Page 119 of The Last Inch Of Ice
Nazar looks over at the cat. “Does he always sound like he’s dying?”
“Only when he wants attention. Or food. Or both.” Kai disentangles himself reluctantly. “I should feed him before he stages a coup.”
“You do that.” Nazar follows him toward the kitchen, his hand finding the small of Kai’s back. “I’m not letting you out of my sight anyway.”
As Kai opens a can of obscenely expensive cat food while Nazar leans against the counter watching him like he’s afraid he’ll vanish if he looks away, something settles in Kai’s chest.
This is what he’s been afraid of. This intimacy. This domesticity. The terrifying vulnerability of letting someone see him like this—in sweatpants, feeding his demanding cat, surrounded by the mundane reality of his life instead of the carefully curated image he shows the world.
But Nazar is looking at him like he’s never seen anything better.
“What?” Kai asks, self-conscious suddenly.
“Nothing. Just…” Nazar shakes his head. “You’re really here. This is real.”
“Yeah.” Kai sets down the cat food. Bonifazio immediately begins eating like he hasn’t been fed in weeks.Oh please.“This is real.”
They stand in Kai’s kitchen, in the afternoon light filtering through windows that need cleaning, and start figuring out whatrealmeans.
And for the first time in longer than Kai can remember, the future doesn’t feel like something to survive.
It feels like something to look forward to.
35
Epilogue Kai
Jenkins Tiago looks like he’s aged five years in the past two weeks.
The general manager of the Toronto Wardens stands in the hallway outside the practice facility, his usually pristine suit wrinkled, his tie loosened like it’s strangling him. Dark circles shadow his eyes.
“Kaisyn.” He says the name like it costs him something. “Do you have a minute?”
Kai adjusts his gym bag on his shoulder, his expression carefully neutral. “For you, Jenkins? Always. Though if this is about my plus-minus from last night’s game, I should warn you I have a very compelling PowerPoint presentation prepared about zone exits and why they’re actually everyone else’s fault.”
Jenkins doesn’t smile. “I need to ask you something. It’s… delicate.”
“Delicate.” Kai repeats the word slowly, tasting it. “That’s never a good sign. Usually when management uses ‘delicate,’what they mean is ‘deeply unpleasant and probably your problem now.’”
“The investors want to meet with you.”
Kai keeps his expression light, bored even, but his mind is already racing. “The investors. Plural. How many are we talking?”
“Six of them.” Jenkins runs a hand through his thinning hair. “They’re… concerned. About—”
“About my father being arrested two weeks ago and currently residing in a cell.” Kai’s voice stays light, but there’s an edge underneath. “Yeah. I can see how that might make people nervous.”
Jenkins flinches. “Kaisyn—”
“It’s fine.” He shifts the bag to his other shoulder. “I’m always available to talk. To all stakeholders! Didn’t you know? I’m the one they usually send when there’s a crisis. I have a very soothing presence. People find my complete lack of shame deeply reassuring.”
“I know this isn’t fair to you.”
“Fair?” Kai lets out a short laugh. “This is just Tuesday for me. When do they want to meet?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Perfect. I’ll wear my most apologetic suit. The charcoal one.” He pauses, watching Jenkins’s face crumple slightly. “But just because I can do it doesn’t mean I want to. You understand that, right?”
