Page 93 of Saddle Storm

He nods.

“How do you know?”

“Why do you think we tease you as much as we do? It’s how we deal with it. You’re a hotshot. This is your home and you’re always welcome. But you don’t belong here.”

30

“You all right?” I ask Silas, sitting on the passenger seat of what he’s calling my car as I drive him to the Denver Kings arena. Mr. Thorne did show up with tools to take a look at my truck last week. But when he saw this Range Rover parked right next to it, he didn’t look very hard.

I’ll pick my day to argue him on it since my car’s still out of commission and I don’t want Silas driving this monster of a vehicle more than he needs to. Hell, he’s been picking Max up from school in Rose’s golf cart since Wilder set it up to withstand roads all around town. Not to mention, the more I drive this thing . . . the less I want to argue.

Obviously, he’ll take it with him when he moves back here—to downtown Denver—but in the meantime, I can enjoy a smooth luxury ride.

“I’m all right,” he gives me a reassuring grin. “Just . . . sittin’ this one out.” He glances back at Max in the back seat and I know he was hoping he’d be watching him play tonight.

“You ever sit out a game?”

“Plenty. For . . .” he glances back again, “let’s just call them timeouts.”

Max chuckles.

Silas runs a hand down his face, suddenly sobering. “Don’t know how long this timeout will be though,” he mutters.

I shrug. “Well, I’m still excited to see you out there.”

He narrows his eyes, dragging them over me like I don’t know what I’m in for. “You should be.” He strokes his clean-shaven jaw. “I look damn good in a suit.”

“Oh, I know.”

We don’t come in the way everyone else does.

There’s no crowd surge, no pushing bodies or security barking orders. Just a quiet side entrance tucked beneath the arena and a hallway that smells faintly like ice and metal.

In front of me, Max’s hand is tight in Silas’s, his steps practically bouncing. “Is this where the players come through?” he whispers, like the walls might hear him.

Silas tosses him a smirk. “And other important people.”

I hang back a step, watching them together. Max clinging to him like it’s instinct. Silas slowing his strides without thinking. Silas’s team jacket hanging low but comfortably over my kid.

This version of him still surprises me. This version of both of them surprises me.

We reach a set of doors and that’s where things shift. Silas stops, reaching for me, fingers brushing the back of my hand almost apologetically. He knocks on the door with a sign that reads Ice Queens.

My heart stutters. He warned me he’d be handing me off at some point. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. The game’s still thirty minutes away—and he’s already in his suit so it’s not like he has to change.

A short brunette answers the door. She’s sweet, pretty, and bubbly. “Silas!” She throws her arms around him. He catches her with a low grunt before stepping back respectfully. “Hey Brit, got a favor. Can you get Pepper for me?”

She notices me, looking up with a soft smile. “Oh. Of course. Pepper, Silas is here for you.” She walks away muttering something about that girl getting all the players.

He turns to me. “Pepper will take care of you. I’ve . . .” He sighs, pointing to the door across the hall. “Gotta go in there. Meet with the coach and a couple of the guys. Owners are here today to keep the press in check since I’m back and I’ve gotta—”

“Storm,” Pepper cheers, flicking her gaze down to my side. “Hey kid. Love the jacket.” She’s in her red and white uniform, which Max scans like she’s a hologram that can’t possibly be real.

I shift back to Silas, setting my hand on his chest softly like I need to prove something. “No need to explain. I’ll be fine.”

But he doesn’t leave right away. Instead, he crouches in front of Max, eye level. “You good?”

My kid nods, gripping the jacket he’s wearing. “Do you want this today? For good luck?”