Paint The Ice

Chapter 2

RILEY

I FEEL LIKE A PAINTING IN A GALLERY.

My edges are being stared at and all the matters of me.

They're waiting to hear something. Anything. My silence evokes anxiety because they have no clue what I'm going to say.

I'm curious to know how my portrait looks up close though.

Do I look terrifying?

Clearly not as much as I hoped since I'm being approached even when I wear my wing liner in reverse and a RBF aka resting bitch face. I wouldn't think my height could scare Asher Humphrey to begin with. He's taller than I am and I'm all five-foot-nine.

I shouldn't have this much power, like whatever I say will make or break the situation. I suppose it will. And why do I like it? I feel like I'm in control and I relish in it. Seriously though, why would Cole think I'm the best person for the job? He knows me well enough to know that I'm not experienced with the kids, especially toddlers.

I mean, I've heard about the terrible twos and they're telling me I should babysit a three year old?

"He's my son."Asher adds, as if that will do something.

I think he forgets that I know he has a son. Personally, I've never been introduced to Asher's son. We weren't friends and we barely crossed paths. The entire team was raising the kid together whenever he came around. Cole said so. I'm assuming it's Asher's day—or week— or however he schedules his time. I don't know much about his story, probably even at all. I do know that Asher got a girl pregnant and they're obviously not together now so they switch. Co-parent is the most accurate word.

My eyes flicker to the bruise on the side of Asher's face. "You should be with your son then."

And get an ice pack, I don't voice that out loud.

Of course a little bruise doesn't bother him. He's used to the aggressive game of D1 hockey by now.

"We're only asking you because the babysitter flaked. Wish she didn't."Cole explains ruefully.

Asher picks up right after Cole like a freaking tag team. "I just need a break. One night, that's all."

I almost feel sorry for him, I do.

But because of my inner child I would say: "spend time with your son, you can skip a dumb bar night and tuck him in yourself."

I know. I know. It's just my trauma talking. Asher is nothing like my mother. At least I hope he isn't.

Spending a night to celebrate your team's win isn't selfish and it doesn't mean he's prioritizing that over his son. If anything, finding a babysitter is a good thing, right?

I guess I should respect him for that.

"I'll pay you."Asher offers.

Finally, I opened my mouth, "I don't want your money." My voice comes out snappy.

Is mentioning pay supposed to convince me to dive at the opportunity and willingly give my Friday Night away? I don't think so. I'm more concerned about how different tonight will be if I accept the job. Me... babysitting. It doesn't even sound right and shouldn't be in the same sentence.

Kianna nudges me in the ribs with her elbow and clears her throat. "She does accept pay."

"Who said I was babysitting? I just asked how old the kid was before I found out about the situation." Actually I considered it.

Yup. I'm hanging onto the fragments of my freedom.

Over Asher's shoulder, I spot someone steadily approaching our small gathering. Big blue Taft jacket swallows him and the grey hairs covering his upper lip and chin glistens in the night. It's the head hockey coach, McKillan and he's not alone.