Page 116 of Ice Queen

Monroe just finished his outdoor kitchen, fully equipped with a pizza oven, a grill, and a TV mounted on the wall. It’s got all the gadgets and gizmos you could ask for, and I swear my sister about combusted when she got the grand tour. She really needs to stop working for my mom and open up her own bakery.

His cousin, Rory, is here too. I share my Godparent duties with her, and I couldn’t think of a more deserving person to share that title with. She picked the next book, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, it’s a firefighter romance. She is dating the fire chief in her town back in New York. The little shit smiled into her glass of water, not even slightly fazed as the girls gave her a hard time about it.

There’s a story there, one I wasn’t here for. Apparently, Rory has an armada of her own, and they came in guns ablaze when she came to the ranch for a break from the drama unfolding back home. She’s undoubtedly one of us. Well, the whole Turtle Bay crew is, really.

Cam’s running around barefoot in the grass with Maggie chasing after him. His soft giggles and high-pitched squeals draw smiles from just about everyone here. He’s the first baby in the group, but certainly not the last, considering by some stroke of ridiculous luck, or covert planning on their part, both Hannah and Abby are pregnant. God help the Wilder brothers for the next six months.

Cam wears dirt like an accessory, a true ranch kid. I watch as he presses his finger to Maggie’s nose, then takes off in the other direction. Her tail wags as she gives him a head start, then she takes off after him, running circles around him as he zig-zags across the grass. They’re best buds, and if Maggie weren’t my best friend, I’d let her stay here. But no dice, she’s mine, just like the woman in my arms.

Kait’s nestled in my lap, her back against my chest, and my hand resting on the outside of her thighs. Her freshly manicured nails, in navy blue, of course, run up and down my forearms. The movement puts me into what I call a Kait-induced trance, something only she can do.

I look around the table, noting that my sister has everyone on the edge of their seat as she tells a story about her latest fitting gone wrong. Her hands fly through the air as she talks, the details getting more ridiculous by the second.

My eyes fall to Kait, who has her head resting against my shoulder. She’s got this soft, dreamy look on her face, and something in my chest tightens. Not in the sharp, painful way it used to, but like it’s so full it might burst. There was a time she wasn’t sure she fit into our world, and a time I thought I couldn’t afford to make room for her in it. She’s filled that space so naturally, I don’t even remember what life was like without her.

Rory leans forward, brows pulling into her pink hairline. “Okay, wait. He wanted a train on the pants' legs?”

Cecy’s lips press together as she tries to keep from laughing, but then Abby jumps in with something about looking like duck feet, and the table breaks into the kind of laughter that only comes with family. Loud, crass, and one hundred percent unapologetic. Kait’s shoulders shake against my chest, and I lean in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head just because I can.

My eyes are still locked on the side of her face, reveling in the ease of this. Of how effortlessly she fits here, and the way this fits me. Her, us, a life I’d convinced myself I didn’t deserve, when Monroe’s voice cuts through the chatter like a knife.

“Oy.” He hits the volume button on the remote. “Look.”

Kait’s ex, our old coach’s mugshot, is plastered on the screen, and the shift in the air is immediate. The noise falls away, and everyone stops to tune into what’s being said.

“Breaking news: Tampa Bay Hawks assistant coach James Sterling arrested on abuse charges.”

The words land in the middle of the patio like a bomb. Kait's body reacts before I can, going completely still against me. Her fingers stop their trailing. Her back presses more firmly into my chest, like she's bracing for a hit she can’t see coming.

It won't come, though. I've got her.

I didn’t tell her about Savannah’s call a few weeks ago. Or that she got footage from the nightmare of a practice Sterling put me through. I didn’t tell her that Savannah is in full crisis clean-up mode, and started pulling threads that unraveled more than any of us thought possible.

She doesn’t know that Savannah didn’t stop when the first woman came forward, or the second, but by the third, she knew there was more going on. Messages, emails, everything Sterling thought he buried, surfaced all at once.

The best part? Kait’s name is nowhere in any of it. No headlines. She won’t be asked for a statement. There isn’t anything that ties her to him publicly. That part was a non-negotiable for me. Whatever closure this brings her, she gets to have quietly, on her own terms, away from anyone who might make her feel like she was anything other than a victim of this asshole.

My fingers flex against the outside of her thighs, and she lets out a shuddering breath. With every sentence the reporter says, something in her loosens. It’s gradual, like a flower slowly blooming in the spring. Almost three years of looking over her shoulder, years of building herself back up from the rubble he reduced her to, years of flinching at the wrong moment. I feel every bit of it leave her body, right here in my arms, on Monroe’s back patio, surrounded by the friends we’re both lucky enough to call family.

I lower my head and press a slow, firm kiss to the side of her neck. I don't say anything. There's nothing left that needs to be said.

Her hand slides up to wrap around the back of my neck. Her voice comes out soft and certain, no tremor underneath it. “You and me,” she says.

“Yeah.” I pull her closer. “You and me.”

Around us, Monroe breaks the silence first, fist flying into the air. “Justice is served, asshole!” The rest follow immediately, their insults getting more creative by the second.

Andrews’ head falls back behind him as a laugh tumbles from him. “He’s going to starve.”

Wilson smacks his best friend in the chest, joining in with his own laughter. “Can you imagine? He’s going to be a freaking nightmare. They don’t serve…” his brows furrow as he tries to remember what the ridiculous diet preferences of this guy were.

Kait snorts, a laugh of her own joining the mix. “Keto.”

Wilson snaps his fingers, pointing directly at her. “Yes, thank you, Kait. Keto. They don’t serve Keto to the inmates.”

My arms tighten around her. The thought of her knowing that makes my skin crawl. That man never deserved her, but I do. I’ll spend the rest of my life working to deserve the title of “hers.”

“I'm good,” she says, tilting her head back to look at me. “Really good.”