Page 21 of Born of Ice

“So you broke your ass? How do you fix that?” He pulls his brows together as if he’s really putting a plan together.

“Not sure how you got ass out of my explanation but nonetheless, you don’t. I’m paralyzed.”

“I’ve been told you are capable of walking and the only way I’ll be free of you and back to my life is if you do just that. So, walk!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but you are not Jesus. Your commands won’t do the trick, and I don’t know who told you that crap, but I can’t walk. And never will. I’m paralyzed, idiot! Do you think I’m in this chair for funsies?”

Exton’s hands fist around my wheelchair, almost lifting it altogether with me in it, off the ground. “Fuck,” he hisses and releases me with a slightthump, and runs his huge hand over his hair, messing it even more.

For someone who can’t stand the sight of other humans right now—never mind men—I sure keep staring at him. Even in that huge sweatshirt with Boston’s hockey team Outlaws logo on it, I can see how huge his arms are, how broad those shoulders are. I’ve never met someone like that.

All the men I’ve known are figure skaters. Lean, fit, even skinny, but nothing compared to this mountain.

What would it feel like to be held by that?

I’d almost think how absurd my line of thought was in regard to this asshole if I wasn’t so surprised by it.

Sure, I’ve come a long way from those first days in the hospital and I can pretend to be somewhat normal or resigned to my new life. But I’m nowhere near…that. Whatever it was.

I blink at my own thought when my eyes catch on that logo again and just then it dawns on me… “You’re Exton Quinn from the Boston Outlaws?” I’ve never watched a hockey game in my life but when you live in Boston and share the same ice with the local celebrities, you will end up hearing their names.

“Want an autograph?” he asks in a flat tone.

Well, now it makes sense a bit more. “Stella made you come here, didn’t she?”

My old trainer mentioned going to their game to see an old friend who happens to be Outlaws head coach back when we were still in Boston. And that same coach also happens to be her ex-boyfriend who was very much in love with her—and looks like he still is, if he gifted her one of his best players.

I don’t wait for him to answer though. “Well, sorry, you wasted a trip out here, but I don’t need a babysitter. And I won’t walk, so have a safe drive home.” I start to wheel myself out again and he stops me, again.

“No can do, little star.” I stop in my tracks, turning my head over my shoulder to look at him.

“What did you just call me?”

“Little star,” he says, taking yet another bite. “But I guess you are more of a falling star now. And I do mean that literally.” He points his fork at me. “Speaking of falling… Do you have a boyfriend? I thought all of you marry your partners or whatever. Cause we need to make sure he understands that I’m not here to hit on you or whatever.”

“Get out,” I grit out through very clenched teeth. “I don’t care who sent you here. You are going to get the hell out of my house now!” I basically roar that last part out just as my vision grows hazy.

So not the fucking time, stupid panic attack. So not the time.

The asshole has the audacity to groan. “You think I want to be here? Stuck with a pain in the ass with a ‘woe-is-me’ complex?”

He doesn’t even see the six-hundred-forty-three pager I’m hurling at his head, but I give it to him, his instincts are good—or my aim is shit since I’m a second away from passing out—he ducks away. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Yes! Yes, I am! Now get out!”

“I can’t! Stella Gray told me I’m to be stuck with you.”

“Well, I’m absolving you of that responsibility.” My breathing is coming out in pants now and I need him gone. Fast. “My boyfriend will be here soon. So, you can leave.”

“Stella—”

“Stella doesn’t know that yet,” I lie, but he doesn’t need to know that either. “I’ll deal with her. Go, run with a stick, hit people or whatever is it you do.”

“You know what? Fine.” He turns to grab his bag and starts toward the door. “If you don’t need me, then I’m out of here.”

“Yes. Good. Bye.” I barely manage to get out before he storms out the door, slamming it shut.

And it’s as if my body knows that now it can let go because my next breath? I can’t draw it. All I see is black in front of my eyes, my limbs feel like they weigh a ton, and I know I need to move, to wheel myself over to the window for some fresh air, but I can’t.

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