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He leaned into her space and Sissi on her periphery leaned with him. ‘Because I’m a drunk. Once a drunk, always a drunk, like my father before me and his father before him; you wanna put that in your goddam article, be my guest.’

‘People can change, if they choose to. People can?—’

‘And now you sound like my ex-wife. How is Cynthia? Still running her mouth off while running around after them boys like they’re the only people in her world?’

He was jealous, he was fucking jealous of his own children. Not only that, he was playing the victim, all hard done by. She gritted her teeth. Losing her shit was never the way to go, but this man, he got under her skin. And she knew why.

For the first time in her life, she’d let her personal feelings get in the way of her job. Because she wasn’t sat here as a journalist getting the story now, she was sat here as Blake’s girl.

And while that truth bomb detonated inside her, she forced her focus on the man before her, the man who’d given his son his looks, but sod all else.

‘You know what, Mr Carter?—’

The door to the bar flew open, an icy gust invading with it. Awareness prickled through Astrid’s body, silencing her words and firing up her skin.

She didn’t need to look to know who’d just walked in.

The mood in the bar turned brittle, the hum of voices lowering as heads turned, everyone sensing what she did – trouble.

Oh God.

* * *

Blake’s laser-sharp gaze cut through the bar, landing squarely on Astrid and his father. He didn’t know whether to sweep her into his arms or tear a strip off her for being so bloody stupid. Both. Definitely both.

His father blinked, blinked again. ‘ Blake ?’

He hadn’t seen his dad in person since the day he’d left him on the floor. Aiden had though. Multiple times over the years. And only when the scumbag had wanted something. Money. Contacts. Fame. Ugh.

Seeing him now, seeing what the years had done to him, seeing him this close to the woman he’d come to care for more than life itself…

His fingers curled into his palms. Anger. Hurt. Hatred. Disgust. It all rolled through him as Ugly Kid Joe’s ‘Cats in the Cradle’ spilled into the heavy silence – someone up there had a sick sense of humour. Or not, as he spied the familiar faces at the juke box.

‘Blake?’

It was Astrid this time and he followed the sweet sound of her voice, met her gaze with a ragged breath. ‘Are you done here?’

‘All these years and you’re not even going to say hello?’ his father sneered.

‘Astrid?’ he prompted, not even glancing his way.

She licked her lips, her honeyed eyes wide, her vulnerability screaming at him to get her out. ‘I?—’

‘Well fuck me, you see this, this is my boy. Not seen him for a decade and he doesn’t even have the decency to say hello to his old man. And you wonder what drove me to drink, what drove me to?—’

‘What, Dad? Beat the shit out of us all?’

His father laughed, the sound as evil as he looked. ‘So you do still have that mouth on you.’

‘Blake, please…’ Astrid got to her feet, easing her body between him and his father. He knew what she was doing, she was talking him down, urging him to ignore the man behind her.

‘Yes, Blake, please , why not take a seat? We can tell Astrid just how much a chip off the old block you are. It’ll make for a great twist in her article. What do you say, doll? You like the sound of that, because believe you me, you think I’m bad? This guy left me for dead.’

Blake’s gut iced over. ‘That’s not true.’

‘No? Think you’ll find the paramedics thought otherwise.’

‘Blake, don’t listen to him. Come on.’ She shrugged on her coat. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry. Please. Let’s go.’

She’d got one thing right. She shouldn’t have. But now his feet were rooted into the wooden boards, his eyes planted on his father’s sneer.

‘They wouldn’t have even got to you if I hadn’t called them.’

‘Bet you wished you hadn’t bothered.’

She pulled on his arm, but he wasn’t done.

‘It would make you feel better for me to say “yes”, wouldn’t it? To paint me as bad as you. But I’m not. I’ve spent the last ten years fighting you. And I’m done with it. I’m not you. I’m nothing like you. And for the first time in my life, I can truly see that.’

His father flinched, Blake’s words landing harder than his fist ever could, and then he turned away. Wrapping his arm around Astrid’s waist, he led her to the door.

‘See you in another ten years, son.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ he murmured under his breath.

Getting the last word should have made him feel better. It didn’t. As he pushed out into the cold night air and unlocked the truck, his relief at seeing her waned in the face of what could have gone wrong.

They were in the middle of nowhere for fuck’s sake. Anything could have happened, and she knew no one. Had no support. No protection. No nothing.

And it would’ve been his fault too.

‘Get in the truck, Astrid.’

Blake ground the command out through his teeth; he couldn’t look at her now without feeling like he might puke. He rounded the vehicle and pulled open the driver’s door. But she hadn’t moved.

‘Astrid—’

‘I had to see him, Blake.’

‘ Had to?’ he shot back at her. ‘Not enough that you got all the gory details from us, you just had to see the man himself.’

‘Yes.’ She met his gaze head on.

He gave a harsh scoff, steam wafting up into the freezing air. ‘What was it? Morbid curiosity? Didn’t believe he could be as bad as all that? Or do you just like to scare the shit out of me by putting yourself in harm’s way?’

* * *

‘I—’

Astrid’s words stole away as she realised it wasn’t fury that she saw blazing back at her, but fear. Fear over her.

‘I’m a journalist, Blake, this is what I do.’

‘Putting yourself in harm’s way isn’t work, it’s reckless and it’s stupid!’

She gave a tremulous smile. ‘You put yourself in harm’s way on the ice all the time.’

‘Don’t make light of this.’

‘I’m not. But this is my job, and like it or not, he is a part of your story.’

He swung the door closed and strode up to her, the intensity in his gaze leaving her breathless. ‘Then why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?’

‘Because I knew you wouldn’t like it.’

‘Hell, I would have brought you!’ He raked an unsteady hand through his hair. ‘If it was what you really wanted to do, I would have brought you.’

She shook her head. ‘You hate it here.’

‘I don’t hate it here, I hate him, it’s different.’

‘You know I’ve been trying to track him down, you knew it was a possibility.’

‘And you should have fucking told me.’

‘What difference would it have made?’

‘It would’ve made all the difference!’ He slammed his chest with his fist. ‘ I would have been here to protect you.’

‘ Protect me?’

‘Yes!’

‘I don’t need you to protect me.’

‘Yes, you fucking do.’

Steel shot through Astrid’s spine. ‘I’ve been doing this job for years; you think your father is the worst I’ve encountered? I look out for myself, Blake. I don’t need a man to hold my hand. Not now. Not ever.’

Something flickered in his eyes, pain, like she’d lanced him with her words. But it was true. It had always been that way, and it would continue to be that way, and she’d been pretty bloody clear about it up until now. Until him!

‘Yeah, and what if you’d pressed the same buttons we did as kids, what if you’d made him snap, you never saw what I saw…’ He choked on his own words. ‘And the thought that you… out here, where you know no one…’

No one. Only she did. She knew Sissi. Had felt safe because of Sissi. Her friend’s knowledge of the town and the people. But he couldn’t know that because he didn’t know about Sissi. And that was on her, 100 per cent, her.

‘It didn’t come to that,’ she whispered, her deceit rolling through her, stealing her strength, her rigidity…

‘But what if it had ?’ He reached out and gripped her arms. ‘ Christ , Astrid, if something happened to you, I?—’

‘Let her go!’ Sienna launched herself out of the bar, door swinging, eyes wild as she took in Blake’s fierce grip.

‘Sissi, it’s okay,’ Astrid hurried out.

‘Sissi?’ Blake’s grasp weakened, his head turning as Astrid stiffened, realising her mistake to late. ‘ Sienna ?’

‘If you want to be angry with anyone, Blake, be angry with me,’ her friend implored. ‘I was the one who told her he was here.’

‘ You ?’