Page 87 of Home Ice

Two years after she left us, I looked her up online. Her Facebook account was private, but I could still see the thumbnail of her profile picture. I saved it and looked at it every night. I thought maybe there would be something in the tiny picture that would give it away. Something that could show me how my own mother could hate me. Or maybe I could find a clue that led us all to realize it was just a misunderstanding. But the picture was just a picture. The woman standing in front of me looks almost identical to the one I spent all those hours analyzing. She's a little older. Her hair is shorter and dyed a shade lighter. But it's her.

"Did you get my text?" she asks.

"I don't want to do this." In my mind, the words are strong, but in reality, they're just a whisper that she ignores.

Another cold wave goes through me as her focus moves down and back up my body. I'm wearing a pink puffer coat over my sweatshirt and grey leggings. Just something comfy and warm for practice this morning, but it feels completely wrong under her glare. I wish I were wearing anything other than this, but I know nothing would earn her approval.

"So you're still…" Her words trail off as she sweeps a hand along me.

Everything inside me is telling me to run away. Tears pinch the back of my throat. But I force myself a little taller anyway. "Yep. Still me."

"I had to find out online. From an old classmate." She snarls. "Do you know how embarrassing that is? You'd think my own... child could tell me when he's back in town." She makes sure to emphasize the misgendering as if I could miss it. As if my ears weren't constantly tuned to pick up on that from her. "I'm just glad she lives in this neighborhood, or I would have never found out."

"I didn't want you to know," I mumble. The last time I saw her, I was still shorter than her, but I'm at least three inches taller than she is now. I wish it gave me the confidence to tell her what I want to say. That I never wanted to see her again. That she's the reason I hate my hometown. That she hasn't tried to contact me since I was thirteen-years-old, so how dare she blame me for not telling her I'm back? But there's so much pressure behind my eyes I have to clamp everything down or I'll break into tears. And I refuse to cry in front of her.

"I still pray for you every night. Every Sunday at church. I ask God to guide you past this trouble. One day He will. I just wish your father could have seen the truth before it was too late."

In an instant, all the emotion I thought I'd buried for this woman compresses into a rage so hot that I'll melt the siding on the house if I stand here any longer. This woman who has never stood beside me—this woman who actively fought against me—has no right to ever mention my father.

When I was in eighth grade, a group of parents at the school found out I was transitioning. They tried to pressure the school to make me use the boys' restroom, and when the school refused, they threatened to sue. I will never forget that school board meeting. Dad forbade me from going, but I snuck in anyway. Even now, it's easy to remember the hatred in the eyes of the people who misgendered me. I remember all the things they called me. I was a thirteen-year-old girl, but the things they said about me—the things they said about my dad—are things I would never say to anyone. And I remember watching from the back of the room as Mom stood up. Even though I knew she and Dad divorced because of me, I was still naive enough to think that my mom would be there fighting on my side. I wish I could say I learned my lesson that night, but I spent too many years after that, hoping she would change.

I know now that she never will. I should have known when she walked out on us. I should have known when she walked up to the mic at that school board hearing. I am such a fucking fool to ever think that this woman might one day care about me just because she gave birth to me.

"I'm not an expert in God." I close my eyes when I hear Brant's voice behind me. It allows just enough of my steaming rage to escape so I won't burst. "But I think your prayers have worked. Lily has made it past those troubles just fine." He puts his arm around the small of my back as he steps beside me, and I lean tight to his side. I'm shaking so much, I wonder how I've been able to stand without him. I am so glad he didn't listen to me when I tried to get him to go on without me.

Mom sneers at him. "Who are you?"

"The man who's making sure Lily doesn't have to put up with your shit. You must be Caralee. Lily hasn't said much at all about you, but even that little bit has been more words than you're worth."

Mom's face looks like an electric stove burner that's been left on high for too long. I want to high five Brant. Or kiss him. Fuck, how can I want to kiss him as much as I do right now? But with Mom's glare, I don't dare do anything except slip my hand around his back. My arm a mirror of his.

"Thank you for that, but this conversation is obviously between me and…" the side of her mouth curls up like even looking at me disgusts her, "him. So I think you should leave now."

"I think I should be wherever the woman I love wants me to be."

"Oh, that is so wonderful." Mom grins and clasps her hands. "Maybe you should stick around then because there is so much you need to know. My child, the deceiver." Her attention turns back to me, and the grin grows. "You've certainly built your life on lies, haven't you? But dragging others into that web? What is this gentleman going to think when he finds out the truth about you? Hmm?"

Is this the reason she wanted to meet with me? Fifteen years of bigotry built up inside her that she has to pour out on me? Why can't I tell her to go fuck herself? Why do I always let people like her stomp all over me? I glare down at her. I know the words should be right here on my tongue—they will be later when the adrenaline evaporates. But right now I can barely remember to breathe. When Brant steps between me and Mom, I know I don't have to defend myself, but I should be able to. As grateful as I am that he's here, I shouldn't need him for this.

"The truth that she was assigned male at birth?" My lips twitch. Brant has obviously been researching terminology on his own, and if my desire for him wasn't already bubbling, that knowledge just made it spill over. "Or the truth that she's better off because you weren't in her life. It made me sad when I first learned you abandoned her. I always thought every girl deserves a mother in their life. But I was wrong. Lily has done nothing to deserve you, and no matter what you do, you'll never deserve her."

As Brant turns his back to her, I see the burning in his eyes before they soften with his smile. "Hey," I whisper. It's so inadequate compared to what I need to tell him, but it's the only sound I can form.

His smile grows, and it's enough to block everything else. Mom is saying something behind him, but I can't make it out. I'm barely aware of anything except the way he's looking at me. "We're going to my house now. I'll buy you anything you need so you don't have to come back here." My eyes start to drift past his shoulder, but he takes a quick step to his left to block me. "She's like roadkill on the side of the road. There's nothing you can do for her, and there's nothing to gain by looking. Focus on me."

I nod and take the hand that he's holding out for me, and as we walk to his SUV, the only thing I'm aware of is the feeling of his palm against mine.

CHAPTER 54

MINDFULLY SHOUTING AT MY ERECTION TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN

BRANT

When Barrie and I found the kittens in our barn growing up, they were adorable, but they were helpless. One of them could barely move. And I reacted last night just like I did then. My arm never left Lily. There was almost no point when I didn't keep her pulled tight to my side. Every once in a while she would whimper the same way that kitten did, and just like with the kitten, the only thing I could do was make sure she knows just how safe and loved she is with me. When I took her into my bedroom, she didn't say a word. Not a word as I set out the pajamas I went back to her house to get for her. Not a word as I pulled the covers down for her. Just a smile. And when I slid into the bed beside her, she pressed herself into me, kissing the back of my neck. I lay still, the little spoon to her body curled against my back. Even though we'd been together all evening, she still felt cold, so I lay there, letting my heat transfer to her. It was only a few minutes before her breathing grew softer, and the arm that circled my waist went limp.

I wish I could have fallen asleep so easily. Instead, I replayed everything that woman said, seeing that face that looked so much like Lily's. Rather than the happiness and love I see in Lily, her face was twisted with anger and disgust. And when I couldn't take the thoughts anymore, I hooked my finger around Lily's sleeping pinky and swore silently that I would never let her go through anything like that again. She's mine, and I protect what's mine.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Lily and I apparently changed positions. My arm is slung across her now, and her back is pressed into my stomach. Her ass is pressed against my cock. My very awake, very hard cock. It feels like it's wedged halfway into the point where her legs and her ass meet, and I swear I can feel the heat rolling from her pussy. A wave of panic bolts through me.

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