Page 49 of The Last Inch Of Ice
If it involved Rykov, if it involved this strange, terrifying, exhilarating thing that Kai can’t name and can’t control, he’s afraid it would be different.
He’s afraid he wouldn’t have the strength to put on the mask and play the part this time. He’s afraid, for the first time in his life, that he would just shatter completely.
And unlike expensive outerwear and sports cars and all the other material things his father’s money can replace, you can’t buy a new personality after the old one breaks.
“There,” Dale announces, pointing ahead where the faint outline of a building emerges from the snow. “The Millbrook Motor Inn is on the left. Finest accommodations in forty miles, mainly because they’re the only accommodations in forty miles.”
“Looks cozy,” Sam says, in the tone people use when something is definitely not cozy.
“It has heat and a roof,” Burke says. “That’s all we need.”
Kai catches Rykov’s reflection in the frosted window. He’s still staring straight ahead, but his jaw is clenched tight enough to make the muscle jump.
Kai wonders if his own face looks equally wrecked.
Probably worse, knowing his luck.
15
Chapter 15 Nazar
The blizzard hits sooner and harder than even Dale predicted, transforming from “winter weather” into “potential survival situation” in the span of five minutes.
At first, they reach a sprawling gas station complex—a worn Esso, a cramped convenience store, and a motel that has clearly seen far better decades. It clings to the highway like civilization’s last outpost before the wilderness swallows everything.
The fluorescent lights of the store buzz and flicker through the falling snow, casting a sickly yellow-green glow on the mounting drifts in the parking lot.
“Everyone out,” Burke says. “We’re waiting this out here.”
Inside, the warmth hits like a physical force after the biting cold.
The convenience store is exactly what you’d expect from rural Ontario—aisles of road trip snacks, a wall of refrigerateddrinks, a sad rotating hot dog machine that’s probably been turning since 2003.
Two women are working behind the counter—one middle-aged with reading glasses on a chain, one younger, probably early twenties, wearing a name tag that says “Becca.”
Becca’s eyes go wide the moment Nazar steps fully into the light.
“Oh my God,” she says, grabbing her coworker’s arm. “Oh my God, Darlene, that’s Nazar Rykov.”
Darlene squints at him over her reading glasses. “Who?”
“The hockey player! From the Wolverines! He’s like—” Becca’s face is flushing red now. “He’s really good. My boyfriend watches all the games.”
Nazar forces a smile that feels tight and unnatural on his face, like putting on a mask that doesn’t quite fit. “Hey.”
“Can we—” Becca is already reaching for her phone. “Can we get a picture? I’m so sorry, I know you’re probably tired, but my boyfriend will literally die if I don’t—”
“Sure,” Nazar says, because what else can he say?
He stands between them while Becca holds up her phone at arm’s length, trying to get the angle right. Her arm wraps around his shoulders—a stranger’s casual touch that makes his skin crawl despite the smile he’s maintaining. He hates this part. The polite intrusion. The obligation to perform friendliness for people he’ll never see again.
They take three photos because the first two are “blurry” and the third one Becca decides she “looks weird” in, so they take a fourth where she’s tilted her head differently.
Finally released, Nazar steps away and glances across the store.
Kai is standing by the refrigerated drink section, ostensibly examining the selection of sodas and energy drinks. But hisposture is too careful. He’s aware of the fan interaction happening and deliberately staying out of frame.
His cheeks are flushed a bright, feverish red from the cold outside—a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. The color makes his lips seem darker, fuller.
