Page 51 of Ice Queen

“No,” Reed seethes. It’s not loud, but it carries. “We’re not doing this.”

Sterling’s eyebrows lift. “Say that again?”

Wilder skates up next to Reed, Monroe fully on the ice now, but he doesn’t interrupt our captain.

“I said we’re not doing this. You crossed a line,” Reed repeats.

Then, one by one, heads nod. Sticks tap against the ice, not chaotic or loud. A steady rhythm, showing unity between us all.

Sterling looks down my line of teammates. “You’re all willing to sit tomorrow?”

Wilder doesn’t miss a beat when he answers. “Yes.”

Another round of taps. Yes, yes, yes, and yes. It echoes through the rink like a war drum. Sterling’s jaw tightens, his eyes move to Mr. Collins, who's still standing with his arms crossed on the bench. Silently watching this all play out, watching his players standing up to a coach he hired.

When Monroe speaks, I know the man is seconds from throwing something. His voice is calm, lethal, a tone that only people who know Monroe would recognize. “We’re done.”

Sterling drops the whistle that was held between two fingers.

I know better than to say anything, so I don’t. And when Wilder and Reed help me up, I know Sterling is going to have it out for us all the next chance he gets. But what the man doesn’t know is that there’s no helping him once we band together. He may think he was putting on a show, but all he did was dig his own grave.

“Come on, in the ice bath,” Abby says as they get me on solid ground. “And then I need to look at your chin.”

I grunt, which she isn’t a stranger to, considering her husband, Tate, Wilder’s little brother, speaks in grunts.

“You’re okay,” she whispers as she helps me sit and get my skates off, then out of all my gear before climbing into the ice bath.

I hiss as the water hits my skin. Everything hurts, yet everything is numb at the same time. Hell, maybe Reed was right, maybe I need to find something else to quiet the noise. Being pushed to physical and mental exhaustion sure seems to do the trick.

CHAPTER 18

Kaitlyn

Their friend. The girls’ friend. A friend of the girls. Different variations of the words he spoke this morning bounced around in my head all day. Not his friend, theirs. Like they were the only reason he cooked for me or offered to let me stay here. I know I shouldn’t feel like an afterthought, but that’s exactly how I feel. Three words were all it took to take something that felt special this morning and turn it into something he’d do for anyone. You’re a charity case, Kaitlyn.

I sigh, throwing myself back on the couch as Maggie jumps up and puts her head in my lap. I play with her ears as I replay the conversation I had with Officer Knight earlier. They found no foul play, and the kids who threw the baseball felt so bad that they offered to help me in the bookstore for free for a whole month.

The notion made me chuckle, but they don’t need to do that. I have it handled. The bookstore is all I have. And while I’d like to be in there today, I decided to take a couple of days off. It’s been a long time since I had to sit with fear like this. Because truth be told, the first thing I thought was “oh, shit. He found me.”

But the second Markus’ hands landed on my face, I knew even if he had, I was safe. Which is another cause for concern. The man is not mine. Just a hockey player with a hero complex. Hopefully, my window will be fixed sooner rather than later so I can go back to my normal schedule, and you know, not be in his way.

I curl up in the corner, the TV turned on to the Food Network, and I watch a mind-numbing amount of Chopped episodes until my eyes slowly drift shut. It isn’t until the garage door creaks open and Maggie lets out a bark that I realize I had fallen asleep.

My arms stretch above me, a groan rumbling in my chest as I lean to the side. Pushing to stand, I turn toward the door. “Hey,” I call. “How was your–”

His shoulders are curled in as he hangs his keys on the hook and drops his wallet on the table next to the door. He doesn’t look up, doesn't even acknowledge me, but then I see it. “Oh my God, what happened?”

Before my mind can talk me out of it, I rush to him. My hands rest on his cheeks as I inspect the stitches running along his chin. “Are you okay?” I ask, my eyes flicking from the cut to his eyes.

Eyes that look lifeless and defeated. “I just want to shower and go to bed.”

I nod, unwilling to push him on something he clearly doesn't want to talk about. I don’t know if he’s eaten, and come to think of it, I haven’t had anything but fruit today. I pull out my phone and look up chicken recipes. I saw that he had put some in the fridge last night.

The first thing that comes up is honey garlic chicken. It sounds amazing and can’t be that hard, right? I make sure he has everything the recipe calls for before I pull out the pan as quietly as I can. I do what he did the other night and put everything in a line. Honey, soy sauce, olive oil, garlic, red pepper, that one burns my nose, and salt and pepper.

The recipe says to cube the chicken before putting it in the pan, which helps it cook faster. After washing it, I get to work, but cutting this stuff is nasty. I’ve never actually touched raw chicken before, and even when I washed it and pulled all the filmy stuff off, I was fighting to keep myself from gagging. But he cooked for me, I should at least try to return the favor.

Once I get the chicken into the pan, I smile when it gives me that little sizzle. I quickly wash my hands before moving on to the sauce. I pour the soy sauce, red pepper flakes, and garlic into a bowl, but when I get to the honey, I step backwards and trip over Maggie, sending the sticky substance all over my face. “Ahh man,” I whine.