man just in case he’d decided to come crawling back. So had my father, even collecting a file on the man and his father.