Page 79 of Iced Out

I have a snarkymy heroready to burst free from my lips, but it gets caught in the back of my throat when our gondola rises high enough for the sunset to shine through each little crack and crevice of the Chicago skyline.

“Wow,” I murmur, my attention fixated out the window.

“This is my favorite spot in the whole city,” he whispers, and when I glance over, I find him staring out the glass too. “I swear, it’s like being on top of the world.”

“I believe you’re thinking of Mount Everest,” I supply, though from the way my heart is still racing a little, I might as well be standing at the top of the planet’s tallest mountain peak. Heights are heights.

“You’re a wise guy today, aren’t you?”

“It’s the fear talking.”

“No, it’s definitely just you,” he says, smiling, and I’m starting to realize I’m not strong enough to withstand the sight of those damn divots in his cheeks. It’s like dimple warfare.

It’s not until the wheel starts its first descent when he finally turns to face me, allowing me to see both of them in all their stupidly attractive glory.

“When I was a kid and had hockey practices or games over at the rink in Grant Park, I’d beg Marta to bring me here after. It was always my reward for playing well, getting to ride the Ferris wheel.”

“Marta?” I ask, because surely he doesn’t call his mother by her first name.

His smile turns a little sad. “She was my au pair growing up. Now, she just works on the staff as one of the housekeepers.”

Confusion hits me. “I thought your dad took you. To hockey, I mean.”

“Only in the beginning. But when it became too much of an inconvenience for him, Marta was tasked with taking me.”

“And what about your mom?” I pause, a realization hitting me. “Wait, are your parents married?”

“Whether or not they should be remains to be seen, but yeah, they are.”

“So why didn’t she take you?” I ask slowly.

He gives me an off-handed shrug. “Not sure. Probably too busy banging whatever junior partner at the firm was suiting her fancy that week.”

I almost choke on my spit. “You’re kidding.”

All I get is a slow shake of his head for a response.

“They didn’t even go to your games at all?”

Another shake of his head as the wheel ticks upward again. “Normally, no. I remember having a parents’ night for a game senior year. I’d told them about it weeks beforehand; reminding them, putting it in the phone calendars and emails. It was so important to me, I even went to their personal assistants, making sure they had all the information too.” His blue eyes shimmer, and it’s not just from the glow of the sunset. “I’m sure you can tell where this story is going.”

A sinking feeling causes my stomach to roll, instantly making me want to vomit more than this Ferris wheel ride ever could.

“Neither of them showed,” I whisper. Not a question, because I know it could only be the truth.

His teeth roll over his bottom lip and he nods. “But there was Marta in the stands, just like she always was. So I took the rose we were supposed to give to our families straight to her. She was my parent that night.” A soft scoff comes from him. “Mostnights, actually.”

My chest aches for him, in no way being able to imagine being raised the way he was.

My dad was gone a lot, sure, and my mom had to raise Logan and I on her own for six months at a time, but we never lacked in love or support or just…quality time as a family. Even if it was us going to see one of Dad’s games, at least we were all together.

“But your parents come now.” Again, not a question, but a clear observation because of the conversation I overheard earlier this season between Quinn and his dad.

Another scoff leaves him. “Only for their own benefit. Usually to look like the doting parents they could never be, supporting their collegiate athlete son when my father despises the sport simply because it brings me joy.”

“I’m sure that’s not the reason why.”

“It might as well be. Anything that doesn’t fit into his little plan for how my life should play out should be removed immediately. There’s only room in it for things like taking over the firm, the society wife. Fancy cars and houses and kids to pass stupid amounts of money on to. Even when it’s never beenmyplan.”

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