Page 40 of Born of Ice

Thankfully, it was dusky outside already and he couldn’t see it.

Yet when he did have me in his arms, I swear he held me for a second longer than necessary, but that would be crazy. Or maybe wishful thinking that has no business entering my brain.

That part of my life is over before it had a chance to begin.

Before I felt real love. Not the PR stint I’ve lived through.

And if I couldn’t be loved when I was whole and beautiful and successful for the past four years, then what kind of hope could I possibly have for anyone else when I was an empty broken shell now.

No, it’s better to not even entertain those thoughts. Not allow the tentacles of depression I already have a hard time fighting against every day to dig their claws into yet another bleeding wound.

Exton was sent here against his wishes. He was pressured to take the babysitting gig to get back on the ice—as he told me—and sooner or later, when they realized I’ll never stand or walk, they will call him off.

The second part of this interesting ride was how excited Exton was to get me to Blade’s. He told me about the bar in all the details he could remember from his only time here, describing the fantastic menu and the stylish interior and the awesome dude at the bar—his words, not mine. He looked so happy to come back here, so I didn’t allow my face to show how hard it was for me.

How the second I realized where exactly he was taking me, I wanted to demand he take me back home or that I was entertaining how much worse could I make my own situation if I’d jump out of the moving vehicle.

But one look into his animated whiskey eyes and I bit my tongue.

He gave me freedom today so the least I could do is give him this evening.

Exton helps me into my chair again and I close my eyes, fighting the tears as he wheels me to the front door.

“Stop,” he says as we enter and just as I thought, all eyes turn to us right that second.

Great.

Just fabulous.

“Stop what? I haven’t done or said anything.”

“Yet,” he adds for me as he moves us past all of the inquiring, gossipy eyes of Iris Lake. “And I’m trying to be ahead of the game here. So, stop whatever it is you are thinking. They are not looking at you. They are looking at me.” That makes me snort.

“Tell me you have abighead without telling me, Exton Quinn.”

“How do I tell you about otherbigparts of my body without telling you?” Thank God I’m not drinking anything yet when he makes this comment because it surely would end up on the floor.

“Not interested to know that in the slightest,” I mumble with as much conviction as I can inject into my lying tone and busy myself with transferring my useless body into the booth he stopped at. And I’m doing my best to not look around the bar or pay attention to little changes here and there. But mostly, I’m trying to not see all those things thatdid notchange.

“You know I could help you with that.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Sure could have fooled me.”

“Anddd we’re back to this.”

“Just saying how I see it, falling star.” He sure is. Exton never once pretended to think of me as something other than what I am today and that’s the part that makes it easy to be around him.

There is no need to pretend I’m okay or that I’m not broken beyond repair. There is no need to keep the “Elle” part of me alive because he is fine with Electra. The pissed-off angry elf who is also a cripple as he likes to call me so very often.

In fact, he makes that Electra feel alive again.

“Okay, so what do you want to eat.” He changes the subject, and I clear my throat when I really should start clearing my head because these thoughts start creeping into it far more than they should.

I pick up the menu with trembling fingers that I try to hide it by gripping it a touch too hard, I dread seeing all the changes in it. But my heart nearly stops when I see all the familiar names on simple white paper, exactly where they were the last time I was here.

I pretend to study it when I know it by heart, and something cracks in the said heart. They kept it. They kept it all. I’m fighting the pressure behind my eyelids when another voice barges into our space.

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