The arena has gone quiet. Behind us, the tunnel is empty. The Zamboni is making its slow loop around the ice while the family section above is clearing out, the press already ushered toward the locker room interview area. We are, for this moment, alone.
That’s when I hear the heels on the rubber matting.
I look up.
Up close, Vanessa is even more beautiful. She glows like she’s just walked out of a magazine. Her coat is still bunched in her hands, and the pale gray of her eyes has no warmth at all.
I tighten my arm around Ethan. He has gone still against me, his small body locking up, his face pressing harder into my coat.
Vanessa looks me up and down slowly, from my scuffed boots to the loose braid.
Then she smiles.
“So you’re his human whore.”
The slur is so out of place against the dress, the coat, the lipstick, that for a beat my brain skips over it. Then I cover Ethan’s ears with both hands. He doesn’t fight me, just burrows deeper into my chest.
That word human snags at the back of my head like Brody’s phrasing did an hour ago, a different word with the same edge underneath.
“Do I know you?” My voice has gone cold, sweet at the edges.
She doesn’t answer. Her eyes have moved past me to Ethan.
“Ethan.” Her voice has gone clipped, no warmth in it. “Come here.”
Ethan shudders against me, his small hand fisting tighter in my collar.
“He doesn’t want to,” I murmur, my voice quiet and even.
“I am his mother.” Her voice sharpens. “He will come when I tell him to.”
Ethan whimpers.
The sound is muffled against my coat, and my eyes tighten, protective instincts flaring.
I lift him gently off my lap, setting him on the bench behind me. Then I stand.
Five foot four doesn’t make me a tall woman. In any room I’ve walked into, I’ve never been the tallest person there. Still, I plant my feet on the rubber matting between Vanessa Taylor and the child shaking on the bench. My chin lifts.
“Back off.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I keep my voice level, almost pleasant. “The kid said no.”
Her eyes narrow. “He is my son.”
“He’s not going anywhere with you.”
Vanessa is studying me with an expression I don’t like.
“It seems,” she murmurs slowly, “that Grayson has found himself an arrogant little thing.”
I raise a brow. “Your point?”
She leans in close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral, expensive, and cold. “Do you think a human like you can keep my child from me?”
There’s that word human again, twice now, used like it has a weight I don’t know about.
