Todos os capítulos de The Pucking Ice King : Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

Two minutes. That was all I gave her. I stood outside the restroom with my arms crossed, watching the seconds bleed away on my watch. One minute Then another. I knocked once. “Rhea.” Nothing. I knocked harder. “Rhea. Open the door.” Still nothing. A cold sensation slid down my spine. It had nothing to do with the air conditioning. I tried the handle, locked. Of course it was locked. I stepped back and drove my shoulder into the door. The lock tore free with a sharp crack. Empty. The restroom was empty. Marble counters. Soft lighting. Three stalls with their doors half-open. And on the far wall, a window stood open. Cool air poured through it. I crossed the room in three long strides and looked down. The alley was narrow and empty. There was no movement or any sign of her. My hands tightened around the windowsill. She actually jumped. For a moment, I couldn’t make myself believe it. Rhea, Pregnant with my child. Wearing the ri

Time moved strangely slowly in the hospitals. I stood with my back against the wall across from the trauma bay doors and watched the second hand on the clock above the nurses’ station. It crawled. Every time it completed a full circle I told myself something would change. A doctor would come out. A nurse would call my name. The doors would open and someone would tell me she was awake and perfectly fine. Nothing had happened. I hadn’t sat down. Sitting felt like accepting the wait, and I refused to accept it. My hands had finally stopped shaking, but the restlessness had moved into my shoulders and jaw. I kept flexing my fingers, then forcing them still against my thighs. The antiseptic smell of the corridor had settled into the back of my throat. Somewhere down the hall a monitor beeped in a steady, indifferent rhythm. She was on the other side of those doors. Unconscious and hurt because she had decided an eight-foot drop onto concrete was better than staying with me. I

The first thing I noticed when I woke again was that Logan was still there. He sat in the same chair, long legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. The only change was the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and the exhaustion beneath his gray eyes. The ring remained on the bedside table, catching the fluorescent light whenever I moved. My body still ached, but the sharpest edges had dulled. The IV was taped to my hand. The monitor beside me continued its steady, indifferent beeping. Outside the window, the sky had faded from black to a pale, washed-out gray. Morning. Logan’s eyes opened the moment I moved. “You’re awake.” Not a question. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “You drifted off after the nurse left.” Silence settled between us. It wasn’t peaceful — it was the kind of silence that exists when both people already know the next words are going to matter. I stared at the ceiling for a long moment before asking the question that had

Logan left just after noon. He didn’t make a production of it. He checked the terrace doors, murmured something to Claire in the kitchen, then came to stand in the doorway of the living room where I sat with a book I hadn’t read a single page of. “I’ll be back after media,” he said. “Claire has everything you need. She’ll call me if there’s a problem.” I nodded. His eyes stayed on me for another second. As if he were calculating the possibility that I’d do something stupid the moment his car disappeared through the gates. Then he left. The front door closed with a soft click. A few seconds later, I heard the gates open. Then shut. The house settled into silence. For the first time since I’d arrived, Logan wasn’t in the building. I waited. One minute. Two. Nothing happened. I slowly pushed myself out of the chair. My ankle protested immediately. But I ignored it. I walked through the living room, studying the corners. There were three cameras t

The suite stayed quiet for the rest of the game. Claire didn’t leave again. The guard remained outside. Below us, Logan played like the ice belonged to him. He denied another breakaway, smothered a scramble against the post, and held the one-goal lead until the final horn sent the arena into a rolling roar. I watched him raise his glove once in acknowledgment before skating off. He never looked toward the suite. By the time they walked me through the private corridors, the main concourse was already filling with people. We left through the same entrance we had used earlier. No cameras reached us. The car was waiting. Logan came home almost two hours later. He walked in wearing a dark team hoodie, his hair still damp from the shower at the arena. The sharpness of the game hadn’t completely left him. His shoulders were tense, his expression focused, his movements slower than usual with exhaustion. He set his keys down. His eyes found me immediately. I was curled into the cor