Page 53 of Ice Queen

I nod, the corners of my lips briefly pulling up into a smile. The guy seems sincere enough. “We’ve got this asshole of a coach, who pushed him to his breaking point for being late.” He motions to his chin. “Figured he could use a little pick-me-up, let him know we’ve got his back no matter what, so I rallied the troops.” His head tilts toward the living room.

I’m still nodding, feeling that my small smile slides right off my face as his words burrow into my head. His coach did what? What kind of organization lets its coaches beat their players up enough that they end up in stitches at practice?

Anger on Markus’ behalf surges through me, my blood tingles at that weird point in my elbow before it spreads down my arms. A painful reminder of exactly what it’s like to be pushed to your breaking point. Wyatt used to take an almost sadistic pleasure in adding more and more meaningless tasks to my plate day after day. Pointless errands that ran me in circles, papers that needed to be notarized that day, then sat on his home office desk for weeks. I remember the exhaustion that wrapped itself around me to the point I just wanted to sleep for days.

Which, to be fair, I’m sure that’s what his endgame was. A tired Kaitlyn fought back less. Knowing that’s what happened to Markus today makes me want to go find his coach and give him a piece of my mind. I want to know exactly what happened, how he’s doing, and if he needs anything. Hell, I want him to let me take care of him. But that anger slowly turns into something softer, sadder. He doesn’t need me. He has all of them.

“We brought food, there’s more than enough if you’re hungry,” he says before sliding past me and continuing into the living room, which is filled with said “troops.”

I swallow hard, looking at how they all fit so well together. Then there’s me standing in the hallway, looking in from the outside, not knowing where I fit. If I fit. And then there’s that little part of me that screams at me to go back into my room. To make it so no one even knows I’m here.

But I don’t want that. I want a place to call home, I want friends that are my own, that I picked and who picked me right back. I scan the room one more time, and this time, my eyes collide with Markus’. He holds my gaze for a second before a slow smile spreads across his face.

He tilts his chin in invitation, and stepping into the room feels like the most dangerous thing in the world.

CHAPTER 19

Markus

I saw the way she steeled her nerves as she attempted to storm out of her room. I saw her stop and second guess coming out here, and then I saw Reed sneak up behind her. Her body angled away from him, almost as if she was trying to put as much distance between them as possible while still being respectful. But then he said something, and her eyes widened, her body went still. It took everything in me to stay where I was, to let her handle the situation however she saw fit.

When he walked away, I saw the war waging behind her eyes. The way she rolled her bottom lip against her teeth. She looked around the room once, her arms crossing over her middle as if those very arms were the only thing keeping her safe. But then she looked again, and her eyes met mine.

Now, she’s slowly walking through the room toward me. Her eyes look at everyone she passes, as if any of them would question why she’s here. “Hey,” I say as she gets within earshot. “They brought dinner.”

She looks around, taking in the ridiculous amount of food that’s decorating both my kitchen island and the dining room table. “I’m sorry I ruined the chicken,” she whispers. I almost laugh, but then she keeps going. “I can take Abby up on her offer if my staying here is inconvenient.”

My head rears back. Why would she think it’s inconvenient? I grab her hand and pull her to the garage, where we can talk without my teammates being nosy. Which, to be fair, I’m sure their ears will be pressed against the door any second.

“Why do you think that?” I ask.

She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, eyes trained on the ground, and I hate it. I hate that she’s nervous around me, or that she feels like she can’t talk openly. “Kait,” I say gently. “I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if I thought it was inconvenient.”

“But you said I was their friend. Not yours,” she rushes out. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

Damn it. I slide a hand across her cheek and tilt her face up to mine, and she immediately nuzzles into my palm. I’m not sure if she realizes she did or not, but it makes those damn flutters return to my stomach. “You’re not in my way. You are their friend. And you are mine. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how that might sound when I said it. It was a rough morning, and an even rougher day.”

Her eyes well with tears, and something in me cracks. “Why are you crying?” I ask, pulling her into my chest.

She sniffles softly. “I don’t know what to do when you apologize.”

I pull away, bending so that I can look her in the eyes. They’re red and so sad. “What do you mean?”

There’s a soft pink couch I got from my sister that sits in the corner of my garage. It was so she could sit out here while I worked out when I first moved in, before she got her own house on the other side of town. The little shit never took it, though, and it doesn’t match the inside, so it stayed here.

Kait walks over and hesitantly sits. Like it’s second nature, her fingers find something to play with; this time, it’s the leg of her shorts. “Wyatt,” she says, not looking at me. “The guy I ran from.”

Oh hell, we’re going there? I move to sit on the floor in front of her, making sure she knows she has my undivided attention, but also so she can’t look at the ground instead of me.

“He never apologized. Well, he did, but it was always ‘I’m sorry you took it that way,’ or ‘I’m sorry that offended you.’ It was never an actual apology. Just a backhanded way to make it my fault.”

She blinks, and another tear falls. “So now, when a man apologizes, and actually means it, it feels like a trap.”

“Ay Dios.” I pull her into me, ignoring the fact that she tenses at first. “I’m sorry that you went through that. But I’m not sorry that you got out, nor am I sorry that you ended up in my life again.”

She shakes against me as she tries to hold her feelings in, and suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense. The over apologizing, the feeling in the way, or like she’s a burden to those around her. “Let it out, don’t hold it in anymore. You don’t have to. You’re safe here.” Safe with me.

The thought lands like an uppercut. Is she really safe with me? Maybe she should take Abby up on that offer. Or maybe I should tell her it’s just until I get back and her window is fixed. But the very thought of her not being here fills me with something I don’t even know what to name.