Ice Hot

by Tracy Goodwin

  Slumping against the cold floor, I rock back and forth, allowing the sobs to wrack my body. I don’t even try to fight them anymore. I don’t attempt to numb the pain with a bottle of high-priced booze. Instead, the grief envelops me, and I sob louder, harder. Because for the second time in my life my heart is bleeding, my confidence is shattered, and my future is in shambles. Like when my grades dipped in school because of Evan, only this is my business, and money I owe my grandmother is at stake.

  How stupid I was! Risking my business for a guy who wouldn’t choose me over his career in a million years. For a man who thinks I’m easy. For a guy who pretended to care. Like Evan. Oh, my God, I feel it worse now than with Evan. The humiliation, the pain, the shattered trust. I was vulnerable with Chris. I gave him all of me. I wanted a future with him, and all I was to him was an easy lay.

  Chris is an even better liar than Evan. Because I was prepared this time. I knew what to avoid. I looked for the signs. Still, I was completely clueless. Unless…he couldn’t fake such sincerity as when he made love to me. That connection we shared. The love I felt for him. The unspoken love I felt from him. Was it all an act? If so, it took effort to play me the way he wants me to believe he did.

  Do I believe him?

  My heart tells me no, but that heart has been wrong before, and Chris showed me no indication that he cared for me tonight. Quite the opposite. He was cold. He was merciless. How is this the same guy who rescues an injured shelter dog and hires someone to care for her while he’s on the road? How is this the same guy who commits to several cancer charities, donating his time and generous amounts of money to honor his mom? How is this the same man who invites kids to his skating rink for free and mentors them? I don’t get the Jekyll-and-Hyde thing Christian has going on. I don’t understand any of it, and that fact causes my agony to increase tenfold. Because maybe he is that man, the man I love, but the cold, hard truth is that he just doesn’t love me. Maybe I wasn’t enough for him.

  I cry until there are no more tears to shed. Then I stare at the cabinets in front of me, memorizing the wood-grain finish, and the numbing sensation of the cold stone beneath me, permeating my jeans. I spot a ding in the wood. My eyes are now open to imperfections. All of them. They’re also open to the man Christian truly is. The one who can’t even show me enough respect to look me in the eye while annihilating my heart. Why wouldn’t he look at me? And does it matter? He did just dump me. Why am I questioning his actions and their meanings?

  Because none of this feels right. It’s not him—not the Chris I thought I knew. So much for my infallible intuition. Fooled again, after all this time. Once more, but never again. This is the last time I will wallow over any man, especially Christian. No, he no longer exists in my life short of the various articles I will no doubt be bombarded with. As for the haters, they can go straight to hell. Regardless of what is thrown at me, no one will ever see how much they’ve hurt me. Screw everyone who wants to destroy what I’ve built. They want a bitch to hate? Well, now they’ve got one.

  My brave façade will be back by morning. My business, my family—my grandmother, Lucas, Charlie, and Becca—they are what matters. Christian isn’t the only one with people counting on them. No, I have priorities. It’s time I protect them. Chris is on his own. I won’t think of him again. Or if I do, it will only be in the celebrity Christian Chase vernacular. Because he is a stranger to me.

  Never again will I be weak. Never again will I be vulnerable. Mind-blowing sex and soulful eyes will never penetrate the stone-cold fortress that I’ll erect tonight. Wiping my face, I sit up straight, immersing myself in the pain and humiliation. I’m in self-preservation mode and I want to remember this moment. It will serve as my lesson. Always.

  Slowly, over the course of hours, my heart hardens, as does my steely resolve. This Serena will never be fooled again. No, the wall around my heart is solid like Fort friggin’ Knox. Lesson learned.

  I’ll never make the same mistake again.

  Chapter 15

  Christian

  I’m suited up in my practice uniform, waiting for my turn at ice conditioning, when Nick approaches. In this exercise, we’re on different teams, with me on team A and him on team C. We both wear our red uniforms, while the opposing teams wear black. He’s still pissed. I haven’t spoken to him since our fight yesterday. Just when I need my best friend the most. My timing sucks. I suck. After what I did to Serena, I can’t help but hate myself.

  “You look like shit.” Nick plops on top of me. It’s intentional. He’s six-foot-six and all muscle. I refuse to grunt under his weight. Instead, I shove him to my right, on the bench, still staring straight ahead at the ice.

  It’s not often that Nick and I are at odds. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve argued. I don’t like it, but not as much as I detest what I’m about to admit. “Serena and I broke it off last night. I didn’t get much sleep.”

  Much is an understatement. I got no sleep. None. I was awake all night, cursing myself for the things I said and how I behaved toward Serena. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving her from Mike, from the trolls, from the bad press that was ruining her, yet somewhere, in the midst of our argument, I almost lost my nerve. The torture emanating from her tumultuous eyes was almost my undoing.

  It shattered me to the point that I couldn’t look at her anymore, taking every ounce of strength not to reach for her, tug her against me, smooth her hair, and tell her that I’m sorry. It took everything in me not to admit I love her and ask for her forgiveness. I was so close…so close to ending the charade that I had to lock my limbs in place to stop myself.

  Had I met her sad gaze one more time, she would have seen right through me and sacrificed herself and her business for me. Because that’s what Serena does for those she loves. I don’t have the same ability and it kills me.

  I owe everything to this team and their success. I’m too committed to drop everything for her, no matter how much I want to. There’s no middle ground, at least none that I could find. Still, my words and actions, my lack of reaching for her and ending her torment, has haunted me ever since I left her brownstone. Especially when I heard her crying. I don’t know how long I stood at her front door, listening to her sobs between the sounds of street traffic. I tried the knob after I left, but it was locked. If not for that, I would have gone back. I would have crumbled. I would have screwed my team.

  The door was locked, though, and I left. With regret churning in the pit of my stomach, rehashing every fucking thing I said. Round and round it went, like a whirlwind, my regrets spinning. Caught in the storm of my own making, the pressure escalated until I began to hyperventilate on the Long Island Expressway and pulled over. I lost count of how many times I contemplated returning to her place while stopped in that shoulder lane with my hazards on.

  Two dozen. That’s when I stopped counting. At two fucking dozen.

  Frozen, with my fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard that they turned numb, I questioned my every decision. Sure, I thought about sticking this out with her. But Mike is relentless, and his only way of getting at me is through her. First by causing people to ruin her personal reputation, then her business. Gallagher would keep using Serena against me, until she had nothing left. His use of the press against the team has given them little leeway until he screws up, and so far, he’s been on his best behavior. Breaking up with Serena was the only way to save her from my fucked-up life.

  I’m the guy who is OCD in an effort to control every piece of my life I can. I don’t handle lack of control well. Right now, I possess very little of it. I squeeze my hockey stick, that vein that pulsates in my neck when I’m angry ticking like a fucking bomb until I think it might rupture.

  “Hey.” Nick nudges my arm. “Mike will get his.”

  “Not quick enough to salvage the best thing in my life.” I keep stari
ng at the ice in our training facility. That cold slab represents everything I have worked for. Hell, everything I have ever wanted. Until Serena.

  That ice, this success, this life I crafted for myself cost me the only woman I’ve ever loved. The irony doesn’t escape me. I don’t do love. I don’t do relationships, yet when I do, I get sabotaged by my own asshole of a teammate who knows how to play his cards just right to keep himself in the running for a prime spot on the team.

  Mike’s burly frame shuffles past me and my head snaps to his. He’s wearing a smirk. Like he always does. He knows he’s got me. He’s in the black uniform, on the other team. He’ll be gunning for me. I know it. He will use every opportunity to take me down if I let him.

  I want him gone. I want Gunnar to nab Gallagher’s active position on the roster. Blondie, not Mike. No, I want Mouse on the bench. I’ll do everything I can to get him there.

  “Chris, are you okay?” The Demon approaches as Nick and I stand. He’s my left winger in this round. His concern mirrors Nick’s. I must be wearing my rage. I can’t keep it in check with Mike so close.

  The horn blares and it’s time to get on the ice. Still, I mutter to the Demon, “Mike’s getting the bench. You got me?”

  “Yeah, I understand.” Damon nods, looking around. Making sure no one heard us. We’re safe. Players are already hitting the ice. Coaches are preoccupied.

  “Wait. Do you understand, Chris?” Nick’s in my face, his voice faint, his expression fierce. “You’re the team captain. Do you know what you’re asking?”

  He knows I do. It’s Damon’s turn to lean closer as my pulse drills into my temples, louder and louder still until I feel like I’m being rammed by a goddamn sledgehammer. “Mike slaughtered my relationship with Serena, and he’ll do the same to this team. He’s been playing dirty since he got here. You know it, and so do I.”

  Damon plunks his stick against the concrete. “We never had this conversation. Never.” As he joins the others on the ice, I wonder if the Demon will back me on this. Nick would. He’s always supported me. Without exception, but is this too much to ask someone so new to my team? Sure, Damon has become a friend. Time to find out if that’s enough.

  We line up and the puck drops. Mike comes at me and is blocked by the Demon while I break out with the puck. I win a face-off with Thor, then break out and weave around a back check to score. Mike’s nowhere in sight as I skate around the goal. I may have scored first, but this is in no way a done deal.

  Team B counters, with Mike taking possession of the puck. The Demon is all over him, but Mike manages to maintain possession of the puck until I back-check him. It’s a clean back check, and it’s successful, blocking his goal, and sending the puck skidding over to the Vampire. He’s fast, he’s fluid, sticking in his lane as left defenseman and scoring our second goal.

  Mike slams his stick against the ice with a roar. He’s pissed. Mike thought that without Nick on the ice protecting me, he had it made. He thought this was his chance to shine, but fuck that. I control this ice and with help from the Demon and the Vamp, I score a hat trick. It infuriates me when I remember how I wanted to score a hat trick with Serena the first time we had sex. I’m on fire at this point; that one memory is the spark igniting my sole purpose of crushing Mike like the cockroach he is.

  I cover the expanse of ice like the cyclone they nicknamed me for, winning face-offs and leading breakouts. The rest of my A players keep up and we make a great group. In the end, we win six to one. It’s a blowout, and Mike isn’t happy about it. He was denied the puck each time he tried to score. He doesn’t look so hot to the decision makers watching right now, creating the team’s roster as we leave the rink, and Mike knows it.

  It’s my turn to smirk as we head into the locker room.

  “You son of a bitch!” Mike slams me against a row of lockers. “I will hurt that girlfriend of yours if you don’t back off.”

  There is no one from management here, no coaching staff. He thinks he’s got free rein. I do, too. But as much as I want to knock every crooked tooth out of his big mouth, I know someone can walk in or a cell can record a video that will get me tossed off the team. Instead I grab his jersey, yanking him off his feet. “You already hurt my girlfriend by spreading lies about her. But we’re not together anymore. So, be a man, and come after me. Not Serena. She’s not a part of this anymore.”

  “Was the pressure too much for you, Pretty Chrissy?” Mike shoves me again. “Maybe you couldn’t perform? Not even for a fat chick.”

  My fist connects with his cheekbone. In one fluid motion, the blow releases all of my pent-up resentment, aggression, and hatred for this turd who ruined everything for me. Once isn’t enough, so I punch him again, and this time he bleeds. That’s what I want. His blood. “This is my life and my team. I’ll protect both from a little shit like you.”

  Two punches. That’s all it takes for the guys in the locker room to erupt. Team A and Team C. Only half our teammates are in on this action, but it’s enough to create chaos. All directed at Mike. Most of these guys have been wanting an excuse to pound the asshole for his large ego and bad attitude from the moment they met him. Seizing their chance, they all pile on, taking shots. Some hit me, but I don’t care. I’ve got Mike pinned and precisely where I want him.

  Cornered.

  “If you do one more thing to hurt Serena, I’ll beat you to a pulp. Or watch as these guys do it for me!” I shout in his ear, above the mayhem, then shove off him.

  Ian steps in the locker room and immediately barks orders to knock this shit off. Then he uses his earsplitting whistle, which causes everyone to scramble. “Who started this shit?”

  Damon points to Mike. “Mighty Mouse pinned Chris against the lockers.”

  “Chrissy punched me. Twice.” Mike spits blood on the floor.

  I don’t even hide my contempt for him as I turn to Ian. “I did punch him. Penalize me. I deserve it.”

  Shrugging, Ian tilts his head to the side. “One punch. I heard one punch, and Mike did strike you first. I’d say you’re even now.”

  Not even close, but if that’s the way Ian wants to save me from being disciplined, I’m all for it.

  “This is it, guys. No more!” Ian stands on one of the benches. “We’re a team. No matter where you end up on the roster, the Nighthawks are your team. Your teammates are your family. Save the brawls for the guys who want to take our cup.”

  He stares straight at Mike, his expression lethal. Clearly, Ian believes Mike is one of those guys looking to take our cup from us…by creating dissent in the ranks, by sabotaging us from within. We all know it. But I need proof.

  I sacrificed Serena for this team. Though it’s been less than twenty-four hours and I already miss her like hell, I’m obsessed with keeping the Nighthawks together. Mike is the bad influence. He’s behind all of the bad press. He’s behind the trolls attacking Serena. I won’t let him win. Not now. Not ever again.

  By the time I shower and get in my car, I can’t stop thinking about Serena. Once home, I create a fake social media account and note the beating she’s still taking. I open my browser and pull up a gossip site, filling out the tip info form. This time, I leak something anonymously—the fact that Serena and I broke up. I hope it’s enough to get everyone off her back.

  Though I vowed to leave her alone, I miss her too much and need to hear her voice. I need to know she’s okay. Besides, she should know what I’ve leaked. That’s what I tell myself as I call her. It goes straight into voicemail, and I close my eyes. Listening to her raspy Hi. You’ve reached Serena. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. My chest feels empty, numb, like I’ve lost a part of me. The best part of me.

  I hang up and call again under the assumption that her phone is off. She’ll never know. For all I know she’s blocked me. Maybe she’ll see me on her call list as rejected. I don’t care. I just
want to hear her voice. Hi. You’ve reached Serena. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. Then I call a third time. Hi. You’ve reached Serena. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.

  All I want is to drive to her place and make everything all right. Or listen to her voicemail greeting until I feel whole again, which won’t be for a long time, if ever. Running my hands through my hair, I decide I need to do something, so I email the Nighthawks’ PR person, asking what she can do as damage control to protect Serena. No more calls to Serena, no matter how much I want to hear her voice.

  It’s probably for the best. I don’t want to send the wrong signals or hurt her any more than I already have. It’s my problem. Mike’s my problem. Serena will be okay. I’ll make sure of it. From a safe distance, of course. She’ll never know that I’m dying without her. Instead, she’ll go on with her life. She’ll be happy and successful. I won’t bring her down. Not anymore.

  Chapter 16

  Serena

  Becca strolls into my workroom on the third floor of my brownstone carrying two iced lattes. She has keys, and this is a usual occurrence. So normal that it doesn’t even faze me.

  “One caramel mocha iced latte for you—” She gapes at me.

  I’m a mess, wearing yesterday’s leggings and a comfy shirtdress because I haven’t slept. I work through the night now. That’s my new normal. I’ve got lots of work to do. Besides, my bedroom is a constant reminder of Christian. I swear my sheets still carry the scent of his cologne, even though I’ve washed them several times. It’s probably my imagination. Reminding me that there, in my bed, is where he admitted he wanted a relationship with me, a future with me. It’s also where he first made love to me fully, completely, in the most intimate way possible. With nothing separating us.

  God! I slam the shears against the table and walk over to Becca, grabbing the latte with quivering hands. “Stop staring. I know I look like death warmed over.”