Page 15 of Ice Queen

“Why are you here, exactly, Sterling?” Mr. Collins interrupts. “You and I already had our meeting. This one doesn’t concern you,” he says, before looking back at me with a wink, “Bring this to Maria, would you? She’ll know what to do with it.”

An envelope sits in his outstretched hand, and I gladly take it. Going to see Maria means Pastelitos, and after my very rudely interrupted workout, that sounds like the perfect form of self care. “You got it, boss.”

Taking the envelope, I notice its density. Definitely some folded papers in here, the kind I hope is a contract or payment for her to bake enough goodies to put the concession stands out of business. I grab my bag from the locker room before sticking my head back into the gym. “Gotta run an errand for the big man. See you later?”

Monroe nods while Reed gives me a thumbs up. The dude is so weird sometimes, like a dad who wears those super obnoxious white clunky sneakers. Just give him some bifocals, and you could call him grandpa.

Giving them a quick salute, I make my way to my truck when an idea pops into my mind. “Hey, Siri. Call Mamá.”

Sure, calling Mamá mobile.

Thanks, tiny phone robot.

“Hola, cariño⁠*.” My mom's voice comes through the speakers, soft and smooth as silk. I truly don’t know how I got so lucky to have the parents that I do. They’ve been nothing but supportive of my playing a sport that isn’t mainstream in Spain. They didn’t understand it at first. I actually played by accident the first time. But they couldn’t get me off the ice after that.

“Mi reina de belleza favorita,⁠*” I drawl.

“Ay, Markus. What do you want?” She responds, trying her hardest to sound exasperated, but I can feel her smile from here.

“I’m going to be the host, if you will, of this thing called Sports Romance Night at the arena later.” I start.

“Claro que sí,⁠* I heard about it.”

Of course she did, the socialite in her will never die. “Okay then, this next part will make you happy.”

My mom lives and breathes fashion, my sister does too, but there are times I think that she’d rather be baking. I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s making some sort of bread or dessert, not that I’ll tell my mother that because it would break her heart not to have Cecy as her little protege. But, not the point.

“I have this ridiculous feeling that there are some people who are hoping I’ll do a horrible job. But if I showed up looking the part, maybe I can stick it to ‘em, you know?” I pause, letting her think for a second.

“Por Favor, Mamá.⁠* You’re my stylist for a reason.”

The sound of hands clapping in the background is all the confirmation I need. If Coach Sterling wants to try to make a fool out of me, I’ll just rock the hell out of a custom-made suit. Reed’s right, maybe this will put me at the top of the “desirable” list. Not that I actually care, but it’d make for one big headline. A good one, hopefully. And that would be the ultimate slap in the face for a man who seems intent on seeing me fail.

“I’d love nothing more. Come over later. I’ll pull some things,” she squeals.

I let out a chuckle as I turn onto the street that Beautiful Pour is on. My eye snags on the store across the street. “Tattered Pages,” well, that’s new. Maybe the guys and I can go in there and pick out the next book club book when we’re done with the one we’re on.

“I’ve got to drop something off for Maria, then I have an appointment.” I haven’t told my parents I’m going to therapy yet. I don’t know why. They’ve been in it for years, but I’d like to think they don’t struggle the same. Not actually being amongst the wreckage and all that. “But I’ll be by later, okay?”

“Okay, Mijo. Te quiero mucho.⁠*”

“Yo También, Mamá.”⁠*

Pulling open the door to Beautiful Pour, I’m hit with the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and dough. “Maria, Mariaaaa!” I sing, channeling my best Santana while I glide up to the counter.

“Oyy, Markus.” I’m met with the snap of a towel right to the stomach. “You play too much,” she chastises, but quickly shakes her head in silent laughter.

Holding out the envelope, I wink. “Mr. Collins asked me to bring this to you.”

She busies herself making me my usual, ignoring my outstretched hand. She doesn’t even ask anymore because I get it the same way every time, regardless of the weather. Iced café con leche, the bold kick in the face I usually need when I come in here. And today, honestly, I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

“Be a dear and take that to the bookstore across the street. It’s for Kaitlyn.” She arches an eyebrow at me, a silent dare if I’ve ever seen one. “It’s her parking pass. She’s going to be a vendor at Sports Romance Night.”

My shoulders fall, head tipping back as I let out a groan. “Maria, I have to go see Mamá. She’s gotta dress me up like Ken.”

She glares at me over her shoulder while she pours a bit of sugar into the large to-go cup. “Fine.” Her labored sigh as she finally takes the envelope makes the side of my mouth tick up into a small smile. “But!” A finger flies into the air, and the other hand holds out my drink.

“You and the guys need to go welcome her to the neighborhood, take the girls. I’m sure they’d love her. And the bookstore is adorable. You have a book club, see if you can add her store to the rotation.”