Chapter 4 #2
He walked over to the stool I had vacated and sat down. He was too big for it; his knees nearly touched the easel. He looked at the tiny swab I had dropped.
"Why do you care what they think?" he asked.
"Because I want to be taken seriously!" I exploded. "I don't want to be the 'Kensington Princess' anymore. I want to be… capable. I want to look in the mirror and see someone who actually matters."
Theo picked up the swab. He twirled it between his thick fingers.
"You think discipline is something you’re given?" he asked. He looked at me, his grey eyes piercing. "You think you apply for it, and they hand it to you in an email?"
"I don't know," I whispered.
"Discipline is a muscle," Theo said. "You build it. You tear it down, and you rebuild it stronger. If they think you lack it, it’s because you haven't shown it to them. You show them the party girl. You show them the chaos. You hide this." He gestured to the painting. "Why?"
"Because it’s safe," I admitted. The truth tumbled out before I could stop it. "If I fail at a party, nobody cares. It’s just Mila being Mila. But if I fail at this… if I try and I’m not good enough… then I really am worthless."
Theo stood up. He walked over to me.
He stopped inches away. I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
"You’re scared," he stated.
"Yes," I breathed.
"Good."
He reached out.
I flinched, expecting… I didn't know what. A reprimand. A grab.
But his hand moved slowly. He reached for my face. His thumb brushed under my eye, wiping away a smudge of mascara and a lingering tear. His skin was rough, calloused from the hockey stick, but his touch was shockingly gentle. It was barely there. A ghost of a caress.
"Fear is fuel, Mila," he said softly. "If you aren't scared, you aren't trying."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my throat. This wasn't the monster. This wasn't the Tsar. This was a man who understood what it meant to fight for your life.
"You’re limping," I said suddenly.
It was a deflection. The intimacy was too much.
Theo’s hand dropped from my face. His mask slid back into place, but not all the way. He looked down at his left leg.
"Practice," he muttered. "Blocked a shot. It’s nothing."
"It’s not nothing," I said, my curator brain taking over. I analyzed the way he was standing, favoring his right side. "You’re hiding it. Does Coach Miller know?"
"No," Theo said sharply. "And he won't. If I’m injured, I drop in the draft. I play through it."
"You’re an idiot," I said, but there was no venom in it. "You’re going to cause permanent damage."
"I do what is required," he said. He looked at the sandwich bag. "Eat. Then we go home."
"I’m not hungry."
"Eat," he ordered. But then he added, "Please."
The word hung in the air like a white flag.
I walked over to the bag. I pulled out a turkey sub. I took a bite. It tasted like sawdust, but I swallowed it.
Theo watched me eat. He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight.
"I need…" I started, then stopped. I chewed, swallowing the lump of fear in my throat. "I need your help."
Theo raised an eyebrow. "With the painting? I’m more likely to punch a hole in it."
"No," I said. I set the sandwich down. I turned to face him fully. "With the discipline. With the… perception."
I took a deep breath. This was it. The Hail Mary.
"You said I hide the serious parts of myself. You’re right. I do. Because I don't know how to be that person in public. I don't know how to walk into a room and command respect instead of attention. You do."
Theo crossed his arms. "I’m listening."
"I want to make a deal," I said. My palms were sweating. "The email said I lack 'field discipline.' Fine. I want you to teach me."
"Teach you what?"
"How to be… like you," I struggled for the words. "Focused. Controlled. Unshakeable. I want you to train me. Not just 'babysit' me. Actually train me. Give me rules. Give me a schedule. Make me do the things I’m afraid to do."
Theo’s eyes darkened. A shadow passed over his face—something predatory and intrigued.
"You want me to control you," he said slowly.
"I want you to help me control myself," I corrected. "But… yes. If that’s what it takes."
"And in exchange?" he asked. "What do I get out of this? Aside from a headache."
I looked at his leg. Then I looked at his face.
"I help you with the 'human' stuff," I said. "You’re incredible on the ice, Theo, but off the ice? You’re a robot. The donors are scared of you. The press thinks you’re a cold-blooded mercenary. That’s why you’re not the consensus number one pick yet.
They doubt your 'locker room character.' They think you can't lead. "
Theo’s jaw tightened. I had hit a nerve.
"I can fix that," I said confidently. "I can teach you how to charm. How to talk to people without looking like you want to murder them. How to make them love you."
I stepped closer. "And… I keep your secret. About the leg. I’ll help you rehab it. I know anatomy. I know how to wrap, how to ice. I can help you hide it until the draft."
Theo stared at me. He was calculating. He was playing the chess match in his head.
"A trade," he mused. "My discipline for your charm."
"Yes."
"It’s dangerous," he said low. "If I train you, Mila… I don't do things halfway. If you submit to my protocol, you don't get to opt out when it gets hard. You don't get to brat your way out of it."
"I won't," I vowed.
"And the other thing?" he asked. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating in the quiet room.
"What other thing?"
"The reason you act out," he said. "The innocence. The virginity you were trying to sell."
I flushed hot crimson. "What about it?"
"It’s part of the blockage," Theo analyzed clinically, though his eyes were burning. "You hold onto it because it makes you feel like a 'good girl' underneath the bad behavior. But it’s also a crutch. It keeps you a child."
He stepped closer, invading my space again.
"If we do this… if I take you on as a project… that is on the table."
My breath hitched. "You said you wouldn't touch me."
"I said I wouldn't touch a child," Theo corrected. "But if you do the work… if you grow up… then the dynamic changes."
He leaned down, his face inches from mine.
"You want to be taken seriously, Mila? Then we take everything seriously. Including your body. Including your pleasure."
My knees nearly gave out. The promise in his voice was terrifying and exhilarating.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Okay what?"
"Okay to the deal," I said, my voice stronger. "Train me. Fix me. Whatever."
Theo stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Pack up your paints," he commanded. "We’re going home. We start tonight."
"Start what?"
"Ice," he said, turning toward the door. "You said you could wrap my knee. Prove it."
He walked out.
I stood there for a second, my heart racing like a trapped bird. I looked at the painting of the magistrate. The tiny spot of blue was still there, bright and hopeful against the grime.
I had asked for structure. I had asked for help.
I had just sold my soul to the Ice King.
And God help me, I couldn't wait to see what he was going to do with it.
I packed my bag and ran to catch up.