Page 63 of The Price of Ice

“What did you tell him?”

“Um,” Levy licked his lips. “That you were sick, but to write to you.”

Kallen patted his thigh, looking for his phone, and realised he’d left it charging on the coffee table. It didn’t matter, anyway. “I... I have something to tell you.”

Levy stepped forward, almost like he’d been holding himself back, and then surprised him by kneeling at his feet, hands on Kallen’s own dead knees, throat exposed as he looked up at him. “Okay.” His voice was thin, scared.

Kallen swallowed thickly. He didn’t want to cry again, even for a very different reason. “My mum’s coming. To get me.”

The fingers on his knees twitched. “Oh.”

His own hands were clenching on the arms of the chair, and then he exhaled and placed them on top of Levy’s, squeezing too hard, clinging.

Everything else in this place was wrong, had been wrong from the very beginning. But not Levy, not his warmth and not his kisses, not even the fact that he’d never tried to fuck Kallen. He’d have liked to have felt it again, to have remembered what it was like to be touched like he was a person in that most intimate way.

But how could they have made it clean in the middle of the mud Kallen was contracted to submerge himself into every month?

He’d wanted to keep the little he got to have with Levy as far away from the rest as possible, and somehow, even when Levy had been on his heat rota, he’d transformed it instead. Even when he hadn’t been, he’d transformedKallen, taught him to find his own strength within.

Within, where it’d always been waiting for him to stop putting his body and heart through the grinder to prove he was as good as an alpha.

He wasn’t an alpha and he was never going to be.

And he wasn’t the omega the White Cats wanted either.

He had no idea if he could get back to the oasis. To love, because that’s what was inside, what he offered when he used lure.

What an alpha like Levy offered when he used his will to help Kallen cross the firepit of his own memory.

And wasn’t it stupid? That’s all he’d ever wanted, from his parents, and his team and the world. To be loved and accepted.

And he’d got it. Hadn’t he? He didn’t need words or promises or even another kiss. Not with the pain writ raw all over the alpha’s face. The alphakneelingat his feet, just to be close, not thinking about what it implied. Not caring what anyone would have thought because real closeness couldn’t abide fixed hierarchies. Love didn’t follow rules like that.

Levy bent over, resting his forehead over their joined hands, curls tumbling forward onto Kallen’s lap. He nodded a little, clinging to Kallen’s hands, quiet and small, like he was keeping it all locked up tight.

Kallen tugged at his right hand and met resistance, but only for a moment. He placed it at the back of Levy’s neck once he could, right where he was bare and vulnerable, soft and open. “I’m sorry,” he told him, as honestly as he’d ever said anything.

And he was, for everything they’d had and lost, and for everything that couldn’t be now. Not for choosing himself, but because it meant he couldn’t choose Levy as well. And he wanted to, even with no more kisses, he wanted to be close, to laugh together, to find the light in every day and a way back from the darkness.

Levy lifted his face, eyes wet, but frowning. “No, you—I’msorry. What the fuck is wrong with me, Kallen? With all of us? That we are letting this happen to you?”

“You are not,” Kallen said. “You’re trying to—”

“Trying is notdoing,” Levy cut in, and Kallen flinched as his hold on his legs tightened.

Levy’s eyes widened, anguish getting washed clean by pure shock. His eyes fell to his own hands, to Kallen’s thighs. And then he squeezed again, hard enough to hurt.

Kallen’s leg twitched, not quite a kick but definitely movement.

“I deserve a good kick,” Levy said, and squeezed the other side. Kallen didn’t think, he just did it. Kicked him, very lightly but with enough power Levy had to push to stay upright.

Levy laughed, breathing a little fast and looking up at him like Kallen was holding up the Cup. “Do it again.”

He did, feeling like he was half-dreaming it all. Except it was very real, and he could see it all unfolding just as clearly: standing up and calling Coach, telling him he was fine and would go back to training, and arriving on the arena, standing on the ice and... And looking his team in the face, looking McKinley in the face, because he would still be there.

Because his team had kept him even after what he’d done to Kallen.

And there was no question, simply an answer, and the answer was no. He wasn’t going back. He’d miss it dearly, the exhilarating magic of the ice, using the gift he’d been given and developed with hard satisfying work. But he couldn’t go back without leaving himself behind.

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