Page 134 of Daddies on Ice
49
TISH
The morning light filters through the thin curtains of my small apartment, casting pale shadows across the cramped living room.
It’s been exactly one month since everything fell apart, since Mica’s threatening presence forced me into hiding like some kind of criminal.
One month since I’ve seen the inside of the Thunderwolves clubhouse, felt the energy of the rink, or watched my men glide across the ice with that powerful grace that never fails to make my pulse quicken.
One month since I’ve been held in their arms.
I pull my robe tighter around myself and pad quietly to the kitchen, careful not to wake Becky.
She’s been asking more questions lately about why we moved again, why Uncle Trent visits so much, and why the “hockey guys” don’t come around anymore.
Each innocent inquiry feels like a knife twisting in my chest because I don’t have answers that won’t terrify a five-year-old.
The coffee maker gurgles to life, and I lean against the counter, staring out the small window at the gray February morning.
Snow dusts the fire escape, and I can’t help but remember that snowy Christmas Eve when everything changed between us.
When Carl’s rough hands mapped every inch of my skin, when Jake’s playful mouth whispered wicked promises against my throat, when Ash’s protective embrace made me feel safer than I’d ever felt in my life.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and my heart leaps before I even look at the screen.
It’s become a Pavlovian response.
Every notification sends hope surging through me that it might be one of them, followed immediately by the crushing fear that it might be Mica.
It’s Trent. Again.
Just checking in. You okay? Need anything?
I type back quickly.We’re fine. Thanks for checking.
He’s been incredible this past month, my big brother stepping up in ways that remind me why I’ve always looked up to him despite our recent fights.
After that horrible confrontation where he received those intimate photographs of me and Jake and me and Ash, we had a long overdue heart-to-heart.
He apologized, I apologized, and somehow we found our way back to each other. Now he stops by almost daily, bringing groceries, checking the locks, making sure Becky and I have everything we need.
But what I need most, he can’t give me.
I miss Carl’s gruff morning voice, the way he’d call me “Trisha” in that authoritative tone that made my knees weak.
I miss Jake’s easy laughter, his dimpled grin that could chase away any dark mood.
I miss Ash’s quiet strength, the way his brown eyes would darken when he looked at me like I was something precious he needed to protect.
God, I miss them so much it physically hurts.
My laptop chimes with an email notification, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
Working from home has been a blessing and a curse.
It keeps me hidden and safe, but it also means I’m isolated from the team, from the energy and chaos that I’d grown to love.
I’ve been managing their PR remotely, spinning the media narrative away from the “cursed team” angle they were so eager to run with.
