Page 26 of Born of Ice

“Okay, we need to get you to the hospital.” Out of nowhere her hands clutch my arm, fisting my shirt.

“No hospital.” Electra’s breathing picks up, her chest heaving, and I don’t have to be a genius to know she’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“Okay, okay.” I raise my arms while she’s still clutching one forearm. “No hospital, even though you should get that checked out. Where’s your first aid kit?” She points to the bathroom down the hall where I find it under the sink and use it to clean out her cut the best I can.

Thankfully, it’s not too deep and I’ve hurt myself enough times on the ice to know how to take care of bloody wounds.

Electra keeps silent throughout the whole ordeal, in fact, she seems almost checked out. As if she’s done with this day, done with me and her state. She seems empty. Cold.

I keep watching her, but the more I do, the stronger that burn in my chest becomes. Why is she so done?

“There, all clean.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Now you care? After you savagely ate my lasagna?”

“Stop being dramatic.” I roll my eyes. “I was hungry after a three-hour drive. And I’m a growing boy. So, hungry?”

“You’re a growing pain in my ass and I don’t need a babysitter.” She maneuvers herself into the wheelchair that’s nearby, lifting her body with her hands and sliding into it.

“Take it up with Miss Gray, okay? I’m not particularly eager to be here either.”

Electra chucks her tongue, “Fine, babysitter it is,” she grumbles and starts wheeling herself out of the living room. “See you…whenever, I guess.”

“So, should I unpack my bag in the bedroom?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My bag. You know that thing that has my clothes in it. Where should I put it?”

“I don’t care! Anywhere but here.” She flings her arms. “Lock the door on your way out, would you.”

“No can do. I’m to stay with you at all times. And before you can start spewing your poison my way, let me just say…take it up with Miss Gray.”

And just like that she wheels herself into her room while muttering a string of colorful curses under her breath and slams the door shut.

8

Flying puck

Electra

“Jesus Christ,” Exton yelpsbut it still comes out sounding grumpy. “What are you doing here?” He slams his palm around until it finds his phone. “At five-thirty-three in the morning?” That part comes out a lot more squeaky.

“Oh, you didn’t know? I like to watch naked hockey players sleep.”

“What?”

I roll my eyes when he jumps up, his curly mop of hair a mess, his beard smashed in on one side and there’s a small trickle of dried drool on the side of his mouth to which he’s blissfully unaware as he covers his half naked body as if he seriously thinks that’s why I came out here.

Idiot. I sigh.

“It’s not my fault you took the place where my big window is. I watch the sunrise here. And I didn’t wake you up. So, by all means, do go back to sleep and let me enjoy this without your blabbering.”

The sunrise is my favorite part of the day, and no intruding hockey players will intervene with it. It’s the time—the tiny sliverof it—where I don’t dread my existence or wish to be someone else. It’s time to feel close to my mom.

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