Page 137 of Daddies on Ice
The opening credits roll, featuring dramatic shots of the team on ice, the Thunderwolves logo prominent against a backdrop of blue and gold.
My stomach does another flip as I see myself on screen, the woman who walked into this chaos as their PR manager and somehow became so much more.
The documentary is well-produced, I have to admit.
It follows our journey from the team’s reputation crisis through the tour, the sabotage attempts, and, yes, our relationship.
The producers have been surprisingly tasteful, focusing more on the emotional connection than the physical aspects, though there are enough heated glances and intimate moments captured to make my cheeks burn.
I steal glances at the men beside me.
Carl watches with his typical stoic expression, but I catch the slight softening around his eyes when the camera captures a tender moment between us.
Jake shifts in his seat during a scene where he’s clearly flirting with me, his usual confidence replaced with something more vulnerable.
Ash’s jaw clenches when the documentary shows him struggling with his feelings, the internal battle between seeing me as his best friend’s sister and accepting his desire for me.
“God, do I really sound that cocky?” Jake mutters during a particularly flirtatious exchange.
“Yes,” Carl and Ash say simultaneously, earning a reluctant chuckle from me.
The documentary moves through our tour, showing the various incidents of sabotage, the broken-down bus, which they used pictures from my phone since they weren’t hired yet, the missing equipment, the mysterious accidents that seemed to follow us everywhere.
Seeing it all compiled like this, it’s clear that someone was systematically trying to destroy the team.
Then we reach the Christmas Eve footage.
My breath catches as I watch myself laughing with the team, the alcohol making me bold and carefree in a way I rarely allow myself to be.
The camera captures stolen kisses, heated looks, the building tension that eventually led to that night in the cabin.
The producers have been discrete, cutting away before anything too intimate, but the implication is clear.
I feel heat creep up my neck as I remember that night, the way Carl’s hands felt on my skin, Jake’s playful whispers in my ear, Ash’s protective embrace that made me feel safer than I had in years.
“Wait.” Ash’s sharp voice cuts through my memories. He’s leaning forward, staring intently at the screen. “Go back.”
Carl pauses the video. “What is it?”
“There, in the background. Behind the cabins.” Ash points to the screen. “Rewind it about thirty seconds.”
Carl complies, and we all lean forward as the footage plays again. It’s the scene where we’re all outside the cabin, laughing in the snow.
The camera is focused on us, but in the background, barely visible among the trees, there are two dark figures.
“There,” Ash says, his voice tight. “Pause it right there.”
Carl freezes the frame, and my blood turns to ice.
Even with the grainy quality and distance, I can make out the shapes of two men standing half-hidden behind a large pine tree.
One of them is unmistakably familiar.
“That’s Mica,” I whisper, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach.
“And the other one…” Jake squints at the screen. “Isn’t that Tommy? The new equipment manager we hired in December?”
The room falls silent as the implications sink in. Mica wasn’t just sending threatening messages and gifts.
