Page 48 of Ice Queen

A knock on my door has my head snapping to the side. “Uh, Markus,” Kait says hesitantly. “Someone named Maverick Reed is here for you.”

Damn it. “Coming,” I groan. I wait for her footsteps to get further down the hallway before I spring from bed and quickly pull on my workout clothes. There’s no point in dragging this out or trying to make myself look presentable.

When I get to the foyer, Reed stands with his arms crossed while Kait tries to blend into the background. “Didn’t realize you were missing practice for puck bunnies now,” Reed growls. Kait’s head snaps up, eyes wide, but she doesn’t get a word out before I have him pressed into the wall.

“She is not a puck bunny, and you will treat her with respect,” I seethe, my lip slowly pulling up into a sneer. “She’s the girls’ friend.”

I glance behind me, just in time to see Kaitlyn’s head fall in front of her, shoulders curling in and arms wrapping around her stomach the same way she did in the car when we first met. But then, she sucks in a breath, snaps her head up, and hands Reed his ass on a silver platter.

“You have some nerve,” she says, staring right at Reed, and even though her voice shakes, she holds his gaze with an intensity I’ve only seen on the ice before she turns and storms down the hallway. Something in my gut sours; it could be the remnants of beer, or it could be the way she walked away without another word. She didn’t even look back at me.

I take a step in her direction before Reed’s hand grabs my arm. I shake him off, narrowing my eyes as I turn back toward my captain. “Look, Cecilia showed up last night to check on Kait.”

His eyes fly wide, and he shifts slightly on his feet, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s still weird knowing that his sister is my sister’s best friend. Cecy has known Reed longer than I have, and on any other day I’d try to decipher his reaction, but now isn’t the time.

“Well, the whole armada showed up, actually. But then I had one too many by myself after that, and I slept through my alarm.” Backing up, I grab my keys and head to the garage to grab my bag and throw it in the bed of my truck. “Get out of my house, Reed.”

He stands with his arms crossed in the doorway to the garage, but I leave anyway. I’m not in the mood for his shit. The neighborhood flies by, and before I know it, I’m exiting the highway to the rink.

How this man beat me here is a mystery, yet, lo and behold, Reed stands by the entrance of the athlete's door, scowl firm on his face. “I thought you were doing better?” He says when I get within earshot.

“It was a long day, man.” I push past him, my bag smacking him in the chest as I yank the door open.

He grabs the strap and pulls, halting my movement. “You always have an excuse, brother. Own it.”

The air in my lungs disappears instantly, like someone slid a blade between my ribs and twisted. I can’t take a full breath, that same sharp, needling pain, telltale warning sign that everything is about to implode. He’s wrong, it’s not an excuse, it’s bloody survival.

The heady mix of all the things I’ve been carrying on my own starts to swirl as I close my eyes and try to breathe. The confusion I feel when Kait is around, her plush lips and eyes I could easily get lost in. The fear that her simply existing in proximity to me is a damn death sentence. Mixed with the fact that I’m actually attracted to her in more than just a physical sense, I want to know her. And I haven’t wanted to know anyone in thirteen years.

Then there’s the fact that my contract is hanging in the balance somewhere. The media and an asshole coach, waiting in the shadows for the moment I step too far over the line before I lose that, too.

My jaw clenches so hard, pain shoots through my temples. “You don’t know shit, Reed.” I grind out, turning to head to the locker room.

“No?” He brings a foot to the wall behind him, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest like he has all day for this. “Then maybe you should fill me in. Maybe it’s time to stop running and face whatever it is that pulls you into these spirals in the first place. Maybe it’s time to move the hell on.”

Move on? The words cause the very fragile thread inside me to snap.

“I can’t move on!” I yell, my bag falls to the floor with a thud that I barely hear over the blood roaring in my ears. “Do you know what it’s like watching the woman you loved in silence die without ever being able to tell her?”

The hallway feels like it’s stretching, narrowing, closing in on me, and there’s nowhere to run. My skin tightens, and I fight the urge to scratch at it. “Do you know how it feels to be the only one who survived?” My voice fractures. “Or how it feels to carry that weight, every damn day?”

His face stays blank, but I can’t stop now. I couldn’t even if I tried. “Do you know how it feels to constantly try to prove to yourself and the rest of the world that you’re worthy enough to exist?” My throat tightens, but I step forward until our noses almost touch. I need him to feel it, to understand.

“Do you know what it’s like to hear her voice every time you step on the ice? To remember the way her teeth chattered as she told you she was cold?” My hands start to shake, and I fist them at my sides. It does nothing to help, though.

“I scan every room,” I choke out. “Every exit. Look for threats everywhere. I don’t sit with my back to a door, I hate going to sleep unless I’m drunk enough to not dream. And even then.” I try to take a breath, and my heart stutters. “It always comes back to not being able to save her.”

My vision blurs, throat tightening almost to the point of pain. “I drink on the road so I don’t wake you up. So I don’t wake anyone up. Because the pain I feel in those dreams.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The first tear slides down my face. It’s hot and humiliating, burning away years of shame and unresolved grief. “I don’t get to move on, Reed,” I say, barely audible. “If I move on, it means she’s really gone. That I truly failed her and her family. She was my best friend, and I loved her. If I’m happy…”

I feel my lips tremble. I work hard to keep them even, but I can’t. “What kind of man does that make me?”

Silence stretches through the hallway. Only broken when Reed finally says, “No.” Softer than I’ve ever heard him. And then he pulls me into him. I stiffen at first, then I break.

It’s not quiet; there’s no dignity in it. It’s ugly, suffocating, shoulder-shaking grief that I’ve swallowed for more than a decade. My hands scrunch the back of his shirt, holding on like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing keeping me afloat.

“After all the bullshit we went through with Wilder and Monroe,” he mutters as he steps back. “Why didn’t you tell us?”