Page 101 of Hot As Ice

Half an hour later, my father’s on his third Old Fashioned, Celeste and I are the only ones keeping up the conversation, and I’m glancing at my wristwatch way too often. My father can drink a bottle of vodka and still seem like he’s not drunk. I guess they call that high functioning alcoholism. Every time he takes a sip, I feel my blood pressure rise. I don’t understand how he convinced Celeste, let alone any woman, he was worthy of being their partner. Celeste is a bright ray of sunshine and my father is the storm cloud that blocks it from reaching the earth.

My mom was a ray of sunshine too. It’s like my dad gets a sick thrill from blotting out a woman’s light. Sometimes, I fantasize about sneaking into his house and stabbing him in his sleep.

“Hunter,” Celeste says, taking out her cell phone and tapping it open. “When’s your birthday? I want to put it in my calendar, so I won’t forget to wish you a happy birthday and maybe plan a party or two.” She smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’ve figured out by now I’m obsessed with planning parties.”

“January 22nd. But you don’t have to throw me a party.”

“That’s next month! Do you not like celebrating your birthday? I won’t do it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I take a bite of the lobster Benedict I ordered and shrug, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I won’t mind something small.”

“Noted.” She taps some more on her phone and puts it away.

Twenty minutes later, after more small talk my father barely participates in, I take my leave. I immediately hit the gym in my building and run on the treadmill until I want to puke. So many unwanted emotions are coursing through me, and the only way I know how to deal with them is by pushing my body to the absolute limit.

After that I still don’t know what to do with myself. I feel restless and pissed. I feel out of control. Control has always been something that has felt out of my reach. I fell in love with hockey because it gave me structure and discipline and made me feel strong. I couldn’t control so much in my life, but I could control the puck. I could control how well I played. I could control how much time I devoted to improving my skills.

I grab my phone, checking the messages between me and Stevie. She never replied to a single one, and it’s been over a week since I sent another. The urge to text her is still there though.

I push the urge away and text the group chat with Ryder and Jamie.

Me

Find a party. I’m bored.

thirty-two

stevie

I DON’T KNOW why I came to this dumb party.

The last week has been hell. The rumors about me and Hunter died down only to be replaced by the gossip surrounding his fight, then they picked back up again.

I tried being a hermit as much as possible, still going to class but staying home the rest of the time. Tonight, I’ve finally hit my limit. So, when Becca said there was a big party at some frat house, I decided it would be a good distraction to go out.

Wrong.

Because as soon as I enter the party house, some guy beelines toward me with a drink in his hand. He wraps his arm around me and rubs up against me. “So, are you fucking Hunter Cruise for money or what, baby?” he slurs.

I shove him off me and some of his drink spills on my shirt. “Fuck off.”

Before he can respond, I hightail it as far away as possible, looking for the bathroom. I pass by a group of frat bros drinking and laughing on the couch. I accidentally make eye contact with one of them and a lascivious grin blooms on his ruddy face. “Look who it is, boys,” he drawls. “The campus hooker. What’s your rate, baby?”

His friends stare at me with slimy looks on their faces.

I straighten my posture and walk past them like their reaction to me didn’t feel like a hundred arrows sinking into my body.

“Slut!” one of them yells as I walk by, my skin crawling at the sound of their laughter.

I refuse to cry.

Inside the bathroom, I take a deep breath and wipe off the beer on my shirt with a damp paper towel. My top is black so the stain isn’t really noticeable.

My face is flushed from embarrassment when I look at myself in the mirror, but I’m not going to run away. A braver part of me wants to stay and face this shit head-on.

I fluff up my hair in the mirror and head back out. I can do this.

I spot Becca getting a beer from the keg and decide that I’m going to drink tonight. Alcohol, that is. Becca’s eyes widen when she sees me holding out a cup to be filled.