Page 11 of Ice Queen

“I want you on this team, Samuels. But I want to know that you’re serious about being here. Therefore, you’ll be cleaning up your image.”

My image? Outside of the Toronto thing, I’ve stayed out of the news, minus the women I’ve been photographed with. But that’s never been an issue with this organization. My personal life is just that, personal.

“And, you’ll be going to therapy, AA, rehab, whatever the hell you need to get your head on straight, or the next time you’re in my office, we will be talking about trades.”

Gulping, my spine snaps straight. “I’m already going to therapy, but I can up the visits to every week instead of every other week.” He nods, seemingly pleased with my addition.

“If that’s all…” I run my hands over my thighs. “I need to go watch film with the team.”

“If for no one else, do it for them, Samuels.” He may as well have shoved a knife through my chest.

Mierda. I have to fix this.

CHAPTER 4

Kaitlyn

Today’s the day I’ve been working toward for a year now. My little online bookstore, Tattered Pages, is now a full-fledged bookstore, right in the heart of downtown Tampa. I came out of my apartment above the store to walk around the neighborhood a few times so that I could get the full experience of opening for the first time. It may seem silly, but to me, it’s another chain of my past falling away.

I slide the key into the lock, and the sound of cars fades, replaced with the soft hum of the store’s air conditioning and the buzz of the lights as I flip them on. The door softly closes, and I lock it behind me, then jiggle it to make sure it actually locked.

Today is your day, Kait. I tell myself for the hundredth time. It’s okay to enjoy it. I worked hard for this, after all.

The large white oak counter is just as I left it, clear of anything that could be used as a projectile. I put my stuff down, chastising myself for thinking that someone would come in here and throw something across the room in anger like he did.

It always seemed to “slip” from his hand. And out of fear, I’d nod and agree, making myself as small and invisible as possible, hoping that the next time he got mad, he wouldn’t throw something at me instead.

The second the clock strikes nine AM, I switch the open sign on, unlock the door, breathing in the smell of the books.

It’s a scent that’s always made me smile, dry like timber, but slightly sweet. There’s a softness to it, one that calls to your desire to curl up and get lost in the words on the page.

The faint bitterness of ink is an homage to the authors who have spent countless hours typing, creating the worlds we love to immerse ourselves in.

That smell, mixed with the woody undertone coming from the shelves, is grounding. Comforting without being heavy.

It’s the smell of a bookstore that gave me my first sense of peace after I ran, and it’s my hope that this place can provide a sense of possibility and safety to anyone who steps through the doors.

Walking to the back, I make sure the back door is still locked, and the “go around the front” sign is visible, so I don’t have to worry about missing someone when they come in. Grabbing the folded piece of paper off my desk, I read through the list I wrote out last night, the one that contains a list of things that could go wrong, and how I’d handle them if I weren’t overwhelmed or in crisis mode. I neatly fold it up and slide it into the front pocket of my black ripped jeans.

It doesn’t take long for the chime to ring, letting me know someone is here. Taking a deep breath, I steel my nerves and plaster a smile on my face. It’s not fake, but it feels forced, like I’m already convinced I’m going to disappoint whoever just walked in.

That is, until I realize it’s Maria, who also happens to be the owner of Beautiful Pour, the coffee shop across the street. They make the best pastries I’ve ever had. Their coffee isn’t half bad, either. “Hi, Maria.”

“My girl! This is amazing.” Tears gather in her eyes as she rushes toward me. “Look at what you’ve done!” Her lips stretch into a beaming grin.

My own smile can’t be contained when I look around the bookstore. The space itself is long and narrow, with white exposed ceiling beams covered in faux vines and pastel pink and purple flowers strewn throughout. White floor-to-ceiling bookcases line the walls, and colorful spines decorate their shelves. Bright and airy was my motto when decorating.

“Thanks,” I whisper. It’s brave as a business decision. I’m still working on whether it’s brave from a personal standpoint. I lace my hands together, thumbs mindlessly rolling around each other.

Maria grabs my hands, halting the movement. “Seriously, Kait. This is beautiful, I’m now very happy you don’t serve coffee or food.” She softly squeezes my hands. “You’d steal all my business.”

An awkward laugh escapes me, and I cringe at the sound. She catches it and gives my hand a squeeze. “I know you don’t believe you fully deserve this, my love, but this is something to be proud of. You built this yourself. Don’t let anything take that from you.”

The second her words leave her mouth, I’m transported back to the car ride that saved my life. The voice of the silver-eyed man has visited me in my dreams more than once, each time begging me to be brave, to build a life I’m proud of. And here I am, doing this for me. I wish more than anything I had gotten his name, but I didn’t. I don’t even remember his face, just his eyes. I’ve never seen anything like them.

I feel the corner of my lips twitch, my hands find their way into the front pockets of my jeans, fingers nervously running against the ridges of the note. “I am. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

Maria gives me a smile that could only be described as a grandmother's. She’s from New York, loud as hell, but damn does she give it to you straight. It’s one of the things I love most about her.