Page 56 of The Price of Ice

There were some upsides to Brad. For one, the chair meant no one was carrying him like a child, and for another, he didn’t hover once he sat Kallen down on the toilet seat.

“You want some privacy?” he checked, eyes on the bathtub.

“Nah.” Kallen was done peeing and what he wanted was to be done with this and get to stretching. He didn’t think his legs would wake up just because of that, but it was what he could do right now. Unused muscles would quickly atrophy and he couldn’t afford any more setbacks.

Brad had also brought along a seat for the shower, which meant he didn’t have to get in with Kallen and get soaked through. It was a relief and at the same time, part of Kallen was fucking disappointed it meant Levy wouldn’t be doing it anymore.

And if that wasn’t pathetic enough, Brad turned the shower off to soap up his legs for him where Kallen couldn’t reach without losing his precarious balance. He’d talked Kallen through the process at first, but he’d gone silent when he hadn’t responded.

That seemed alright, someone who took his cues from him.

“Can you get my clothes from the bedroom?”

Brad stopped being so accommodating. “Nope. It’s not safe, so we’re not doing it.”

Kallen gave in, letting him push the chair back to the bedroom to get dressed.

He should move back to his own room, let Levy have his privacy again. It wasn’t like there was any point in them sleeping together anymore. An image of what it would be like to fuck him as he lay down like a limp noodle flashed through his mind, accompanied with a twist of nausea that threatened to turn into tears.

“Come on,” he told Brad. “Let’s do the stretching.”

After three days of not moving them, his legs ached by the time Brad finished the first round. But soreness was reassuring, familiar, safe.

“Again,” Kallen said when the pause went on too long.

“Water,” Brad countered, and placed down his left leg to go and get it for him.

THE DAYS STRETCHEDahead like an endless road—endless because he wasn’t moving. And he didn’t know if he ever would again.

The White Cats had won their last game, which he’d only found out when he’d demanded Levy tell him.

“What?” he’d asked. “You think I can’t even hear about hockey now?”

“Kallen...” Levy had looked so fucking sad, it’d been all Kallen could do not to punch him. Except of course it wasn’t, because he couldn’t have reached him.

He let himself fall back on the sofa where Brad had left him propped instead, covering his eyes and his face and squashing the unbearable rage inside. It wasn’t Levy’s fault Kallen's life was fucked. In fact, Levy was the only one even trying to do anything about it. He’d gone and fetched Kallen’s contract from the Johnsons’ and he was reviewing it with a highlighter. Kallen hadn’t even read the whole thing, relying on a family friend who was a lawyer to review it and tell him it was fair.

“Cat... Catherine wants to talk to you,” Levy said after a moment.

And that could only be about one thing; she’d want to know what had happened.

“Cat?” he asked, moving his arm out of the way to look at Levy. “Just Cat? No one—” He cut himself off.

“I know it’s fucked up,” his friend said at once. “I have spoken with Coach and I have asked for a meeting with the owners, but for now, he wants you to talk to Cat.”

Kallen let his gaze lose its focus. The ceiling’s imperfections disappearing in front of his eyes, a bit like he wanted to. “Okay.”

“I’ll text her, set up a time.”

Kallen waved his acceptance. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

Chapter 22

“Come on, man,” Levy said. “Just help with the cutting.”

And Kallen eyed the knives and then yanked his gaze away. “No,” he told Levy, and rolled the chair around to leave the room.

At least the counter was too high for him to reach on his own, so the knives were well and truly out of reach.

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