Page 5 of Ice Queen

It’s silent for a beat, but then Lettie’s voice fills the car. Gentle, steady, grounding.

“Sammy, speaking from someone who lost Lucas, albeit not to death, I never once wanted him to suffer. And knowing that he did to such an extreme extent, wrecked me.”

I open one eye, and it immediately locks on hers. “She wouldn’t want you to live your life chasing her ghost. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve to give your love to someone worthy of it. I know you have Maggie, and I love her and all her furry glory, but wouldn’t it be nice to come home to someone and have an actual conversation instead of just tail wags or a quick lay?”

I hear what she’s saying, and deep down I know she’s right. I guess I just don’t know how to stop blaming myself. At the time, I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I thought getting a dog would help when the nightmares got particularly bad a few years ago. And it has, Maggie girl is my saving grace more often than not. The second I start thrashing in my sleep, she puts her head and paw on my chest until I pull myself out of it.

“Yeah… I appreciate you guys coming with me. I don’t know that I’m ready to face it alone, yet.”

I let my eyes close again, hoping they get the hint that I don’t want to talk right now. Luckily, they do, and the car starts moving. My breathing evens out a bit the further we get from the therapist's office.

You’re not a failure, Markus Samuels. A little bit of a loose cannon, but not a failure. I repeat over and over.

* Come on! You can do this.

* I’m proud of you

* Can’t you walk any faster?

* Go fuck yourself

CHAPTER 2

Kaitlyn

Two years ago

My sock-covered feet quietly pad across the floor, each step spiking my anxiety. I have exactly three minutes and twenty-two seconds before he comes out of the bathroom.

How a man spends the same amount of time in there every night, I will never know. But I’ve waited, watched, and I’ve timed him. For years, I’ve studied his habits, memorized his routine. Tonight is no different.

After we got home from his stupid work party, I played the role of dutiful fiancée. I took his jacket, hanging it neatly in the hall closet, made him his favorite decaf coffee as a nightcap, and I may have added a dash or two of the drowsy allergy medicine before cleaning up my mess.

The second he walked into the bathroom, though, I started the timer and texted my neighbor, Shelby, from a phone he doesn’t know about. I had seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds to work with, and I’m quickly running out of time.

Tearing off my clothes, I pull on my favorite black jeans, tank top, and leather jacket, then grab my favorite black running shoes, which he thinks I threw out. The future wife of the CEO's son should never be seen working out, he’d say, like the CEO's son was such a prestigious title. Pompous asshole.

My everyday phone sits plugged into the charger on my nightstand, and the bed is perfectly made, just like he likes it. I take one parting glance, realizing everything is in place before I make a silent dash for the door.

No one’s coming to save you. Save yourself. I’ve repeated it time and time again over the last few months until I started to believe it. Now it’s time to act on it.

My hand shakes as I press down softly on the handle, slipping out the side door, cringing at the quiet click it makes when it shuts behind me. I know where the cameras are, so I slink around them. I’ve run this side yard like an obstacle course hundreds of times, making it look like I was doing yard work so he wouldn’t get suspicious. As I move, I purposely avoid the areas I know will trigger the floodlights.

When I make it to Shelby’s backyard, she hands me a backpack loaded with the cash I’ve been getting back from the grocery store every week for the past year and a half. We had a chef who shopped for everything she needed. That’s how I know he didn’t care about me or what I did; he just needed me to be a shiny object he could show off.

A hundred bucks a week for seventy-eight weeks. Seven thousand, eight hundred dollars. For a woman who’d been controlled financially for four years, this feels like freedom. Or a death sentence when he finally figures it out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asks as I take the bag.

I nod, not trusting my own voice not to say this is a mistake.

“Kaitlyn!” My name is bellowed through the night, I’m sure half the neighborhood heard him. It’ll be the talk of the town in the morning, but hopefully I won’t be here to see it. My eyes widen, and she nods, sending Emmet, her husband, who also happens to be a police officer, out to calm Wyatt down.

I take off through the forest in the back of our gated community, my feet kicking up dirt behind me. One of the reasons I love Colorado is the density of the trees. So many places to hide. Just as many ways to trip, get mauled by some animal, or, you know, freeze to death. But right now, all I need is to get to the bar a mile from here so I can make my way to the bus station.

“Kaitlyn!” Wyatt yells again, but it’s close this time. Too close, which means he got away from Emmett. There’s pepper spray in this bag, Emmett told me yesterday that he put it in there.

I press myself against a tree, pulling the bag close to my chest as I reach into the side pocket and take out the small canister. I rest my finger on the button and keep the nozzle aimed at the ground as I listen.