Page 115 of Born of Ice

“Will you go there with me? I promise, I’ll tell you everything…just not now.”

“Okay,” I say softly, nodding my head and we step out the car.

Exton grabs my hand right away as he takes a deep breath and walks through the front door. The receptionist at the front desk asks what we are here for and when Exton gives her his name she calls her boss right away.

Mr. Finnegan, a lean guy in his early sixties, steps out almost immediately to greet us and walks us into his office.

“Mr. Quinn, Miss Monroe, I assume?” I nod in answer, and he continues giving me a small nod of thanks for bringing Exton in. “This won’t take long but I have to do this in person.” He reaches into his desk pulling out a simple letter, a small key, and some paperwork.

He passes the letter and the key to Exton who takes it with trembling hands and then signs the document stating he received it.

“That would be all,” Mr. Finnegan says, clapping his hands together. “Unless you have any questions for me. The letter should explain everything. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told by your father.”

“No questions,” Exton’s answer is short and he’s pulling me up and toward the exit right away.

I wish I could say I finally understand what’s going on, but I’m leaving with more questions than I came in with.

Exton takes the wheel as he drives us toward the TD Garden in silence. His right hand still keeping mine in a firm hold as if he will fall apart if he lets go.

Twenty minutes later, we are driving into the parking lot, and I cover the hitch in my own breath with a cough.

It’s just an arena. It’s just ice. It already happened and I can’t take it back. I need to move on. I repeat in my head, watching the looming building as Exton drives around, parking in what I assume is the players’ area.

Today is not about me.

I’ve been here many times over the years but never for a hockey game, and to be honest I never paid attention to anything around me. My mind was on the ice, all the decisions that had to be made were in our agent’s hands and such trivial things as where we parked didn’t even cross my mind.

I should be looking up to this building with gratefulness. I should be thanking the universe for that day, because in so many ways it was the first day of the life I was meant to live, not the show I put on.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch Exton’s hand turn white on the steering wheel, his face emotionless as he stares at the letter and then to the building in front of us. What is he thinking about? Why is it so hard forhimto be here?

Gently, I place my left hand on his face and Exton twitches at the sensation, too lost in his own head to notice me moving before. “Look at me, baby,” I tell him, and my heart cracks when he does so with war in his eyes.

Or rather, the devastating effects after it. The look I’d imagine the soldiers wear when they see the casualties, scope out the damage and figure out how to survive another day.

“My father passed away.” I freeze, not expecting him to share about that part so soon. A part of me considered it, but hearing it confirmed is different.

“When?” I don’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not sure I am. From what little I know about Exton’s relationship with his father is that he was abusive, and I could never get behind that, but I also don’t know the whole story to be too quick to judge.

“He passed away at the start of this season.” I stay silent, waiting for him to continue. “It fucked me up, Electra.”

Exton once again quiets down, seemingly mulling over something in his head and I let him. I just sit there, tugging on that thread between us, telling him to lean into it, to trust me the way I trust him. To let go. To let me carry his burdens with him as he does mine. To open even the darkest parts of his soul to mine and to love them just the same as I do the rest of him.

And he does.

“Remember I told you I had a difficult relationship with my team…” he trails off. “I’m an angry person, Electra. That angereats me alive, and it got especially vile and ugly this year. After I learned that he died.” He swallows roughly, casting his eyes to his lap.

“I’ve never had a real family, you know. My mom died giving birth to me and the only father I knew was the one who beat me day after day. Punishing me for taking her away from him. If he wasn’t beating me, he was drinking himself until he no longer remembered his own name. I was just eight when I got put into the foster system, bouncing from one house to the next because I was constantly causing issues. I was angry with my dad, angry that I didn’t have the family everyone else did. Angry that other kids at school were so perfect and I was so messed up and I took it out on others. The only constant I had through all those years was hockey. Coach Hill was there from the start. He’s the one that got me away from my dad and made sure no matter where I ended up, I was always playing.

“He’s the one who helped me work though some of my issues. At least enough for me to play the game I loved and kept working me until I got me a first round draft pick onto the Vegas Blast and then the Outlaws when the time came. He gave me a family and I’ve messed it up.”

I sit unmoving, taking in every word he says and feel it in my every bone. Feeling the pain and hurt he’s lived with his whole life.

“About two years ago, when I finally had a semblance of control over my life or at least the pretend version of it, I got a call from my father. I didn’t have his number so I picked up and dropped it before he could say more than one word. I never picked up the phone after that, letting his calls go to voicemail.”

I don’t miss the fact that he neverblockedhis dad’s number.

“I kept living my best life, or what I thought was my best life then. I was keeping that vile darkness that was eating me alive anytime I saw happiness elsewhere and unleashing it where Icould. Usually, it was in a form of women, expensive toys, and shit-ton of attention. All of which I hated, fucking despised because they didn't fix shit no matter how much I pretended they did. No matter how much I was covering up the missing pieces in my chest that were never filled and this year it exploded.” He lets out a shaky breath as I suck in a sharp breath, suddenly so many things fall into place.

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