Page 100 of Ice Queen

My eyes are still roaming, still appreciating when they snag on something on his bicep. Something that wasn’t there when he left. My heart stills in my chest as I take in its circular shape.

I step forward, my eyes focusing on it before I slap my hand over my mouth.

“Markus,” I whisper. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He pushes a hand through his hair, letting it rest against the back of his neck. The smile on his face is slow and unashamed. “I did.”

“Why?” I reach out and brush my fingers over the tattoo. My throat feels raw, constricting with every breath.

He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together without a word, and walks us slowly into the beach entry of the pool, the faux sand rough against my feet. He sits us down at the edge where the water barely covers my thighs, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

For a moment, he just stares at the water like I had been doing when he walked through the door, a million and one things swirl in his eyes. The small pinch and release of the skin around his mouth gives way to thoughts racing through his mind.

“Remember in the garage,” he starts. “When I said I was the sole survivor of the crash?”

“Yes.” I’ve wanted to ask about it for a long time, but I never found the right moment. Or maybe I was waiting for him to find it, afraid to ruin the progress we’d made.

“I thought I had been in love with Mille.” He exhales slowly, as if saying her name out loud carries a weight heavy enough to pull him under.

My hand squeezes his, and he squeezes back.

“We grew up together. Our parents were best friends, our whole lives overlapped. But I never told her how I felt.” A watery chuckle escapes him, the kind that isn’t really a laugh at all. “And then it was too late.”

I stay quiet. His thumb begins to draw small circles against the back of my hand.

“I carried that guilt around for more than a decade. The regret of it. And I told myself getting close to someone would be betraying her memory. So I kept people at arm’s length.” He pauses. “Women especially.”

“So why is the media painting you as a Playboy, or trying to at least?”

He shakes his head, and a look of regret cuts across his face before he looks back at me. “Early in my career, I was. When I first got to the league, I drank, took what was offered, and I always felt like shit after.” His jaw tightens. “When I got traded to the Hawks, I stopped bringing women back to my room. Don’t get me wrong, I was still the first one to say let's go out after a win, always the loudest of the bunch. But the meaningless hookups, I let that go.”

Silence encases us for a moment, the water moving around us in slow, lapping waves. Kissing our skin before retreating, only to come back again moments later, drawn to us like I am to him.

“A few years ago, the nightmares got worse. I don’t know what changed, but I do know the only thing that made them stop was drinking until I passed out.” His eyes lift to mine. Even in the moonlight, I can tell they’re red at the edges. “And then you pulled me out of one.” He turns his arm slightly, and I see it clearer now: my bite mark from that night, permanently etched on his skin. “That was the last time I had one. Well, while I was home at least.”

The air disappears from my lungs as my eyes bounce between his and the tattoo.

“I thought I loved her.” His voice is barely above a whisper now. “I spent a good chunk of my life chasing her ghost. Pushing people away. Punishing myself for not being able to save her.” He swallows roughly. “I was so afraid of the feelings I had for you in the beginning because they were so much stronger than anything I ever felt for her. Terrified of not being enough to save you.”

A tear slides down his cheek, but he doesn’t wipe it away.

“I’m not afraid of loving you, Kait.” His eyes hold mine. “I’m afraid of what it’ll cost you.”

I don’t think, I just move. Climbing into his lap, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my face into the curve of his neck. His arms come around me, tight enough to strangle, but I don’t care. He lets out an unsteady exhale, and I feel it brush softly against my hair.

“I don’t need to be saved, Markus,” I say after a beat.

He pulls back to look at me, his fingers lightly brush across my face as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I know, but I don’t know how to stop trying.”

I lean my head back enough to kiss the front of his neck, my eyes fluttering closed as I press a few more kisses there. His chin rests against my forehead, and for a moment, we just stay like this.

“I don’t need a savior,” I whisper against him. “I need a partner, someone who’s going to stand beside me when things get hard or go sideways, not in front of me.”

His chin disappears from the top of my head, a forceful exhale leaving him. “All I can do is give you my word that I’ll try.”

“That’s enough for me,” I pause. “You’re enough for me.”

His head drops behind him, a groan building low in his throat. “You can’t say stuff like that.”