Page 92 of Ice Princess

I wince, hearing what she’s really asking. “Uncle Stewart will be there.”

She pulls her lips into her mouth and stares straight ahead. “Great.”

Again, I get the feeling that I shouldn’t be dragging her into this mess.

“Would you like to listen to some music?” Rebel asks.

As she extends her arm to turn the radio on, I reach out and weave my fingers into hers. Her jaw drops and she gives me a startled look.

I settle our joined hands on my leg. “I like the quiet.”

Rebel’s eyes dart to the stowaway in the backseat and she hisses, “Gunner.”

I run my thumb over the back of her hand, taking comfort in the touch.

She squirms and tries to pull her hand away.

I don’t budge.

Chewing on her bottom lip for a second, Rebel flings one more perturbed look at me before settling into her seat and accepting that my hand and hers are going to be connected for the rest of the ride.

Benji makes a couple sounds of discontent from the backseat but, since I’m driving, and he’s got no good excuse to be here anyway, he doesn’t say a word.

At the hospital, I release Rebel reluctantly and jog around the car to meet her on the sidewalk.

This is a really bad idea.

But Rebel isn’t intimidated at all. Her hair flounces against her back as she takes the lead and walks confidently to the nurse’s station.

“We’re looking for Carol Kinsey?” Rebel says to the nurse.

As I watch her, I feel a presence by my side.

“She shouldn’t be here,” our unwelcome guest complains.

I ignore him.

“I saw the way your mom treated her at the luncheon. All you’re doing is subjecting her to embarrassment and she won’t be able to fight back, especially if your mom’s sick. She’ll just stand there and take it.”

It bothers me that Benji knows Rebel that well.

Bothers me even more that he’s right.

“Rebel isn’t even your real girlfriend,” he grumbles, brushing at a stain on his shirt.

I whirl on him, ready to grab him by the collar. “What did you say?”

“Your mom is on the second floor in a recovery room.” Rebel’s voice interrupts what would have been Benji the Suit getting shoved into a wall. When neither of us moves, Rebel arches a brow. “Gunner?”

Battling guilt, worry, and frustration, I grab Rebel’s hand and send Benji a blistering look over my shoulder. His bottom lip trembles as if he’s scared, but he meets my stare head-on.

When he makes a move to follow us, I bark, “You stay here.”

“I’ll call you if we need you, Benji,” Rebel says, trying to smooth over the rough bite in my words.

Don’t hold your breath, buck-o. She’s not calling you anytime soon.

Rebel staggers behind me as I drag her to the elevator.

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