Page 83 of Saddle Storm

“Think I pushed it with PT yesterday, but it’s getting better.” It’s a white lie.

PT could stand for Pacing Tucker.

He growls under his breath. “Silas, we need you back on the ice. Don’t screw with your recovery.”

I glance behind me. “I didn’t call for a lecture from my best friend. I need a favor.”

He sighs. “Which car you need me to drive back for you?”

I smirk. “The SUV.” It’s one of the three cars I park in the garage of my high-rise apartment building in Denver. The same one Chase lives in.

“Should you even be driving right now?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing I’m opening myself up to questions I don’t need right now. But he of all people should understand. Chase’s wife, Pepper, is a Denver Kings Ice Queen. Originally a disguise he’d arranged for his old high school crush when she came back to Hideaway Springs as a runaway bride. He’d have given and done anything to protect her and eventually—make her his.

“It’s not for me.”

There’s a smirk in his voice when he asks, “What’s her name?”

I’m quiet for a beat, looking out at the mountain view, the fields we grew up racing across. “Storm.”

“Storm?”

“She’s . . . an old friend and she’s got a kid. She works here at the ranch and . . .” My eyes linger on her old car. “I need her in some reliable wheels.”

“Say no more. We’ll drop it off tonight. Got to be at Levi’s for dinner at six. So we’ll swing by around five?”

“I owe you.”

“Just focus on getting back on the ice.”

I’m about to tell him it’s all I’m thinking about—but I’d be lying.

Getting back on the ice has taken a back seat to Storm. And Max. At least recently.

It was the only thing I wanted when I woke up from surgery. To work through recovery and be allowed back. But the desperation for it—the urgency—has eased. Not that I feel any less ready, it’s just not all that matters anymore. It’s like all the holes I didn’t know I had in my heart have been filled, and playing again would just be icing on the cake.

“Hey, and grab my team jacket in the front closet,” I add.

He sighs. “Anything else?”

I grin at the sarcasm and thank him before hanging up. Then shoot out a text to my brother to check on the kid.

Silas: How was your night?

Dallas: How was your night?

I smirk.

Silas: Don’t be cute. Everyone sleep okay?

Dallas: Max had a great night. We decorated, had dinner, lots of candy, and they both passed out halfway through the movie. So tell Storm not to worry.

Silas: Thanks. She’s still sleeping.

Dallas: **scratches beard . . . waiting for more **

Silas: **rolls eyes and disappears**