Page 49 of Ice Queen

I scoff, glaring at him as if he should be able to see the list of why not’s racing through my mind.

Because I didn’t want to?

Because saying it out loud makes it real.

Because if they look at me with pity, I’ll lose my shit.

Because I’m the strong one, the protector.

But when I open my mouth, nothing but the painful truth comes out. “I haven’t even talked it through with my family, man.” I sigh, sliding a hand down my face as I wipe the excess moisture off. My eyes burn, my head is pounding. “Truthfully, this whole PR bullshit might actually work out in my favor. Coach Stevens said I needed to go to therapy, and it’s been helping.”

I let out a hollow laugh, one that feels too fragile. “I haven’t had a panic attack on the ice since. But…”

He nods, waiting for me to continue.

“There are things I buried,” I admit. “Things that were twisted in my memory. Things that fit the narrative in my head that I failed. That I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough.” I swallow hard, “Dr. Williams says there’s nothing I could have done.” My voice breaks again.

“But if that’s true, then all this pain?” I press my open palm to my chest, rubbing at the spot that feels like it’s just been hit with a puck. “What the hell was it all for?”

“Christ, Markus.” His head shakes as he bends down to grab my bag and leads us down the hall. “That’s a lot.”

I sigh, my body feeling more sluggish with every step. “I don’t want to be looked at any differently. I just want to be me, but better.”

He snorts softly. “And the girl at your house is going to make you better?”

My steps falter as his question lands. I don’t answer right away, because even I know Kait isn’t just some girl. She’s warm light in a room I’ve kept dark on purpose.

“Her bookstore window got a baseball thrown through it. I was there when it happened.” I clear my throat as we push through the locker room doors. “She lives above it, which I don’t even think is legal. But I couldn’t just let her stay there. It’s not safe. I have the room, and she can watch Maggie while I’m gone.”

He smirks as he whips his shirt off over his head, ready to change back into practice gear. “Mhm.” Clearly not believing a word of what I just said.

But all I can think about is the way she looked this morning. Small. Defeated. But then she took control of the situation, stood her ground, and made it known she wouldn’t be spoken to that way. She’s quiet strength wrapped in endless grace and sarcasm that knows no bounds. I like it, and that scares me a bit.

Underneath that small confession is the terrifying realization that I would rather the world burn to ash before I let anything happen to her. I don’t know if that’s because there might be something there, or if it’s my penance. But staying away from her gets harder by the day.

I don’t get a chance to respond before my day is made infinitely worse by a red-faced Coach Douchebag stomping into the locker room. “How nice of you to join us, Samuels,” he spits. “Must be nice to not give a shit about your team. Maybe we really should just cut you loose.”

I roll my eyes, turning to face my locker so I can get changed. “You’re right, you probably should. But Mr. Collins won’t because this team is doing well this season, and I’m second in goals…” I cup my hand around my mouth and whisper, “and penalty minutes.” To Reed, who rolls his lips together before I look at Sterling over my shoulder. “Right behind oh… I don’t know, our good ole’ captain here, and Monroe, who are tied for first.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just show up to practice whenever you damn well please.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “You’re right. This one is fully on me. I’ll take whatever punishment the coaching staff feels I deserve.”

If the smile on his face is any indication, that was the wrong thing to say. “See you two on the ice.”

“Ohh. Ominous.” I pull the strap on my chest pad a little tighter, then grab my practice jersey off the hook. “I’m sorry, Reed. You guys deserve someone who’s not so twisted up.”

“Don’t. I get it now. But this is the first time you’ve almost missed a practice. Don’t make a habit of it. A better you doesn’t drink himself to sleep. A better you finds a new way to quiet the noise.” He taps the back of my calf with the blade of his stick.

A better way, huh? In an instant, a pair of amber eyes and a shy smile make their way into my mind. It’s a picture so vivid I start to believe they’ve always been there, always meant for me to find. I screw my eyes shut, giving my head a shake. No, Samuels.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s go face the music.” He throws me a wink, wraps his arm around my shoulder, and pulls me to the ice with him.

The music turned out to be bag skate drills in front of my entire team. Apparently, Coach Stevens had somewhere to be, so practice is being led by the devil incarnate. Which, honestly, might be too nice a term.

“Again.” The whistle pierces through the arena, bouncing off the bleachers and steel beams in the ceiling. Once the echo dissipates, there’s nothing but the sound of my skates carving into ice and my breathing as I try to keep myself upright.

My lungs burn. Every inhale acts like a slice to my throat. My vision blurs at the edges, the white of the ice turning gray, before I blink, and it returns to normal.