Page 60 of Icebound

I don’t wait—I run.

15

RHODE

“Nina!”

I pound my fist against the private bathroom door she sprinted inside a minute ago. There’s nothing but silence, so I knock again, resting my forehead against the cool metal.

“Nina, are you alright? Can you please answer me? I’m worried about you.”

My stomach lurches when I picture Nina’s pale face, eyes wide like she was about to pass out. The thought sends a shot of intense energy through me that rivals an adrenaline rush on the ice.

I wish I could see through the door to know she’s not lying unconscious on the tile in that goddamn dress that’s driving me wild. What was I thinking telling her she looked fine when she looks fucking breathtaking?

I couldn’t keep my eyes, or my hands, off her all night, but I only let myself look when I knew Nina wasn’t watching. I wasn’t the only one staring, either. I'm used to heads turning when I walk in the room, but every eye seemed to zero in on Nina in that dress.

She captivated everyone in the room. It’s like the girl’s made of sunlight.

I wanted to cover her with my suit jacket just as much as I wanted to show her off, but then, some asshole whispered in my ear about how lucky I was to be with a younger woman, and it took everything in me not to drag the guy out of the party.

Now, I can’t stop thinking about Nina’s wrinkle-free face and wondering if every person at this event is judging us for being together.

I shake my head hard enough to crack my neck. I’m an ass for thinking about that right now when she’s sick.

What was that?

Is she drunk?

She doesn’t seem like it, but I wouldn’t be surprised with all the champagne she’s been chugging all night. That’s exactly what I would’ve done in my twenties at some stuffy event, so I don’t blame her.

My grip tightens on the handle because I want to do something. No, I need to do something. I’m the man Rowyn always calls for help—even if it’s two in the morning and she needs someone to fix her leaking sink.

The silence on the other side fuels my frustration. I shake the knob hard enough to break, but the lock won’t budge.

“Nina,” I grunt. “Please say something.”

“Go away, Rhode. I’m fine.”

I bump my forehead hard against the door. “Please, Nina. I’m worried about you.”

“Just go.”

“Just tell me if you’re okay,” I press, bordering on begging.

“Would you just leave me alone?” she shouts through the closed door. “I’m having a panic attack, and I need a fucking minute!”

I flinch at the anger lacing her voice. Her admission hits like a savage slap shot to the glove.

A panic attack?

I’ve only had one, and it was one of the worst experiences of my life—a lot scarier than I thought because my body actually kicked itself into fight or flight mode. The panic, the adrenaline, I never knew it was all so real.

I hate the idea of leaving her alone to deal with that, so I stand frozen by the bathroom door, torn. I want to be there for her, but if Nina needs space, I want to respect that more.

Trying to shake off the weight of concern, I make my way back to the ballroom and help the waitstaff clean up, but I’m thinking of Nina. I can’t stop picturing her in there, worrying, wondering if she needs anything. As I bend down to collect the pieces of glass, Andrea’s pointy black heels come into view.

“Tremblay,” she says. “How’s Nina? I was worried there.”