Page 81 of Daddies on Ice
The weight of her trust settles on my shoulders. “Does Becky know?”
“She thinks her father was a hero firefighter who died saving a family. I’ll tell her the truth when she’s older. For now, she has Trent, and she has…” She trails off, blushing.
“She has me. She has all of us.”
“She does. More than I dared hope for when I left, alone and scared.”
We sit in comfortable silence, her confession settling between us. I understand now why she sometimes hesitates, why she withdraws when emotions intensify.
“Thank you for trusting me with this.”
“Thank you for not making me feel broken.”
“You’re not broken, Tish. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
She smiles, and it’s like sunrise breaking through storm clouds. I lean toward her, wanting to kiss her gently, to show how much her trust means.
But she pulls back, hands on my shoulders. “No kissing. You have a concussion.”
“My lips are fine. Just a small kiss. Very healing.”
“I don’t think concussions work that way.” She laughs.
I try again, but she evades me grinning. “Come on, Tish. One kiss. For medical reasons.”
“You need rest, not an elevated heart rate.”
“My heart rate’s already elevated from being near you.”
She blushes but stands firm. “Sweet talk won’t work, hockey boy.”
I catch her off guard, managing to brush my lips against hers before she can retreat. Brief but sweet, tasting like peppermint lip balm.
“Ash!” she scolds, smiling.
“Totally worth it.”
We return to cards, but something has shifted.
There’s deeper intimacy now, understanding. I catch her studying me with tender curiosity, like she’s seeing me with fresh eyes.
After another hour, restlessness creeps in despite my headache. “I should check my phone. Team updates.”
“Five minutes, then you rest your eyes.”
I scroll through notifications. Teammate check-ins, family messages, social media alerts. But one stops me cold, my stomach plummeting.
“What’s wrong?” Tish notices my expression.
I stare at the screen, barely believing it. “Someone created a TikTok account. About the team.”
“Lots of teams have fan accounts.”
I turn the phone toward her: @ThunderwolvesSecrets. The profile shows a grainy photo of our team bus, with a bio that reads: “The REAL story behind your favorite hockey team. #HockeyDrama #ThunderwolvesExposed.”
“Oh,” Tish says quietly, grasping the implications.
I scroll through posted videos of brief, mysterious clips with dramatic music and text overlays suggesting “secrets” and “scandals.” Nothing specific yet, but the message is clear.
