Page 34 of Fate on the Ice

Straightening my back, I turn from him and walk out of the restaurant. He doesn’t come after me. He doesn’t call out to me. He doesn’t say or do shit because that’s my father. He pays my bills to shut me up and keep me away from him. I may have ruined all of that, though, by not only dating but falling in love with one of his men.

If my father stops paying my bills, that’s going to suck, but I’ll figure it out—I always do. With or without his help. With or without my mother. They’re both selfish in their own ways, and neither of them sees that. I am done with them both right now.

Maybe later, things will change, but for now, I am too exhausted from his cruel words to care.

I walk back to the salon and try to slip inside in the hopes that I won't be seen, but this place is gossip central, and I am noticed before I even open the door. Brooklynn’s breath hitches as soon as I’m inside, and then she hurries toward me.

I don’t see her. Clearly, my eyes are blurry from unshed tears, and I’m angry because I’m crying over that asshole I call my father. Brooklynn wraps her arm around my shoulder and guides me to the back room, where the washing machines and hair color are stored.

“What’s happened?” she demands.

Blinking back the tears, I suck in a trembling breath. I honestly don’t know if I’m angry, upset, or a mixture of both. I think it’s both because the emotions that are running through me are beyond over the top right now.

“It’s my father,” I whisper.

Brooklynn’s eyes widen.

“Oh my,” she breathes.

She knows who my father is and why I could be upset, but she doesn’t know my father. And when she finds out, she won’t be able to see him any other way than a complete fucking asshole, which is exactly what he is.

Instead of trying to paint him in a different light than what he is, I tell her exactly how the lunch went, and by the time I’m finished, both of us are in tears. Hers are out of compassion. Mine are a new mixture, this time embarrassment and anger.

OTTO

“Larsson,” Coach roars.

My spine straightens, and I turn my head to the side just as a puck comes flying and lands against my cheek. Before I realize what’s happening, my knees buckle, and I’m surrounded by my teammates.

“Call an ambulance,” Reid calls out.

Tugging my glove off, I start to lift my hand to my face. But Thomas reaches out and catches my wrist quickly, then shakes his head. “Don’t touch it,” he murmurs.

It must be bad. Like split open bad. And the pain. It rolls throughout my entire body, and I gnash my teeth together, trying to keep from crying out. I’m not sure it works. Because the pain consumes every ounce of my entire being.

Then everything begins to go wonky—blurry. Right before Coach Burns appears in front of me. He looks ready to tear my fucking throat out. I assume he knows the truth by now, but I don’t think I give a shit.

He doesn’t say anything, or if he does, I pass out, and I don’t hear it.

When I wake up, I hear the beeping of machines, and the scent of ammonia fills my nose. Then I feel soft, cool, and small hands wrapped around one of mine. Turning my head slightly, I look down at those hands, then follow the arms they’re attached to.

That’s when I see her.

Grace is sitting beside me, her head resting on the hospital bed at my thigh. Her eyes closed as she rests. I reach my free hand out, wrapping my fingers around hers, and her body jerks as she sits straight up. Her eyes swing to meet mine and her brows snap together.

“Otto,” she exhales.

Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek, sliding my thumb across her bottom lip. “Hey, honey,” I rasp.

Her lips curve up, then she lets out a sigh. “I was so worried about you,” she says. “June called me right away.”

“June?” I ask.

My tongue feels thick. I don’t know if I’m actually saying the words I think I am. “June,” she says, nodding once.

“Coach?” I ask.

She snorts. “Probably wouldn’t tell me you were on fire if it were going to affect me in any way. He’s pissed off that I am tainting you.”

---