Page 152 of Ice Mechanic

She quickly turns away, but I can see her blushing prettily in the mirror. Her hands work, scrubbing my shirt together. “It’s not that fancy of a name. In fact, it’s barely a name. It’s literally the fourth month of the year.”

I purse my lips. “It’s a beautiful name because it’syourname. There doesn’t need to be another reason for it to be special.”

April stops scrubbing. My shirt floats in the sink, surrounded by suds before it drifts down to the bottom of the water.

I shuffle closer to her. “April?”

Her fingers dig into the sink and her head hangs low.

Panicked, I grip her shoulders and turn her around.

There are tears in her eyes.

April… is crying.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FOUR

APRIL

This is beyond embarrassing.Lightyears,eonsbeyond horrifying.

I do not cry.

I didn’t when June took off.

Didn’t when dad was diagnosed.

And I didn’t when I found out Evan was cheating—though, technically, I did cry in the days following that.

But at least then, my heart was broken, I was unemployed, and a good cry session was long over-due.

Tonight, none of those circumstances apply, so I have no idea why I’m leaking tears now.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Chance pulls me into his chest and gives me a hug.

I inhale his intoxicating, spicy cologne and the tears, despite my best attempts, fall faster.

Get yourself together, April!

Not only am I having the most horrifying cry fest of my life, but I’m doing it against a 6’4” hockey player’s six pack abs.

What even is this madness?

I sniffle and pull a little away from Chance. He refuses to let me go so, while still in the circle of his embrace, I tilt my head up and use the power of gravity to keep the tears in.

“Let me get you a tissue,” Chance says. Rather than release me, he walks me backward toward the sink, plucks a tissue while keeping one hand secure around my hip, and dabs under my eyes.

Next, he grabs another tissue and moves to press it around my nose so I can blow. Embarrassed, I take the tissue from him, turn my face to the side and make an elephant-like noise that threatens to blow the roof off the suite.

When I’m done, Chance holds his hand out, palm up.

“Er, I’ll throw it away,” I mumble.

He allows me to step across the bathroom to the trash and doesn’t touch me again when I return. I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness. Right now, I can use the space. My head is spinning and I kind of wish I could hide under the bed until the horror fades.

“You want some time alone? I can go downstairs,” he offers.

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