Page 5 of Ice-Cold Truth

The sound of approaching footsteps shatters the moment, and we both turn to see Coach Mathews bearing down on us. His face is a mask of stern disapproval, the lines etched deep by years of scowling.

“Ford. Masterson.” His voice carries an undercurrent of menace. “I hope I’m not interrupting a riveting discussion about your love lives.”

Sam tenses beside me, his jaw clenching. Mathews has a way of making even the most innocuous comments sound like a threat.

“Just talking strategy, Coach,” I say smoothly, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalates.

His gaze bores into me, eyes narrowed to slits. “Is that so? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re getting a little too cozy with your teammate’s sister.”

A chill runs down my spine, my pulse quickening. How much did he hear? “With all due respect, Coach, my personal life is none of your concern,” I say, keeping my tone even and measured.

Mathews takes a step closer, his imposing frame looming over me. The scent of stale sweat and cheap cologne washes over me, making my stomach churn.

“Everything that affects this team is my concern, Ford,” he says, his words laced with venom. “And if you think I’m going to let some piece of tail derail our championship streak, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Anger flares hot in my chest, but I force it down, tamping the flames. Reginald thrives on confrontation, using it as an excuse to exert his dominance. I’ve seen too many good men broken by his mind games to fall into that trap. “Understood, Coach,” I grit out, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

He holds my gaze for a beat longer, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that borders on mania. Then, seemingly satisfied, he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving strained silence in his wake.

Sam exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “That man is a few fries short of a Happy Meal, I swear.”

I manage a tight smile, but the humor rings hollow. Coach’s words have struck a nerve, dredging up memories I’d ratherkeep buried. Memories of a past relationship that spiraled into a toxic whirlpool of jealousy and control.

Karina’s face flashes through my mind, her features twisted into a mask of rage and betrayal. The shattered remnants of a vase that clattered against the wall, narrowly missing my head. The bitter taste of regret, like bile in the back of my throat.

Chapter 3: Elyse

Itake a seat in the firm’s employee lounge, my heart pounding with nervous excitement. This is it—my first day as an intern at the prestigious law offices of Morgan, Kobin & Delvany. Around me, other interns chat and make small talk, but I stay focused, going over key details about the firm in my mind.

The lounge door opens, and a young woman with fiery red curls enters, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. She approaches with a warm smile. “You must be the new girl. I’m Kerry Wessell.” She extends her hand.

I return the handshake firmly. “Elyse Masterson. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Kerry takes a seat across from me. “So, where are you from originally?”

“Spokane, but I’m in Seattle for an internship.” I can’t help my proud tone. “My brother actually plays for the Firebirds.”

Her eyes widen with interest. “No way, that’s so cool. Which one is he?”

“Sam Masterson. He’s one of the defensemen.”

“I’m more of a basketball fan myself, but even I’ve heard of the Firebirds. That championship game last season was insane. Didn’t the captain nearly rip his shoulder in half on that last play?”

I grin, recalling the electric atmosphere as Sam and his teammates battled it out on the ice. “It sure looked like it, but Jack seems fine now. I was at that game, though, and I thought the arena was going to explode from the noise.”

Kerry leans forward conspiratorially. “You’ll have to dish all the behind-the-scenes dirt. What’s it really like having a pro athlete in the family?”

Before I can respond, the lounge door opens again, and a wizened gentleman with gray hair enters, blue eyes scanning the room appraisingly. My spine straightens automatically.

Kerry follows my line of sight, and her expression sobers. “That’s Dervin Kobin, one of the senior partners,” she says. “Tough as nails, from what I’ve heard.”

Kobin crosses to the coffee station, pouring himself a steaming cup. His movements are precise and economical. Everything about him radiates a no-nonsense aura of authority. As he turns to survey the room again, his eyes settle on me and narrow ever so slightly.

He approaches our table, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. “Pardon me, Miss…” he says gruffly.

“Elyse Masterson,” I say.

He grunts but doesn’t acknowledge my words otherwise. “I was just outside and couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Did you say you have a brother on the Firebirds hockey team?”

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