“I need you,” I whispered into the phone.
But Millie wasn’t there. No one was. I dropped the phone onto my lap.
A text alert with Maxim’s name flashed on my screen.He asked about my day. Maybe I was terrified of being without Millie, and that’s why I answered.
Dillon came to my office. He threatened me and grabbed me.
My phone rang within seconds.
“Are you okay?” Maxim asked.
Though his words were more guttural, the tone clipped, warmth blossoming out of the frigidity that encased my midsection. He was worried about me.
“I am.” Isowasn’t. “Paul—that’s the security guard—stopped him from dragging me off.”
“But not before he grabbed you and you hit your face,” Paul added.
I tried to glare, but I failed.
“Fuck! I’m traveling tonight, so I can’t be there—”
“What could you possibly do?” I asked.
“Go to my house. Stay there tonight.”
I’d been thinking of Maxim’s offer before, when I talked to Mama this weekend, but I’d decided not to get Maxim more involved in my life. It was a mess.Iwas a mess.
“I couldn’t—”
“Please, Ida Jane. I’d feel so much better knowing you’re in a place where Dillon can’t get to you. And I’m getting you a bodyguard to watch out for you at work.”
My life had shifted so much. Millie was gone; I was alone. Maxim offered a safe place to stay, which I needed. My only other option was to tuck my tail and return to my parents’ ranch in Clarendon. Mama would fuss and Daddy would bluster and worry, but they wouldn’t be able to protect me when I returned to Houston.
I had a career here, a life. The kids needed me, and I didn’t want to disappoint them. But Dillon had shattered the thin veil of security I’d walked around with, and my fear crept closer with the darkening sky.
“Okay.”
Chapter8
Maxim
Aggression poured off me all game. Ida Jane had been hurt, and by a man I’d let walk away from her a few days ago. If I’d broken his kneecap or elbow, he wouldn’t have been able to scare her, harm her.
Like Nadia. My beautiful sister had been small, fragile, beautiful, too. I wouldalwaysmiss her, and I would always blame myself for her death.
I told myself that was why I wouldn’t let something terrible happen to Ida Jane. After sitting too many minutes in the penalty box, gritting my teeth as Anaheim scored a goal, I came out and skated well, played aggressively. I enjoyed slamming a few players into the boards and scrapping for the puck, which I won more often than not.
My energy was nearly as high as my frustration, and I refused to lose, which was how I managed to outmaneuver Anaheim and ensure Naese scored on my hard pass that went between a player’s legs.
Coach Whittaker pulled me aside as soon as our locker room doors slid shut behind the team. This building wasn’t as nice as ours back in Houston.Thatsmell—sweaty socks and jockstraps—permeated the very walls. I wrinkled my nose, but I also found it soothing. Hockey had always been my outlet.
“Anything I need to know?” Coach asked.
I considered that for a long moment before I met his concerned gaze. Silas was the youngest coach in the league. He wasn’t yet forty, but he seemed both in optimal shape and wise enough to keep us in line. I respected him, having learned so much from him about being a responsible player and a solid teammate. “Possibly. Not yet.”
Silas’s eyebrow rose. “Ah. Your woman?”
“Ida Jane.”
