Page 49 of Cold Carnage

“I will,” she replied confidently. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard again before she resumed typing out her plans.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her face—the determination in her expression, the slight curve of her lips as she focused on her work. It was infuriating how much space she took up in my mind.

“Make sure you keep me updated,” I muttered without looking back at her.

I turned on my heel, heading toward the door. Paige’s voice cut through the room, stopping me in my tracks.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“You clearly have it handled,” I shot back over my shoulder.

“You heard Gideon,” she said, a hint of urgency in her tone. “He wants your input. I have ideas, but you know the team. What are your thoughts?”

I spun around to face her, irritation flaring in my chest. “Why do you care?”

Her eyes softened, catching me off guard. “Ryker,” she said gently. “I want to hear your thoughts.”

That tone—soft and soothing—grated on my nerves. I scoffed, shaking my head. “You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything with your sunshine and rainbows?”

Paige’s expression didn’t waver. She stood her ground, her gaze steady. “I’m not here to fix everything. I’m here to help.”

“Help?” I laughed bitterly, stepping closer to her desk. “You don’t know the first thing about this team or what it takes to keep things running smoothly.”

She leaned forward slightly, her hands resting on the edge of the desk. “Then tell me. Help me understand.”

My fists clenched at my sides, frustration boiling over. “Why should I? You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me,” she challenged, her voice unwavering.

I glared at her, every muscle in my body tense. Her persistence was infuriating, yet something about it made me pause.

“This team isn’t just a job,” I began, my voice low and controlled. “It’s blood, sweat, and tears. It’s late nights and early mornings, dealing with egos and injuries. It’s making sure every player is at their best because one slip-up could cost us everything.”

Paige listened intently, nodding slowly as I spoke.

“And you think a few workshops and meet-and-greets are going to make a difference?” I continued, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

Paige looked at me, and I hated it. Her eyes, full of something I couldn’t decipher, bore into me.

“Stop,” I said, my voice barely more than a growl.

She didn’t look away. She didn’t say anything. The silence stretched thin between us.

I stood up abruptly; the chair scraping against the floor. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“What are you afraid of?” she whispered, her voice cutting through the tension. “You keep accusing me of walking in here and trying to change things. You sound like a broken record.”

My eyes widened. The nerve of her to call me out like that.

She slowly stood up and walked around her desk, each step deliberate. I stiffened but found myself unable to move.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked again, her tone softer but insistent. “I know this team is like your family?—”

“And look what you did to that!” I exclaimed, anger flaring hot and fast. “You ruined everything. You and Brendan, you and…” I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge that night because it would make it too real.

“I didn’t know?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I snapped, cutting her off.

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