Page 78 of Crack the Ice

“He’s free to go, as long as he’s in your custody. He’s been surprisingly delightful.” The officer chuckles, watching as McAllister sways back and forth as he hums some stupid song.

I sigh, walking over to him and slinging his arm over my shoulder. “I’ll take him home. Thanks for the discretion, officer.”

“No problem, good luck this season.”

“Thanks,” I grunt as I lift the giant pain in my ass off the cold cell bench.

He stands, only to lose his balance momentarily. “Whoa, Cap daddy. You are strong.” He snorts out a laugh as we walk toward the front.

“Do me a favor and shut the hell up,” I mumble. The stale smell of booze burns my nose, making my stomach roll. This was the signature stench of my father, a smell I’ll never forget. One I lived with for a long time before Sammy met Kait and stopped drinking. I took it because it felt like my own personal purgatory, penance for losing the only woman I’ve ever loved.

Here I am again, ruining the chance I’ve so graciously been given because I can’t fucking stay. God, why can’t I stay?

I get the big lug to my car, buckling him in and shutting the door before I take my sweet ass time rounding the hood of my car. My legs feel like they’ve been filled with lead. My team calls me “cap daddy” or “Daddy Reed,” and I hate it. I’ve never known why, but now, with my heart at home and me miles away helping someone who doesn’t mean shit off the ice while the people who mean everything are feeling the loss of me, the same way I felt the loss of my dad, I do.

I’m him. Always looking for ways to keep myself busy, problems to solve, anything to keep the attention off the brokenness inside me.

Fuck. I run a hand through my hair, letting my forehead rest on my car door for a second. Maybe I do need to go to therapy. Maybe it isn’t just the kids that need it. Hell, family therapy might be beneficial to all of us.

Pulling the car door open, I slide in, letting out a shaky breath, trying to dispel the air trapped in my lungs. I grab my phone from the center console, firing off a text before I even turn the car on.

I know my words don’t mean much, but I’m sorry.

I should have stayed. I failed you again. I think maybe I need to go to therapy. I don’t want to be my dad, Cess.

I want to be a man worthy of you and these kids, but I can’t seem to stay still. If there’s a chance of us talking when I get home, I’d like to take it.

I don’t expect her to respond. I’m sure she’s doing everything she can to distract the kids from my absence. Is that the role Cade plays every time I leave? His dad didn’t leave by choice. Mine did, and so did I. His mom trusted me with them. Trusted me to help them grow up to be great kids, but the example I’m giving him sucks.

This stops here, for her, for them.

“I don’t feel so good, Cap.”

My head snaps to my teammate who’s curled in on himself. My finger smashes against the ignition, my car roaring to life as I roll all the windows down. “If you puke in my car, practice will be even worse for you tomorrow than it’s already going to be.”

He groans and leans his head half out the window. Luckily, his house is a ten-minute drive from the station, and I make sure to take every turn with as much caution as I can. The second I pull into the parking lot, I’m throwing my hazards on and pulling him from my car.

“Can you and your bedazzled nips make it inside, or do I need to help you? Where are your keys?”

He wags his finger in my face. “My fingey is the key.”

I stare vacantly at this grown-ass man who just called his finger a fingey before shoving him toward the door. “Get inside, man. Before someone sees you.”

“Glitter nips!” he yells, but makes it inside in a relatively straight line.

The security guard in the lobby of his building eyes me warily. I give him a shrug.

He’s your problem now, buddy.

Hopping back in my car, I check my phone only for it to be void of anything. No text from Sammy telling me how stupid I am, not a peep from Monroe, who told me multiple times as I walked out the door that the best way for these guys to learn is to let them suffer, nothing from Cade or Lily, and not that I expected a response from Cecilia, but still, her lack of response hurts the most.

I don’t usually speed. I like to think I’m a law-abiding citizen, but the longer I’m away from them, the tighter the grip around my heart gets. I know I messed up. I know I left when I promised I wouldn’t. I know I hurt the people who mean the most, and I’m desperate to get home and beg for forgiveness. I already know they’ll give it to me, and that lets me off the hook I deserve to bleed on for a bit.

The entire drive home, I replay all the times I’ve left. The sheer number of times I walked away from her, silently telling her that something or someone else was more important, how that must have confirmed that she isn’t anything more than her brother’s sister or her mother’s daughter. The number of times I apologized just to see the light in her eyes get dimmer with every empty promise to not do it again.

The way Cade slumped the second I answered the phone, how she immediately caught on to it, because her reaction has always been the same: shut down, turn off the feelings, tell yourself what’s going to happen before it happens, hoping it’ll hurt less when the outcome is the same as it always is. That realization has bile rising in my throat.

The cars are gone, and the lights in the house are off, deepening the pit in my stomach. Jogging up the steps, I unlock the door only to be stopped in my tracks by Cade, who’s sitting on the ground against the corner of the house.