Page 112 of Daddies on Ice
Her hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and her cheeks are pink from the hot water.
She looks young and beautiful and completely unaware of the effect she has on me.
“Ready?” she asks, and I nod, falling into step beside her as we make our way through the snow to the lodge.
The main dining room is warm and inviting, with a fire crackling in the massive stone fireplace and the smell of bacon and coffee filling the air.
Most of the team is already there, digging into plates of eggs, pancakes, and sausage. The staff has outdone themselves, as usual.
We find a table in the corner, and I can’t help but notice how the other guys look at Tish.
There’s something different in their expressions, a new awareness that makes my jaw clench. Do they know what happened? Can they tell?
Jake seems to sense my tension and leans over to whisper, “Relax, man. Nobody knows anything.”
But I’m not so sure. The way some of the guys are looking at her, the whispered conversations that stop when we approach. Something feels off.
Unless I really am being paranoid.
As we eat, the conversation inevitably turns to Tish’s stalker situation.
Carl thinks we should contact the police, while Jake suggests hiring a private investigator.
Tish, stubborn as always, is back to insisting that it might not even be about her personally.
“I still think it could still be someone trying to sabotage the team,” she argues, stabbing at her eggs with more force thannecessary. She knows it’s not true, but it’s easier to deny. “The timing of everything, the way it’s affecting team morale …” She shrugs. “Maybe I’m just collateral damage.”
“Bullshit,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “This is personal, Tish. Someone is targeting you specifically, and we need to figure out who before they escalate.”
She looks at me with those dark blue eyes, and I see the fear she’s trying so hard to hide.
She’s scared, and she’s trying to downplay it to keep from worrying us. It makes me want to wrap her in my arms and promise that nothing will ever hurt her again.
But I can’t do that. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not when I don’t even know what we are to each other now.
After breakfast, as the others head back to their cabins or settle in the lodge’s common area, I catch Tish’s arm gently.
“Can we talk? Privately?”
She nods, and we find a quiet corner near the windows overlooking the snow-covered mountains. For a moment, we just stand here, the weight of what we’ve done hanging between us like a physical presence.
“Ash, about last night,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I don’t regret it,” I say firmly. “I need you to know that. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever doubts you’re having, I don’t regret a single moment of what happened between us.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and I see something that might be relief flicker across her face.
“But,” I continue, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure she can hear it, “I need you to know something else. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t share you.”
39
TISH
My heart pounds as I glance toward the film crew, relief washing over me when I see they’re focused on interviewing Jake about yesterday’s game.
The last thing we need is for Ash’s declaration to end up on camera. I grab his muscled forearm, feeling the tension radiating through him.
“Not here,” I whisper urgently, tugging him toward the lodge’s exit. “We need privacy.”
