Page 65 of Cold as (N)ice

Irene’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “I trust him implicitly to have my back.”

That was the difference.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Barrett frown at the screen, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel and walking away with purpose.

Constance leaned in, her curiosity clearly piqued. “He’s screening your texts, though?”

Irene exhaled, knowing the explanation would only deepen her friend’s shock. “He’s handling a problem I was married to for a few years—and divorced.” The words felt heavier than they should have, but there was no point in sugarcoating it. “My ex cannot take no for an answer and is threatening to drag me back to the States.”

Constance’s expression morphed from intrigue to concern in an instant. “Irene…”

Before she could say more, Barrett returned, his expression unreadable, but his movements controlled—too controlled. He set her phone down beside her, his jaw tight.

“Eric’s also asking for twenty thousand dollars,” he stated flatly, his voice quiet but edged with something dangerous. Then, softer, his eyes locking onto hers, he added, “I love you—but if he texts or calls, ignore it. Coach Starnes is getting the team’s attorney right now, and I might need to borrow your phone again. I guess we’re adding ‘extortion’ to his list of things now.”

Irene didn’t hesitate. She didn’t second-guess, didn’t pause to analyze, didn’t let doubt creep in like it had so many times before. Instead, she simply slid the phone across the table, the gesture quiet but resolute, her fingers lingering for the briefest of moments before pulling away. Her voice was just as steady, just as sure.

“It’s yours, Barrett.”

The words weren’t spoken lightly. They were an offering, a surrender, a declaration of faith wrapped in something as simple as a phone passed from one hand to another. It was trust—unwavering, complete, absolute.

Barrett didn’t hesitate, either. He didn’t question, didn’t deflect. His hand closed around the device, but his eyes never left hers. Something flickered there—something deep,something raw, something that made her pulse stutter even before he spoke.

“I’ve got your back—always.”

The words hit her with the weight of a promise, the kind that could be etched into stone, unyielding against the elements. A knot formed in her throat as she lifted her gaze, waiting for the soft, familiar brush of his lips against her cheek—the same brief kiss he always gave in moments like this, a quiet assurance, a simple touch that spoke volumes.

But this time was different.

Instead of a fleeting press of lips to the skin, Barrett tilted her chin the slightest bit higher, closing the space between them in a kiss that was anything but simple. His lips moved over hers with a tenderness so unexpected, so devastatingly gentle, that her heart clenched in her chest.

It wasn’t passion. It wasn’t need.

It was something deeper. Something fragile and fierce all at once.

He whispered against her lips before he pulled away, his voice barely more than a breath.

“I love you.”

Then, just like that, he was gone—standing, turning, walking away with the quiet confidence of a man who had made a vow and meant every word of it.

Irene sat frozen for a moment, her fingertips brushing her lips as if trying to hold onto the warmth he’d left behind. When she finally turned, Constance was staring at her, eyes wide, expression caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“It’s likethatbetween you?” Constance exhaled softly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just witnessed. Irene felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t falter.

She nodded.

Slowly, almost absently, Constance turned to glance toward her own husband in the distance. There was something contemplative in her gaze as if she were weighing Irene’s quiet certainty against her own understanding of what it meant to truly trust someone… her face yearning for so much more. Things would be okay for Constance and Keith if she chose to let him in on what was going on in her mind and in her heart.

But for Irene, there was no need to question, no room for hesitation, no space for fear. Because she knew—knew with unwavering certainty—that Barrett would handle everything, keeping her safe. He was a man who would do whatever it took to protect her.

Not because he had to.

Because he wanted to. Because he chose to.

Because he loved her.

“Constance,” Irene began, softly and carefully. “You should go talk to Keith.”

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