Page 102 of Break the Ice
“Sorry, legacy,” I laugh. “Isn’t that what you were claiming, right?”
“I’ll never apologize for protecting the Golding legacy,” he rumbles. His cheeks redden, flushed by anger. “If you knew the lengths I’ve gone to in order to keep your ungrateful ass out of trouble, you’d drop to your knees. You’ve been so damn reckless, you’re about to ruin us all. This time you’ve gone too far—you’ve risked everything with that bloodthirst of yours!”
I’d snap back like a rabid animal and tell Dad to shut the fuck up if not for what occurs to me. Dad really does think I killed Hawk. He thinks he’s covering up my mess.
It’s so comical, a laugh almost tumbles out of me. I fall silent to the amused disbelief that passes through and leaves me speechless. I’m deciding if I want to leave him to his falsehoods or show him what a fool he is.
He interprets my silence otherwise. Taking a step toward me, he lowers his tone to gruff and lecturing. It’s the kind you’d use when scolding a kid for a bad grade.
“Blackman too, Rafe? You couldn’t leave it be,” he says. “Do you know what kind of favors I’m having to call in? I’ve had to come up with a whole elaborate scapegoat situation. Just to take the heat off you.”
“You’re trying to cover it up?”
Dad nods. “That’s right. And it’s a thankless job. You’ve been too busy getting mixed up with that woman Hawk was screwing. Don’t give me that look. I know all about what you’ve been up to when you should be keeping your head in the game. That rivalry with Morasca? You let yourself get distracted so easily. You should be listening to what I tell you to do. This is our chance to make the Wolves ours and cement our legacy?—”
“You’re fucking insane,” I interrupt, taking a step back. I direct a dirty look at him and Colt. “That’s all it boils down to for you. Your fucking legacy. But you’re wrong about Hawk. I didn’t kill him and I damn sure don’t need your help covering anything up. Stay the hell out of my affairs or you’ll regret it.”
Both of them call me back, but I’ve strode for the front door. I call up Mitch and order him to send a car to pick me up immediately. In the meantime, I get the hell off Dad’s property. My mind’s more muddled than when arriving. If Dad believes I killed Hawk and that he’s covering up for me, then what could’ve really happened that night?
Is it possible it really was Marisse?
26. Rafe
Excitement vibrates through the arena. The seats are full of fans cheering on their team. The commentators sit in their box on the sidelines, rattling off player stats and welcoming the crowd to what they call one of the most anticipated face-offs of the early season—western division rivals pitted against each other for the first time since the game that determined last year’s conference quarter finals.
The Portland Trojans versus the Seattle Wolves.
The referee hovers between me and the Trojan’s first line center, Roy McGuire.
He’s big and stocky for a center. All mass and little muscle tone. But damn if he doesn’t defy the rules of physics when he’s on skates.
As we square up head-to-head, getting ready to fight for the puck, he resembles a bulldog—flat-faced, droopy-eyed, snaggle-toothed, and ugly as fuck. He’s glaring at me like I’m responsible for how his face turned out and not his mom and old man.
The side of my mouth tips up in a taunting grin. No matter what happens tonight, he’s still got to walk around with that mug he calls a face. That’s enough of a win.
But I’m still about to kick his ass.
The adrenaline courses through my veins. It sets me on edge in the most competitive way. I’m ready to play one of the best games of my career.
…until I glance into the crowds and my gaze settles on the sky boxes.
Specifically, the sky box management usually occupies when they sit in on games. Including the PR consultant.
Marisse is nowhere to be found.
She’s officially been icing me out for close to seventy-two hours.
Nothing I’ve tried has worked. Phone calls and texts have gone ignored and unanswered. I’ve waited for her in her apartment only for her never to come home. The tracker’s become useless since she’s left the purse I stashed it in at her apartment.
I’ve even trailed her friend Jhene in hopes I’d catch her, but she hasn’t been anywhere around her either.
If the game ends and she’s still shutting me out, I’m going to tear the city apart in search of her. I’m going to take Sugar back and make her understand she’s mine.
I already know what she’s planning. She’s looking at the long game, considering if she should get out of the country. Some place where she was sure she wouldn’t be detected or pursued if shit hit the fan.
She should know by now she can’t ever escape me.
A pang hits my stomach. An ache that leaves a hollow sensation in its wake. Longing and disappointment mesh together to form some hybrid fucked-up version of heartbreak. If I’m capable of feeling that kind of thing at all.
