Brody is watching with the fascination usually reserved for car crashes. Dex looks like Christmas came early.
“Forty-seven minutes,” Jake calls out from the other end of the table. “He refused to get out until you were free, but then Anderson’s session ran over.”
“Forty-seven minutes,” I repeat faintly. “You sat there freezing rather than admit you weren’t hurt?”
The mental image is too much—Roman, the most intimidating man in professional hockey, sitting in an ice bath for nearly an hour rather than admit he’d faked an injury to get me to touch him.
Roman’s jaw works, and for a moment I think he’s going to try to salvage this with his usual stone-faced authority.
Then he looks at my expression—the complete horror mixed with disbelief—and something cracks.
His mouth twitches. Then again.
And then?—
Roman laughs.
Not a huff. Not a snort. An actual, genuine laugh that transforms his entire face.
It’s deep and rich and rusty, like expensive machinery that hasn’t been used in years. His eyes crinkle at the corners, showing lines I’ve never seen before, and his whole body shakes with it.
Everyone freezes.
Forks stop mid-air. Conversations die. Even Blythe goes silent.
We all stare as Roman Varga—Captain Murder Face—laughs at being exposed for the worst fake injury attempt in professional sports history.
“Holy shit,” Dex whispers.
“Language,” Goldie says automatically, but she’s staring at Roman too.
“Is Uncle Ro broken?” Blythe asks loudly. “His face is doing something weird.”
“He’s laughing, baby,” Goldie manages, though she sounds like she doesn’t quite believe it herself.
“I didn’t know he could do that,” Blythe says with perfect nine-year-old honesty. “Is it new?”
The innocent question makes Roman laugh harder, and the sound is so foreign, so unexpected, that I find myself laughing too.
Because this is ridiculous. This enormous, intimidating man faked an injury—badly—just to get my attention, suffered through nearly an hour of ice bath torture rather than admit it, and is now laughing at himself for getting caught.
“Your face,” Roman finally manages, still grinning. “You lookso horrified.”
“You faked an injury to get me to touch your butt!” I protest, which sets off a round of laughter from the table.
“Technically,” Roman says, “I faked an injury to receive appropriate therapeutic treatment for a very real muscle tension issue.”
“You limped on the wrong leg!”
“I was committed to the performance.”
“You could have just asked for a massage like a normal person!”
Roman raises an eyebrow, heat in his eyes despite the lingering laughter. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The entire room explodes.
Dex is pounding the table. Anderson looks like he’s witnessing a miracle. Brody can barely breathe through his laughter.
