Page 13 of At the Edge with You

When I’d drive Fable home after practice, I’d stop right here and let her out. I’d watch as she walked up to the house to make sure she made it. Every time she got to the door, she’d look back, a little smile on her face. Her green eyes would shine in the moonlight, and my grip on the steering wheel would tighten. She thought it was silly of me to stop in the road, but I didn’t want to give her parents a chance to cage me in.

They aren’t fans of me—or the girls.

Even as a teenager, I knew they didn’t want me anywhere near their daughter. That if a nine-time gold-medalist pair fromRussia hadn’t suggested Fable and I pair up, I wouldn’t have had any contact with her. She went to Thistle Prep, the town’s private school, while I went to Thistlebrook High. I didn’t go to church on Sunday like they did. My dad was a piece of shit and was always running around on my mom, while Fable had two parents in love. My great-nana had never had a normal hair color, and my nana owned a tattoo shop. We were different in all the ways that mattered to the bible-toting people of Thistlebrook. But when Fable and I hit the ice, nothing mattered but our bodies, our skills, the music, and the trust between us.

Fuck me, losing Phillip has done nothing but dig up all kinds of emotions and memories I’ve tried to stuff into a box. I swallow hard as I gaze up at the pristine white house. She’s in there, and I’m about to come face-to-face with her. Neither the town nor a glass wall will be between us. It’ll be her and me. I have no clue what I’ll say.

Guess I’ll start with “Hi.”

Or I could go with Joey fromFriendsand ask, “How you doin’?”

Rolling my eyes, I yank at the collar of my shirt before I exhale roughly and slam the door of my truck shut. It’s too damn hot for a suit, but since I’m meeting the lawyer, I felt it was needed. Phillip never minded my tattoos, but Elena and Richie Winthrop, Fable’s parents, look at me like I’m scum when they’re on display.

My nerves are shot, my chest aches with grief, and I honestly don’t want to make this any harder. I don’t know why we need to have a reading of the will. Can’t this be done by email? Or even on GoogleMeet? Then I can wear what I want and shut off my camera. Damn it, I don’t want to be here. My mouth is dry as I head up the walkway that’s lined with azalea bushes to the big wooden door. Once I reach it, I ring the doorbell and wait.

It opens to Richie Winthrop.

My stomach clenches as his beady eyes give me a once-over, his lips curving up in disgust. “JT.”

“Richie,” I say as I tuck my hand into my pocket.

But he doesn’t move or let me in. Instead, he steps out and shuts the door behind himself. I’m a big dude—no one has ever really measured to my 6’6” size—but no matter how small Richie is, I take a step back. I don’t want to be near him. I don’t want anything to do with him.

With his voice low, he glares up at me. “Nothing has changed. The Ice Thistle is yours now, but that doesn’t mean you can go back on our deal.” I feel my molars grind as I hold his gaze. I hope my face masks that I don’t give a shit what he is saying, but my heart is beating wildly in my chest. “Stay away from my daughter.”

I chuckle lightly. “Richie, come on,” I say roughly, shaking my head. “For one, she doesn’t even live here, and for two, I’m not the scared, clueless eighteen-year-old I was. Don’t forget that.”

He balks at my words as I move past him and enter the house. Jackass. I don’t have time for his bullshit. I may not want to be here, and I may not like them, but I refuse to be talked to like I’m the damn trash. I’m about to be the owner of the Ice Thistle, and that’s a big fucking deal. I refuse to let that asshole make me feel anything but excited for my future. I won’t allow him to get in my head and fuck with my insecurities.

I do that enough on my own.

Frustration burns through me as I walk into the foyer, through the living room, to head to the study, where the meeting will take place. While I don’t like coming here, I know my way around.

Bea is best friends with Kitty, so I’ve been dragged here to drop off special thread and shit they need for their cross-stitching projects. I turn the corner toward the study, and I’mwalking with such purpose and anger that I don’t realize until it’s too late that a body is in my way. I reach out to steady them, grabbing ahold of fleshy hips as my eyes lock with moss-green ones I’ve spent all of my adult life trying, with no luck, to get out of my head. They’re just so green, like a lily pad that floats in a pond up in the mountains. Fable’s eyes widen, her plush mouth opening a bit as her hands land on my biceps to catch herself.

I’m breathless as I look down at her, so deeply affected, I can’t move. All those times I had her hips in my hands when we were younger, I held bone, but that’s not the case anymore. No, her heated flesh feels like a buttery roll I want to devour in one bite. I flex my fingers on her hips, and she takes in a sharp breath, her eyes searching mine.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful. Her hair is curled perfectly around her face. The line of her jaw is sharp, but her sweet cheeks are round and rosy. The gentlest lines surround her eyes, laugh lines, and it’s insane, but I’m jealous of whoever was able to make her laugh to form those lines. It wasn’t me, and that bothers me more than it should.

Suddenly, she steps back, wrapping her arms around her middle but never breaking eye contact.

Say something, I urge myself, but I’m stunned silent.

Fable looks up at me expectantly, and I know I have to say something.

“Ice princess,” I say softly, almost in a whisper, and her eyes widen just a fraction.

I have envisioned this moment since she left, and that’s what I say?

Way to go, dumbass.

The side of her mouth turns up just a bit as she quips back, “Pretty boy.”

Now, it’s my turn to grin. I’m pretty sure the whole reason the girls and Kitty were so supportive of Fable’s and mypartnership was their obsession withTheCutting Edge. They made us watch it, and then it was a running joke between us. Our thing. And just like it did when I was fourteen, my stomach flutters at her teasing.

I’ve always wondered if she thought I was pretty.

If she was attracted to me.

---