Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,54

looking for… He never hurt me, Marco, but he was there for me when I needed him, and then I hurt him.”

Marco raised a hand, I moved, Vlad growled, and Lacey tensed, but Marco wasn’t looking at me or Vlad, he was cradling Lacey’s face and then pulling her close in a hug.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I need you in my life. You’re my little sister.”

“I couldn’t, I didn’t want to, I’m so stupid but my head, sometimes nothing makes sense.”

Marco held her and closed his eyes, before burying his face in her hair, whispering soft, low words. Vlad and I stood back a little, formed a barrier in case anyone else came out into the hallway, but it was blessedly quiet. When they parted he still held her, and then extended a hand to me, which I shook immediately.

“She says you looked after her,” he said.

“I tried.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I said without hesitation.

Marco released his hold of my hand.“ Vlad?” Behind me Vlad bristled and stepped closer.

“What?”

“You fight like a badass.”

I bet he was back there preening like Frank on his perch.

“Of course I do.” Vlad stated firmly. “I am Russian animal.”

Chapter Fourteen

Vlad

Tate and I rode back to the hotel separately on the bus, his cat in a carrier, purring so loudly I could hear it from where I sat.

It was disappointing but there was no other option. If I sat too close to him I was compelled to touch him in small, territorial ways that still befuddled me. This jealousy and need to stake a claim was as foreign to me as American serving sizes had been when I’d first come to this country. Why must there be four hamburger patties—with bacon—on one bun? And turkey legs that look as if they were removed from an ostrich? Why?

I watched Dallas passing by, working my jaw back and forth to ease the ache from a clip from Marco’s big fist. That had been a good fight. It had purged some worries from me, clarified things. What it said about me that violence was how I exorcised demons I did not wish to examine too closely. Still, it had served its purpose. The team had been energized and I’d been able to work out some issues. Unable to peek back to see Tate, I nonetheless heard him, his soft Texas twang rising above the masculine chatter. My ears picked it out, much like a mother can differentiate her baby’s cry even in a room full of other little ones.

My phone buzzed. I dug into the front pocket of my suit jacket. A text from Tate.

Can we talk? - T

A tiny ball of concern welled up inside my chest. I wrote back that we could talk anytime and told him to come to my room with his virtual playbook. It rankled to have to pretend. He replied with a smiley emoji. I glanced out of the darkened window at the city lights, wishing for something that I suspected I might not have for quite some time. Freedom to be my true self.

The bus rolled up to the hotel, a grand high-rise that seemed to touch the night sky. Truly, everything was bigger in Texas. Saying goodnight to the team as we filed into four separate elevators, I shifted my personal bag up on my shoulder higher and commented on some observation Henry was making about chili. Apollo’s chili. The boy was so in love. I envied him. Realizing that I grimaced, the taste of my envy bitter on my tongue. Obviously, I had many flaws to work on.

Leaving Henry at the fourth floor, I went to my room, stripped off my suit and tie, and pulled on some rusty-red cotton shorts with the Raptors logo on the left thigh. I eyed the bar but removed a can of lemon-lime soda instead of a tiny bottle of vodka. Then I settled into my chair and waited for the knock. Memories of that first time Tate had come to me rose, sensual recollections that were making me half hard. I shoved at my swelling prick, willing it to go away. Tate wanted to talk, not fuck. I made myself think of my great-grandfather Petro and the time as a child my twin and I had seen him naked. He was an old, old man who hated to wear clothes that pinched his balls or any other part of his body. My father said he was off in the head. He died