“So this is what five hundred tons of ice looks like,” Jameson mused as all four of them walked toward the base of the towering frozen wall. Xander assessed the situation. The higher you went up the wall of ice, the more treacherous the climb became. Excellent! Xander was pleased. “The ice is a metaphor,” he said sagely. Nash cocked a brow. “A metaphor for what?” “Either your heart or your ass,” Xander replied immediately. “It’s hard to say which.” Nash snorted. “My heart ain’t ice, Xan.” That was why they were here, why Nash had used his yearly 911, why the four of them were celebrating with
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