A Warm Heart in Winter(48)

“I’m on the track team, remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me.”

Elle cleared her throat. “Do you—there was a snowstorm last night. Did you notice?”

“Was there?”

“The roads are really backed up. With snow.”

Her mom smiled some more. “Oh. Well, I’m glad you have those skis, then.”

“Yes. I’m glad I have them, too.” Elle stood up and put her parka back on. “Okay. Well. Call me if you need anything?”

Holding her arms up, her mom stayed seated. “Hugs, Bug. Hugs for Bug.”

Swallowing hard, Elle went over. As she leaned down, she realized that her mother had put her turtleneck on backwards, the outline of the tag that was stitched on the underside right in front.

“Bye, Mom,” Elle said roughly.

“Tell Terrie I love her, too.”

“Okay. I will.”

Straightening, Elle went over to the door and shoved her feet back in the square-toed shoes. Then she fumbled with the knob.

“Drive carefully out there,” her mom said from the table, her eyes focused somewhere in the middle ground between them.

“I will, Mom,” Elle murmured as she stepped out and let go of the door.

The metal panel slammed shut. And for a moment, she stood there and looked out at the snow-packed parking lot, the cars all covered with powdered sugar, the gouges from a plow’s effort ruining the soft undulations of what had fallen during the night and been blown into drifts by the wind.

In her pocket, her phone started to vibrate, and when she went to get it, she found that she had put her gloves back on, zipped up her parka, and returned her hat to her head. When had all that happened, she wondered.

Biting off her glove, she got her phone out.

The name on the call was three letters long. “DAD.”

She let it go to voice mail, picked up the poles and skis, and started down the stairs. When she got to the bottom, she dropped the Rossignols and glanced around, blinking at the brilliant light. One by one, she clipped in the tips of her shoes. And then she started off, following the path she had made on the trip in, her breath leaving her mouth and drifting over her shoulder in puffs.

It used to be easy to go home, she thought.

Then again, a lot of things had been easier.





Qhuinn had a spring in his step as he came through the training center’s office. Night had fallen, First Meal was through, and he was off rotation. The storm had passed, the damage to the house had been repaired, and everybody was safe.

He’d also gotten no sleep during the day. For the very best reasons.

He and Blay had spent the daylight hours getting very naked up in their bedroom. It was amazing how many positions there were, and how many different places you could get it on: In the bed, of course. In the tub. The shower. The walk-in closet—which had been a surprise. Who knew that rug burns could be such a trophy?

He was walking funny from them. And wasn’t that awesome.

Out in the corridor, he went by the weight room, and when he heard music banging, he leaned inside. “You’re a fucking beast, Hollywood.”

Across the floor mats and through the thickets of lifting machines, a shirtless Rhage was in the middle of a set of chinups on the bar, and with every upand-down the brother did, that tattoo of a dragon across his back moved and seethed along with his flexing muscles.

“You know it,” the brother gritted out.

With a wave, Qhuinn kept going. Down past the exam rooms and the OR, he stopped at the last door that was part of the clinic area. Tugging his sweatshirt into proper place over his Adidas training pants, he made sure his hair was not completely crazy.

Although no amount of brushing was going to hide the fact that part of it was the color of Violet Beauregarde.

Not that it mattered to Luchas. Still, old family habits died hard, even when they weren’t necessary anymore.

Knocking with his knuckles, he then pushed his way in. “Luchas, my man, how are—”

Qhuinn paused. No one was in the patient room. But at least the wheelchair was parked in the corner. So the male was using his cane as he’d been told to.

“Good,” Qhuinn murmured. Then louder, “Luchas, you in the loo?”

The door over there was closed, but there was no shower running. No sink, either. Content to wait, Qhuinn sat down in his brother’s reading chair and chilled, taking out his phone. After checking his email, he looked to the bathroom.

“Luchas? You okay in there?”

Getting to his feet, he put his phone away and walked to the door. Leaning into the panel, he listened. “Luchas?”

When he knocked and there was no answer, his throat closed up. “I’m coming in, Luchas—”

As he pushed his way inside, the motion-activated lights came on. No one was there, either: The bathtub was dry. The towels were folded precisely on the rods. The toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving accoutrements were all orderly around the sink. A surge of paranoia made him open the shower stall’s frosted door. Just in case. But there was no blood from a cracked-open head. No body, either.

Just as he started to worry, he exhaled in relief and felt like a fucking fool.

Heading back out into the corridor, he pushed his hands into his track bottoms and whistled a tune as he backtracked his route. Rhage was still doing chinups as he went by the weight room, and he said hi to Manny as the surgeon came in through the office.