Page 48 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

brADY

O ccasionally, I’ll be in bed, Troye and Quinn in various states of undress, twisted around my body like ivy on a stone wall, and I’ll wonder, how could I have been stripped of the only thing I’ve ever wanted, yet still feel happier, and more loved than I ever dreamed possible?

The two states of being seem diametrically opposed, yet occur so frequently, and are felt with such fervor, I’m left feeling perfectly aligned.

I first came to this realization during a weekend away at Troye’s mom’s farm.

After we played with Kenny—the three legged diabetic dog—and roamed the orchard hand in hand, I watched on, feet rooted in terra firma while they stood atop ladders and picked fruit.

Pouting, my skin itched with the competitive urge to defy doctor’s orders and climb faster and pick more than Troye, but the unhindered view of their butts tempered my disappointment, balancing it out nicely.

Tonight, as we celebrate my twenty-second birthday, I feel it more than ever.

We’re at Green Line Ice for an exclusive, VIP only SKISCO—the inclusive disco skate night Lotte runs once a month for local kids. She’s tried to drag me here for a couple of weeks now, but I just … I couldn’t.

There’s no kids here tonight, but there is ice, and all of my favorite people.

Well almost all of them. Three of my brothers couldn’t make it, but two are, along with my sister and Mom and Dad.

Lotte’s rocking the golden oldies in the DJ booth, Noah’s driving the Zamboni for no apparent reason, and Quinn is on her knees before me … tying my laces.

“Just remember, this isn’t hockey. There is no boarding. No pucks. It’s just us, some really terrible Lotte-supplied music, and the ice.”

“The ice,” I repeat, gaze briefly flicking to the glistening rink.

“Troye and I aren’t going to let anything happen, Brades. We swear.” Quinn’s reassurances are as sweet as they are unnecessary. There are no two souls in this world I trust more than them. They’re my best friends. My lovers. My everything.

“Just us and the ice.” I nod, too emotional to repeat the thoughts warming me from the inside out. Quinn taps my right skate twice, then looks up.

“Ready, Big D?”

“Ready, Quinny.”

This will be my first time back on the ice since the accident. The doctors cleared me to skate, so I know I’m physically capable. But sometimes knowing something and believing it are two very different things.

Willing my self to stand, I huff out a breath, take Quinn’s offered hand and pretend that she’s pulled me to my feet, purely because she looks so cute when she thinks she’s tough. “Thanks,” I mutter, nervously scanning the ice, then see Troye stomping towards me.

“Just keep your eyes on me.” He smiles, as he takes my other hand, that I now notice is shaking. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know you will. You always do.”

That first timid step feels like I’m leaping from a plane with no parachute.

I’m genuinely scared, and can feel myself blushing with embarrassment.

When I was a kid, I took to skating like a baby does crying.

I popped onto the ice and bam, I just did it.

What I wouldn’t for that childhood fearlessness now.

As a trio, we edge closer to the rink entry, my heart is beating so loud in my head I’m convinced everyone here can hear it. I’m really fucking scared.

“Hey Skip.” Troy leans in, lips brushing against my temple as he whispers, “When we get home I’m going to open you up, and spread you out like a book. Then, I’m going to suck you off while Quinny sits on your face.”

“Jesus Christ, Troye. My mother is right there.” I nod to Mum who’s waving back at me, beaming as Noah leads her around the ice as though it’s her first time. What a con-artist. The woman is from Denmark, was on the speed skating team at university. That cougar can skate better than all of us.

“She is, but she’s staying in a hotel this time. No need to keep quiet. You can whimper and moan and quiver till your horny little heart’s content.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I do not quiver.”

“You do.” Quinn laughs. “And we love it. You’re also halfway through your first lap.”

“What!” More than slightly freaking out, I grip their hands tight and look down at my lanky, akimbo legs more reminiscent of a baby giraffe than a hockey player. But Quinn’s right. I am on the ice. I am on the other side of the rink.

The way I’m being held, I’m in no position, nor do I feel the need to conceal my tears. “I’m skating. I’m bloody skating.”

Cheers and laughter and clapping hands echo round me as I slowly release my death grip and begin to find my stride.

The first two laps are slow, painfully so.

But after that, each lap sees my confidence growing and my pace increasing.

Lotte and Noah are to my left, Quinn and Troye my right.

My family is cheering me on from the stands.

So many, many things have changed, but for the first time in what feels like a long time, I’m looking forward to what’s to come.

After an hour on the ice, I finally yield to my mother’s pleas to sit and rest. At my insistence, Troye and Quinn remain on the ice, chirping, laughing and racing Noah and my brother, while Lotte, dramatically collapses beside me, her head hitting the timber with a thud as she throws her arm over her eyes. “I’m so pooped I think I may expire.”

“Me too.” Weakened through weeks of idleness, my leg muscles give way to the fatigue, and my ass hits the bench in an equally thud-like way to Lotte’s head.

A second later the adrenaline’s kicking in like I’ve guzzled three triple shot espressos in one go.

My hands, my whole body, shakes so violently, I can’t coordinate my movement enough to bend at the waist and remove my skates.

This time, Quinn’s not around to fangle the laces, so I just sit and stare, hoping they undo themselves.

Unsurprisingly, nothing happens … until I feel, rather than see, Lotte’s big blue eyes observing.

Giving me time to calm myself, she doesn’t come in with a rescue bid straight away, But when there’s no controlled movement at all, she gives my leg a gentle tap with the tip of her skate. “Can I help?”

Without waiting for a reply, she grunts and inelegantly rolls off the bench and onto the ground, then positions herself at my feet in an awkward looking squat.

“Fate might have cruelly denied your hockey dreams, but that doesn’t change the fact that you belong on the ice. You’re a natural. You know that right?”

The thundering of my heart eases, and I try to think of something nice to say in return. I’m stupidly emotional, though, and all I can come up with is. “Thanks, Lotte.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She smiles shyly, finishes one skate then crab crawls to start on the next. “As heartfelt as that sentiment was, I may also be buttering you up.”

“You may be, or you are?”

“I am, Brady. I am. I have a proposition.”

2 months later

“We’ll do some more scans over the coming weeks, but I must warn you not to get your hopes up, Brady.

Given your age, the nature of hockey, the closeness and severity of your concussions, I can’t see how it will be safe for you to return to the game.

” Dr. Carmichael finally looks up from the doodles covering the sheet of paper before him, and meets my gaze.

I can’t blame him for avoiding it. Confirming a young person’s dream is over can’t be enjoyable.

“Second impact syndrome is rare, but real and fatal. Ultimately, no one can tell you what to do, but you need to decide what’s more valuable. Hockey, or your life.”

None of this comes as a surprise. Thankfully the mood swings that could have cost me the two people I love the most are a thing of the past, but other than that, my recovery has been slow and frustrating.

Reading or watching screens too long guarantees a headache, and my short-term memory is sketchy at best. “So hockey is likely out, I get that, but what about coaching?”

For the first time today, the tiniest hint of a smile appears on his face. “As long as you wear a helmet on the ice, and keep it no contact, I can’t see a problem. In fact, I think it would be great for you. Physically and mentally.”

“There’ll be no contact,” Quinn blurts so loudly the doctor jumps a little. “Promise. He’ll be working with kids mostly, and we have another coach for the teenage program. Brady will just be the pretty face.”

“Excellent.” He claps his hands together and stands. Does that mean we’re done? “I might have to look you up.” Dammit. “I have an energetic seven year old on the spectrum. Inclusive teams that don’t treat kids like idiots are hard to come by.”

“They are.” I nod. “Our friend Lotte, who designed the Green Line Ice Program with me, has Tourette's and ADHD. We have Cory, an education major and gun winger who has a sister with Down Syndrome, and a professor from our college acting as a consultant. She’s on the spectrum, too. Understanding and supporting all kids is what it’s all about. ”

“Sounds like you have it all sorted. I must admit, as a B’s fan, having their hottest young players helping out during the off-season does sweeten the deal.”

“I wouldn’t say hottest,” Troye says, absolutely not meaning it. “But Noah and I are pumped. I can’t wait for my kids to kick his ones’ asses.” Man parents would be put off by a suggestion such as this, but hockey fans are a different breed, and clearly, Doctor Carmichael is a fan. The guy’s giddy.

Like a future without hockey, witnessing people’s reactions to Troye has taken some getting used to. With his bad boy looks and sassy mouth, the media have eaten him up since his signing. He’s legit a big deal.

Unfortunately, he knows it.

Troye

“Are you sure this isn’t too … incestuous?”