Breaking the Ice

by T. Torrest

  She loves me. Was I the luckiest bastard in the world or what?

  “Dammit, Ave. I can’t even… I love you. God help me, but I do.”

  PART THREE

  ZAC AND AVERY

  2005

  EPILOGUE

  St. Patrick’s Day was always a madhouse at The Westlake. I’d only experienced one of them prior to tonight, but this one was even crazier than last year.

  Zac had added some new drinks to the menu board for the occasion, and was offering up an altered version of my Vodka Seven which he named “Thrown for a Loop,” or “Loopies,” for short. It had been on the board for over a year, but tonight, they were green, thanks to a few drops of Crème de Menthe. The girls seemed to like them.

  I was sipping on mine while I looked over the buffet table. Felix had made about fifty pounds of corned beef which was sliced and heaped into Sterno pans along with a million pounds of red potatoes and bags upon bags of rye, compliments of Roy Bread himself.

  He and the other regulars were already half in the bag, singing songs from the Emerald Isle and downing their beers. Zac’s brothers were all here, too, which always made for a great night. It was awesome that they were all in the same room at the same time. That didn’t normally happen unless a big game or major event was going down.

  Mercifully, the river dancers showed up, temporarily calling a halt to their crooning. Thank God. If I had to hear “Danny Boy” one more time, I might have gone insane.

  The girls were adorable, with their green velvet dresses that swished as they danced and their ringlets piled on top of their bouncing heads. Seeing their talent—at such a young age—made me regret dropping out of ballet class at the age of nine.

  Though, I suppose if I were going to be honest, I couldn’t imagine I’d want to make a living as a ballerina when I was doing the one job that made me happiest. There was just something about the orderliness of my work that appealed to me.

  Even if I took pride in the joy my parties brought others, I knew it wasn’t the type of work that changed the world. That’s what my sideline gigs at The Westlake were for.

  When the dancers were through, I thanked them and handed their instructor a gift card, a donation from The Celtic Shop across town. The Westlake had become the hub of philanthropy in this town, and it seemed Zac couldn’t go more than a month before people started sniffing around, wondering about our next event.

  Which worked out great for everyone.

  I always made some new contacts, Zac always gained some new customers, and the bar always made a ton of money for some really great charities.

  When the guys saw me handing over the gift card, they all started their familiar chanting.

  “Give-a-way! Give-a-way!”

  Zac hopped up onto the bar and rang the triangle which always got everyone’s attention. “Okay! Alright!” he laughed, shooting a good-natured eyeroll at me.

  He was so damned good-looking, that boy. Especially when he was wearing such a goofy grin.

  Once everyone settled down, he started in with his schpiel. “I’ve got a very special giveaway planned for tonight. I wasn’t planning on doing it until later, but I guess there’s no better time than the present.”

  He pulled something from his shirt pocket and twisted it around in his fingers as all eyes turned toward me. My eyes went wide and my mouth dropped open as I saw the diamond ring he was holding in his hand. He smiled that perfect Zac smile in my direction, and I felt my knees go weak.

  Maybe he found his little surprise funny, but I was ready to pass out.

  “This little beauty is up for grabs to the first person who can tell me…” he scanned his eyes around the room, building up the anticipation. Every neck in the place strained to look from him to me then back again. Damn, the boy really knew how to deliver a line. “At the Meadowlands… in a single season… Who holds the record for most minutes spent in the penalty box?”

  Oh my God. My hand clamped to my mouth as my eyes blurred. I couldn’t even find the words.

  “Maniac McAllister!” Jerry Liverwurst yelled out.

  Everyone just cracked up with their jeers, throwing coasters and straws at Jerry.

  Zac’s shoulders dropped, and he was shaking his head laughing as he said, “No, Jerry. Good guess, though.” His eyes met mine as he asked, “Ave, care to correct the man?”

  My hand was over my chest, trying to keep my heart from escaping. I saw Zac’s brothers at a nearby table, leaning back in their chairs and smiling proudly at me. They knew he was going to do this, the big lugs.

  Major event going down indeed.

  I looked toward Zac, the man I loved, standing there waiting patiently on my reply. My eyes were tearing up and my hands were shaking, but I managed to answer, “It’s me.”

  He smiled and shot back, “Damn straight it’s you.”

  He hopped off the bar and got down on his knee, right there in the middle of everyone. He held the ring up toward me as the hopeful look in his eyes shot straight into my heart. “I love you, Ave. Whaddya say? You want to marry a broken-down, cranky old has-been?”

  “No,” I answered, smiling into his eyes. “I want to marry you.”

  A wide grin split his face as he stood up, grabbed my hand, and slipped the diamond ring onto my finger. “Here’s your prize. Thanks for playing.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him as the entire bar cheered and started singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling.”

  When I pulled back, I caught the elated expression on his face.

  “You’re happy,” I said.

  “I am. Because of you.”

  He gave a quick scan around the crowded bar, and decided to lead me into the pool room so we could have a bit more privacy.

  Denny and Rachel were in the middle of a game, but Zac jerked his head toward the door, saying, “Shouldn’t you two be working right now?” Neither gave any indication that they were planning on going anywhere, and they both looked at him blankly until he added, “I’d like a minute alone with my fiancée, alright?”

  “Aww, hey, man. That’s great! Congratulations,” Denny said, coming over to clap Zac on the shoulder as Rachel piped in with, “Ooh. Lemme see the ring!”

  Zac laughed, “Thanks, but guys! Get the fuck out of here already!”

  “Yeesh,” Rachel busted, as she grabbed Denny’s sleeve and hauled him out of the room. “Check out Mr. Boss Man all of a sudden.”

  He shook his head in exasperation before leaning down to plant a sweet, soft kiss against my lips. “I talked to your parents, you know,” he said, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger.

  That was a surprising bit of knowledge. “You did?”

  “Well, I needed to ask their permission to marry you.”

  “Oh my God! What did they say?”

  Zac smirked and answered, “Well, your mother was crying too hard to say anything, so she just hugged the living hell out of me, which I’m going to assume was a good thing. But your father said we can thank him by naming our first kid after him.”

  My eyeballs almost popped out of my head. “He said that? About us having a kid?”

  “Yes, and I think we should get started on that right away.” He bent down to kiss me again as my mind raced, trying to register all the new information. Not only did we have my father’s blessing, but our firstborn already had a name: Rudolph Benjamin McAllister.

  Sorry, kid.

  I tried to get lost in Zac’s kiss until a thought occurred to me and I pulled back. “Wait a minute. Thank him for what?”

  Zac gave a grunt, obviously not pleased about putting a halt to our liplock. “For two years ago. For suggesting the Stanley Cup party be held here.”

  My brows furrowed in confusion. There was no way my father planned that. He couldn’t have… Did he?

  Zac chuckled at the gears cranking in my brain. “He said he was good at putting together a winning team. Guess the guy knows his stuff.”

  Whether it was a
calculated plan to throw the two of us back together or not, there was no way anyone could have predicted where we’d go from there.

  But I couldn’t be happier about where we ended up.

  “I love you, Zac.”

  His lips curled into a wicked smile as he slipped a palm behind my neck. “Well, that’s good. Now I don’t regret getting you that ring.”

  I held my hand out in front of me, watching as the light danced through the gorgeous, emerald-cut rock on my finger. “Wow. This is one hell of an ice cube you bought me. It must’ve cost a fortune. I have no problem with that, by the way.”

  He smirked at my appraisal, saying, “Some things are more important than money.”

  That beautiful man cupped my jaw and ran his thumb across my cheek, staring into my eyes with that knee-melting look he reserved only for me. “Besides, something tells me you’ll be worth it.”

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  Of course I would like to start this gratitude train off with YOU, the readers! This entire book was only made possible due to your enthusiasm and participation. Your clever ideas and witty suggestions really helped to flesh this story out, and I am so grateful that you took such an active interest in our little project. So, thank you!

  It was both easy and difficult to create a story that was locked into an established framework. Normally, I’ll just tap away and see where the story takes me. TBH, sometimes I cursed the lack of freedom. But being forced to stay on point sometimes opened a new door that I never would have found had I ventured out on my own. It’s been a really interesting experiment, and I feel a very successful one as well. Zac and Avery have evolved into two new favorite characters for me while writing, and I didn’t think it was going to be possible to love anyone as much as Trip and Layla. To tell you the truth, I was more than a little paralyzed at the thought that you wouldn’t, which is why it took me so long to get this story on the shelf. But I love the people we ended up with! I hope you do, too.

  Special thanks goes out to Caro Clarke. Her website was invaluable to me years ago when I was first starting out. While dealing with the most debilitating writer’s block of my life earlier this year, I sent her an email, and it was her advice that snapped me out of it. Thank you for your words of wisdom, Caro. I highly advise any author (or aspiring author) to go check out her site and soak up the pure awesomeness: www.caroclarke.com

  To Kari Matthes: Could you BE any more of a cheerleader? Your constant words of encouragement seriously got me through some rough moments. I’m glad that I picked you as a friend, and I’m honored that you’ve chosen to be mine right back.

  To LB Simmons. Gurrrl, sorry I didn’t give you enough time for payback, as I know you would have enjoyed slashing this story to bits way too much during your read. But I can’t thank you enough for what you were able to tackle. You offered some amazing suggestions, and I am grateful every day that we found each other. I love you to stinking pieces! Now get out of my head!

  To Shay Ray Simmons: It’s bizarre when you can find someone with whom you share a brain. I hereby relinquish all rights to said brain until further notice. It’s all yours, so enjoy. It’s a little fried around the edges right now, but don’t worry, that thing will snap back into shape like Stretch Armstrong soon enough. Thank you for your advice and encouragement.

  To Kay Miles: What to say here? Your brutal honesty during your initial read was exactly what I needed to hear. I am so grateful for your insight, because I love where this story ended up. Thanks for the nudge in the right direction.

  To Stevie Kisner: As usual, you are the macaroni to my cheese, the chocolate coating to my chewy nougat. Thanks again for the offered shoulder, the tireless cheerleading, and all that lovely red slashiness. xoxo

  To Casey Smith: Being a new mommy hasn’t stopped you from acting as my ruthless book ninja once again. You are The Little Ninja That Could. If you were a founding father, you’d be Beninja Franklin. If you had red hair, you’d be a ginja. But as my editor, you’re… awesome. Thank you for squeezing my life into yours. *mwah* (Now let’s get cracking on DTS!)

  To my bloggers: Kelly, Joanne… Kim… Jenny, Gitte, Sian, and the Rachels… Heather, Selene, and Brandi… Jennifer, you schmexy bitch… Every last one of you who has read my books and supported them—including the multitude that I didn’t call out by name… Thank you. I sound like a broken record, but indie authors truly couldn’t do this without you.

  It’s never redundant to thank my family and friends for their support and encouragement.

  De Paul girls, thanks for your excitement. Special thanks go out to my high school friend Maria Chappa of Turnkey Productions www.turnkeyproductions.net for your event-planner insight.

  Special thanks to Dad O., yet again, for the use of your house. Barb, I promise I’ll write a clean book someday. ;)

  Mom and Dad, thanks for dealing with my cranky self and for helping out with the boys so I could write. Diana, thanks for talking me through my nervous breakdown on Halloween. LOL

  Michael, Tanner, and Mason: The three coolest guys I know. Thank you for letting me write this story even though we’re Flyers fans. Also, thanks for not letting the house fall apart (too much) while I was working. You guys are incredible, and you own my heart. I’m so honored to give my forever to you. Xoxo

  Lastly, there were many of these posts over the months, but here are some of my favorite Facebook links of your awesome contributions:

  PICKUP LINES:

  https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=338409846340094&id=127136890800725

  BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE:

  https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=335296223318123&id=127136890800725

  INJURIES:

  https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=304117829769296&id=127136890800725

  DRUNKY:

  https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=292709707576775&id=127136890800725

  CONFLICT:

  https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=292507104263702&id=127136890800725

  As always, I’ll ask that if you enjoyed this book, to please leave a review, loan it out, and talk about it every chance you get. : )

  Indie authors are only able to bring you new stories when there’s an audience waiting for them, and we rely on word-of-mouth above all else to make a living.

  If you haven’t already, please come join the fun on my Facebook page!

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/TTorrest-Author-Page/127136890800725?ref=hl

  Here I am on TSU:

  https://www.tsu.co/TTorrestAuthor

  And here’s my email:

  ttorrest@optonline.net

  You can also check out my webpage:

  www.ttorrest.com

  and join my mailing list for updates:

  http://eepurl.com/318-n

  NOW TURN THE PAGE FOR A PREVIEW OF MY NEXT BOOK!!!

  Coming in April 2015:

  DOWN THE SHORE

  A rock-and-roll romantic comedy.

  Livia Chadwick is a photographer by day and a self-proclaimed rock slut by night.

  Her dating life is a lackluster parade of evasive jerks and

  her boss is an unrelenting nightmare of a human being.

  What else can a girl do but rent a beach house with her girlfriends

  And blow off a little steam every weekend?

  But hey, she’s from Jersey. Barhopping down the shore all season is sort of mandatory.

  All is going according to plan… until she meets Jack.

  Jack Tanner is a contractor-turned-musician in a small-town cover band

  suddenly thrust into the limelight.

  He’s already had enough of the rock-and-roll lifestyle, and groupies have never been his thing.

  Then again… there’s a gorgeous brunette in the audience tonight, checking him out with the most incredible green eyes he’s ever seen.

  She's looking for a fling.

  He's looking for forever
.

  It’s gonna be one helluva summer.

  Set in the summer of 1995, DOWN THE SHORE takes the reader on a tour through some of the Jersey shore’s hottest hot spots over one, sleepless, flannel-clad summer.

  It’s a look back to a time when the music was groundbreaking, the rock clubs were king,

  and bar bands ruled the world.

  READ WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR:

  Sexy, funny, romantic, beachy, and nostalgic.

  Add it to your GOODREADS TBR here:

  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18809569-down-the-shore

  and turn the page for a preview!

  LIVIA

  Friday, May 26, 1995

  We had to cross over the crowded dance floor in order to shortcut to the other side of the large club. Jack was trying to carve out a path for us both when I saw him inexplicably reach his hand behind him and blindly grab for mine. I just as inexplicably put my hand in his, and had the oddest feeling as we wove our way through the crowd.

  I became enigmatically aware of how… electric it was to hold his hand, even though I barely knew the owner of it. Our palms were flattened against one another’s, our fingers intertwined... It was as though we’d performed this act naturally a million times over, not just for the first time one minute ago. The thought left me baffled, but fascinated nonetheless.