Page 50 of Break The Ice

She winces. “Yes, we know how that feels.”

“I wonder if many people realised it, though, because he had his family around him?” Ryn asks with regret. “He always seemed so in control.”

Bethany sighs. “Us being together would have been a disaster.”

I look at her coolly. “Oh, I know. You are wrong for him. Anyone with a brain could see that.”

Bethany winces and presses her lips together in a tight line.

Lia and Ryn exchange a look and giggle.

“What?” I snarl, frustrated at this whole circus.

“A few days ago, we toasted the woman who can bring Raider to his knees.”

I stare at them.

“Welcome to the family, Ryann.”

Chapter twelve

Ryann

I scoff and stalkbackwards and forward in my bedroom. “Welcome to the family, indeed.”

But I can’t get those words out of my head or the way it felt seeing them all together. Like it used to when I had family.

I sit on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the quilt cover. Mum liked to have the neighbours over. She liked cooking and preparing big feasts, the whole nine yards. It was her thing. Dad liked to stand around the grill.

I remember the way it felt with all our neighbours. People who had been in my life forever and who I thought I would always know. It takes just one tragedy, and you’re a stranger. No one would help me other than giving me a few clothes. No one would listen.

I hook my finger in the curtain and pull it away from the window, just a little bit, so I can look out.

There is nothing obvious on the street. But why do I have this sense of impending doom?

It really sank home when they welcomed me, like they could, like it was a done deal. They don’t know anything.

I turn away from the window and stalk to the door. I put my hand on the handle and pause, frozen, trying to figure out the best way to deal with the pack. No, that’s a lie. I’m too scared to see what’s on the other side of the door.

Ha! Callan thinks I’m brave? I’m the opposite of brave. A big, huge coward.

My hand trembles, and I let out a hissing noise that comes from the ball of shame that lives in my gut rent free.

No matter what I do, I can’t force myself to grab that handle and turn it.

I stalk back to the bed and sit down. Immediately, my mind flashes me an image, and I lift my legs up, holding perfectly still, waiting to see if anyone jumps out from under the bed.

Because that’s what normal people do.

They get scared that there is a person lying on the floor under their beds. Or on the other side of the door.

I swallow hard, but I’m sweating, and I’m so thirsty. All I need to do is shout. One scream, and the pack would rush up here and storm the room.

I can’t make a sound. I’m frozen, lost in the irrational fear that grips me by the core of all of who I am and refuses to let go.

“One.”

It takes everything I have to force that whisper of sound. I make myself take a breath in. It doesn’t feel like it gives me any air.

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