Page 31 of Ice Princess

His eyebrows rise in tandem when he sees me approaching. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

I nod and then point at the cup. “Mom?”

“I, uh, think yesterday’s announcement was a bit too much for her. I figured a cup of chamomile tea would help calm her nerves.”

“Is shethatupset?”

“Upset isn’t the word I’d use.” Dad rubs the back of his neck. “She’s just overthinking things a bit. Change is hard for her. You know that. She wants her family close to her and introducing anything new could mean an unwanted change.”

I nod in understanding. I originally wanted to move near the stadium so it would be easier to go to and from practice, but mom got wind of it and begged me to stay on the property. She offered to renovate the studio above the garage to give me ‘my own space’.

I couldn’t tell her no.

Moving around my dad, I open the fridge and notice that it’s packed with leftovers from the luncheon earlier. The cherry pie on the top left corner is calling my name, but so is the banana cream pudding.

“I’ve got to get this tea to your mother but son I’ve been wanting to tell you this all day…” Dad waits for me to look up before he says, “Your mother and I trust your decisions. Whoever you bring home, we want you to be happy.”

I nod.

“Does Rebel make you happy?” Dad asks, scanning my face.

Happy?

I think about how angry I was when Clifford Davoe grabbed her hand in the barn. Fury had spurted from every pore and I couldn’t hold myself back.

I think of how upset I was when the suit at the luncheon kept staring at her. How annoyed I was when she smiled at him. How scared I was when Uncle Stewart sent me those texts, demanding to know if the rumors about me and Rebel are true.

“I don’t know.” I admit to my father.

His eyes widen in alarm. “She… doesn’t make you happy?”

“No, she does,” I amend quickly. That’s what a real boyfriend would say in this situation.

“But…?” Dad prods.

I close the fridge door and face him. “It’s strange, dad. I worry a lot. I get upset. Stupid things annoy me.”

Dad’s lips inch up into a slow, knowing smile.

“I’m not violent, but I want to punch other guys just for touching her. I’m not emotional, but it bothers me when she says one thing and her eyes say another.”

Dad sets the tea down on the counter, draws up a chair and watches me with that smile growing and growing.

“What else?”

I avoid his eyes. “Nothing. That’s it. She drives me crazy.”

He leans forward, his wedding ring glinting in the soft kitchen lights. “Does the thought of her getting hurt make your heart stop beating and your hands get clammy?”

I nod slowly, thinking about Uncle Stewart’s texts.

“You hate making a fuss, but you find yourself acting more and more out of character when you’re with her?”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.”

Dad scoops up mom’s tea and lumbers to his feet. “In the upstairs closet, where we keep the comforters. To the left.”

I frown.What?

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