Page 80 of Daddies on Ice

“Seriously, Tish, I’m fine,” I say for the dozenth time. “Minor concussion. The doc cleared me to recover here instead of the hospital.”

She gives me that skeptical look. “Minor or not, you’re staying put. The only time you’re leaving that bed is for emergencies.” Swimming in my Thunderwolves sweatshirt, sleeves rolled up, hair in a messy knot, she’s the most gorgeous, overprotective caregiver imaginable.

“Being bedridden with you as my personal nurse isn’t exactly torture.” I grin, patting the empty space beside me.

“Don’t even go there, Ash. You need rest, not whatever’s running through that concussed brain.” She settles carefully beside me, reaching for playing cards. “We’re sticking to brain-friendly games.”

The next hour passes in easy conversation and simple card games.

Tish wins most hands, though I suspect she’s letting me win some. Holiday music plays softly, creating an intimate bubble around us.

“Your deal,” she says, shuffling for Gin Rummy.

I gather my cards, struggling to concentrate through the fog. “This is nice. Just us, no chaos.”

“It really is.” She studies her cards, but her expression grows distant.

“What’s on your mind?”

She’s quiet for several beats. When she speaks, her voice carries unusual softness. “I was thinking about Becky. How terrified I felt when you got injured. It brought back memories of when fear was my constant companion.”

I lower my cards, focusing on her despite the dizziness. “What do you mean?”

She takes a deep breath. “I’ve never really told you about Mica. Becky’s biological father.”

The name echoes between us.

I know the basics but I’ve never pressured her for details. Trent never volunteered them either, so I figured the subject was taboo.

“You don’t need to?—”

“I want to. It’s time.” She draws her knees up, arms wrapped around her shins. “I was nineteen when I met him. Magnetic, confident, everything I thought I wanted. We moved in together within six months, and it felt perfect. Then small things started changing.”

My hands clench involuntarily. I already sense where this is going.

“He became possessive if I talked to other men. Criticized my clothes, my friends. I thought it was love, protection. The changes happened slowly. The verbal abuse during fights, calling me worthless. Then physical intimidation. Nothing that left marks, nothing I couldn’t rationalize. At first.”

“Tish…” I want to comfort her, but her posture suggests she needs space to work through this.

“The first time he hit me, he broke down afterward. Flowers, apologies, promises.” She shrugs. “You know the deal. I believed him because I desperately wanted to.” Her laugh holds no warmth. “Textbook, right? I became exactly the kind of woman I used to judge.”

“It’s never that simple,” I say gently.

She nods. “It escalated over a year. Violence, manipulation, isolation. He destroyed my friendships, made keeping jobs impossible. I was trapped financially and emotionally. Too humiliated to tell Trent.”

I want to find this Mica and show him what it’s like to face someone his own size.

“What was the turning point?”

“I got pregnant.” Her hand moves to her abdomen. “I was terrified to tell him. I hoped maybe it would change him. I only mentioned the possibility of children, testing his reaction. I ended up with a black eye and cracked ribs.” Her voice wavers. “I was bleeding on the bathroom floor, thinking only about protecting the baby.”

I move closer on the bed, near enough for support without contact. “What did you do?”

“Waited until he left for work, packed two suitcases, and disappeared. I had hidden savings he didn’t know about. I never told him about the pregnancy. He doesn’t know Becky exists.”

“Good. You made the right choice.”

“I carried guilt for years. Like maybe I should have tried harder. But watching Becky with you and Trent and the guys…I see how men should treat people they care about. With respect, kindness, protection instead of intimidation.”