Page 69 of Ice Princess

Was Gunner hit in the head with a puck during tonight’s game? He must be two forks short of a picnic basket if he thinks I’ll ever spend the night with him.

I twist around, giving him my back.

The scenery outside my window shifts from skyscrapers and franchise coffee shops to flatlands.

Would I feel a bit less depressed if the view outside was filled with majestic mountains? Or a calm, still ocean biting into wet sand? Or skyscrapers with billboards blinking a commercial 24-7?

Should I just pack up and move out of Lucky Falls, go somewhere people don’t know my family? Where everything is fast-paced, and everyone’s too busy in their little bubble to care who my forefathers are? Somewhere neighbors haven’t met in years, and the term ‘community’ is reserved for online forums instead of an entire town?

What if I just left it all behind instead of fighting?

A tear slips down my cheek and I brush it away. Beside me, the sound of rustling is followed by a hand appearing under my nose. Gripped in that giant hand is a thin tissue paper.

Surprised, I follow the line of Gunner’s palm up to his broad shoulders, further up to a sharp jawline and finally, into a quiet pair of pale blue eyes.

“You keep tissues in your pocket?” I ask.

“In my wallet.”

“I’m fine.” I push his hand away.

Gunner takes both my hands, forces the tissue into my grip, and then looks away. “Be angry. Yell at me if you want. But don’t cry.”

I’m equal parts horrified and distraught that he saw my tear fall, so I respond with sarcasm. “Is that an order Mr. Kinsey?”

“If that’s all it takes, then yeah. Consider it an order.”

I bristle. “Who are you to tell me when I can and cannot cry? I don’t remember selling my tear ducts to the Kinseys.”

Gunner takes my berating silently.

Watching his expressionless face, I clamp my mouth shut. His willingness to be screamed at takes the pleasure out of it.

We continue riding in silence.

After a while, I turn to look at him, wondering if he’s asleep.

He’s not.

Gunner notices my stare and looks solemnly back at me.

Caught, I have no choice but to address him. “Why did you drag your mother outside?”

He frowns as if he doesn’t want to discuss it.

Great. That makes me want to discuss it more. “When she came back, she was glaring at me like I’d kicked her dog.”

Gunner remains tight-lipped.

“Did you speak to her about me?”

He hesitates and then nods.

“Did you scold her for being rude to me?”

This time, there’s no hesitation. He nods again.

I twist my body so I’m facing the giant hockey player. Anger churns in my voice when I say, “Why?”

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