Page 78 of The Price of Ice

“The doctor came the first day and he said it was...” He vacillated but then shoved through. He’d overcome it already, and if that wasn’t fucking enough for his dad, he could fuck off. “In my head.”

His dad snorted. “And so what? They thought they’d justleave itin your head, marinating for a while? What kind of idiot is this doctor?”

Kallen shrugged a little. He’d never liked Maslow, but he hadn’t considered he might not be good at his job until this moment. Except even if he was one of the family, Management wouldn’t have risked their players like that, would they?

And Maslow haddiagnosedhim correctly. He just hadn’t offered any kind of useful treatment. If he’d known Kallen’s problem was mental, why hadhenot hired a psychologist as well as a nurse to help him with it? If Kallen had been able to work out what he needed to do to get better with just a little help from Brad, Levy and his mum, then his dad was right; a mental health professional probably would have been able to help him.

If his team, the people who’d promised to be his fuckingfamily, had bothered to engage one for him. And if they hadn’t, the only alternatives were that Maslow was fucking useless at his job, or... Or that it hadn’t served the interests of the White Cats to help Kallen walk again.

It wasn’t like he was their only forward, but hewastheir only omega.

“I... I don’t think so,” he said, voice rough and hands clenched. His heart was battering in his chest and his eyes were filling with tears, but he blinked them away. He didn’t want to cry; he wanted toscream. “I think Maslow wanted me on the wheelchair, so they could—” He slammed both firsts on the arms of the chair, not even feeling the pain of the blow, and shut his eyes as if he could somehow keep the storm raging inside from spilling over.

“Kallen!” Heavy hands landed on his shoulders, squeezing tight.

He hadn’t even noticed his dad standing up. He squirmed backwards, biting out, “Don’t.”

His dad let go of him, but didn’t step back, kneeling by his side instead. “Hey, lad.” His hand was awfully close to Kallen’s knee, and he knew his dad was just trying to comfort him, even lowering himself to seem non-threatening, but he couldn’tbear it. He didn’t want to be comforted, he wanted...

“Don’t go making up horror stories in your head, that way lies madness,” his father said.

Kallen opened his eyes again, glaring. “Madness?” he hissed. “Madness like lettingthirteen mentake turns fucking me? Madness like agreeing that if I got hurt enough, they could make me productive bybreeding me?”

His father looked like he’d been slapped, still on the floor looking up at Kallen. The pale skin they shared had gone blotchyred. He closed his mouth, then opened it again but no words came. Finally, he stood up and turned away.

Kallen’s eyes follow him, every muscle in his body ready to snap. And he didn’t know why, but the retreat was unbearable too, to have his father once again look away from his pain. Fucking hiding from what Kallen had no option but to confront. Leaving him alone with it for all his pretty words about having his back.

“You know what’s madness?” he asked, gritty and hurt. “It wasn’t fucking enough. All that and it wasn’t enough. You wanna know why my legs stopped working?” he asked, and all the terror thrumming to him couldn’t hold a candle to the hatred gorging up his throat, acidic and poisonous. “My captain—” His throat seized, resisting him, and he shoved through with vicious fury, no compassion left for whatever part of him that was still afraid. “My captain,” he said again, slow, each sound a battle against the muscles of his own face. “Rr—raped me.”

He jerked forward, hands landing on the table, and just like that his whole self was convulsing. Pain shot up his chest from his belly and he was throwing up, all of it erupting out of him, putrid and disgusting and completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop, not when the tears won their own battle. The hands on his shoulders, on his hair, holding him as his body seemed determined to tear itself to pieces, barely registered except for how he didn’t have to worry about not falling forward anymore.

By the time it was over, he was shaking, inhaling desperately through his mouth. His nose was completely blocked, which was probably good because he’d made a mess of everything, the floor, the table, his clothes.

“Shhh...” His dad was saying, a hand on his forehead, cold against his burning skin. “Shhh, you’re okay. Just breathe.”

He had an arm around the back of Kallen’s shoulders. Maybe it was that closeness, or maybe it was just the relief that it seemed to be over, but Kallen found himself slumping forward, his exhausted muscles letting go completely. His dad caught him, drawing him close until Kallen’s face rested against his ribcage. “Just breathe, lad.”

It made absolutely no sense, but being called that struck a chord in him, a place he hadn’t allowed himself to visit for years. First a sob and then another escaped his lips, and he lifted his limp hands until he could clutch at handfuls of his father’s t-shirt, just like he would have as a kid. Just like he’d forbidden himself from doing back when he’d thought being a kid was bad, a weakness, something he had to outgrow.

His dad’s grip on him tightened too, and Kallen let go—of the tears and the fears both. He simply couldn’t hold them inside anymore; his body wouldn’t allow it. And he’d said it and somehow his dad was there, hugging him. Like he wasn’t dirty and disgusting and damaged.

He was there. And that was enough.

THE REST OF THE NIGHTwas a haze. His dad had made him drink a glass of water and then sent him to shower and sleep it off.

He woke up right into the middle of a dream where he kept running into a room and then another, deeper and deeper, slamming doors behind him, heart pounding, knowing that if he stopped for even a breath he’d be done for.

For a moment, all he could do was scrunch his eyes shut and tell himself it hadn’t been real, even as half his mind was still desperately searching for a way out.

Then he noticed the gentle tapping on the door. That’s what must have woken him.

The drapes were fully open, and sun was pouring in, but he’d been so exhausted he’d been able to ignore it. He grunted in acknowledgement but couldn’t manage to sit up. His head was stuffy like he had a cold and the most he could do was stare at the ceiling above to have something in his head that wasn’t the dark corridors and endless doors.

“Do you want something to eat?” his mum asked through the door and her voice made him flinch like she’d run a lance right through him.

Sheknew.

It was completely obvious in the softness of her voice.

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