Page 16 of Melt the Ice

He tilts his head to the side, waiting for me to elaborate. “Remember how I told you Lettie came back?”

One eyebrow slowly slides up his forehead, but he nods without a word.

I huff out a salty laugh. “I just don’t understand, she’s so different from the last time I saw her. With you guys, you didn’t have a choice on if you loved me or not, I kinda forced my hand.”

Laughter rumbles through his chest. “Monroe, you’re the easiest person, besides my wife, to love.”

My chest warms at that, “Right, but not the way I want, no need, to be loved.” His face softens, taking on a gentle look before I continue. “She was my best friend, my confidant, and now she’s like this impenetrable fortress built for the sole purpose of keeping me out. I thought we had a moment earlier today. I saw my Lettie, at least I think I did, but just as quickly, she was gone.”

I grab the ring on my necklace, searching for an anchor to keep me from spiraling into the pit of self-doubt. “She may have been able to rewrite history, move past all the feelings we had for each other, the promises we made. But I’m trapped somewhere under the rubble. How long do I wait, do I push, or do I let her come to me? Do I just say screw it and try to forget about it all?”

His hand lands on my shoulder. “You and I both know you won’t be throwing in the towel. I think you need to talk to her. See where she stands. Maybe work on your friendship first before trying to jump into the deep end.”

Ugh. That’s almost exactly what Dr. Williams said, too. We grab our bags as we walk down the aisle to get off the plane, but only when my feet hit the tarmac do I agree.

“You’re right, it’s just hard to reel it back in. I never had to walk on eggshells before.” I slide the ring back and forth across the chain. Taking comfort in the familiar zipping sound, I look at my teammate. “I guess old habits die hard.”

Amusement grows on his face, softening his eyes at the corner. “Come on, buddy.” He smiles as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Spa day’s waiting.”

My head falls back behind me, my laughter reverberating off the hangars at the small executive airport. What started as a way to get him out of his head has turned into an away game tradition of face masks and gossip, one I’m more than happy to indulge in today.

The gritty, grinding sound my skates make as I pick up speed, trying to beat the Serpents’ defender around the back of the net, is music to my ears. If there’s one thing I think I’m better at than anyone on the ice, it's the fact that I learned from a young age to listen. I could tell you how many people are behind me, what general direction they’re in, and if they’re speeding up or slowing down without looking.

It’s one of the things that makes me so good: I listen and anticipate. As I brace for impact against one of the defenders currently going after Samuels, who passed the puck to Wilder a couple of seconds ago, the noise changes, and the grinding becomes more intense, jagged skids mixed with harsh breaths as I lower my shoulder and knock the guy into the boards.

It’s more of the same during the third period. My mind drifts a little, picturing what Scarlett would think if she saw me play. Has she ever seen a hockey game? Is she home watching us play? Seems like a far cry, but I put a little extra effort in, just in case.

We’re up four to nothing, so our line decides to play a little game. Cat and mouse, my personal favorite. As soon as the puck hits Wilder’s stick, he moves to the left, making Reed skate past him on the way to the back of the net. The Serpents’ defense falls for it, and Wilder quickly twists his stick, sending the puck across the middle of the ice to me.

But I don’t shoot, no. I wind up like I’m going to, then backhand it at the last second to Samuels, who then shoots from the far right. But in the time that the puck left Wilder, their defense is tied up. The puck hits the back of the net in such a well-executed way that I don’t even see it go in. I just saw the net pucker seconds before the goal horn went off. They chirp, we execute. The best kind of mental warfare, in my humble opinion.

The final buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the game. Final score five to zero. Coming off an away win is always a good feeling, to go into enemy territory and get the job done? It’s a sick sort of satisfaction, like we broke into their house and took what we wanted, but did it with a smile in front of thousands of people and for millions of dollars.

What a life I get to live.

7

scarlett

Mornings around here have gotten significantly easier. I don’t dread my stupid o’clock alarm anymore. Half the time, I’m up before it goes off anyway. This morning, I decided to lean into my “special job” and spend some time with the animals, brush them out, maybe try talking to them the way Nana used to. It’s the only part of the day that feels quiet, like it’s truly mine.

“What kind of manipulating bullshit are y’all up to today?” I ask Shrek and Fiona, our grey and white donkey duo. They let out a collective bray as I step further into the stables. Their stall is next to the ponies, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the four of them are the sole cause of chaos around here.

I push through the door of their run, dropping some hay in their feeder. But instead of eating their actual food, Fiona decides she wants my shirt. Grabbing my open flannel with her teeth, she tugs at the same time Shrek decides he wants in on the action. For crying out freakin’ loud.

“Shrek, knock it off!” I hiss as I attempt to pull the hem away from the other donkey. His head shakes, lightly jostling me, as he refuses to let go. Guess we both don’t like being told what to do. “You two are as ridiculous as your names. I mean, sure, I started the trend with Moolan, but I was seven. SEVEN.”

My hands bounce off my thighs. “Lucas took it a step too far when he named her calf Mooshu. But Shrek and Fiona?” I let out an exaggerated sigh before my pointer finger shoots into the air. “Revoked! His naming rights have been revoked.” I bite down softly on my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing as I realize both of them are still nibbling on my shirt. Clearly not giving a single shit about the meltdown I’m having.

I tug again, but they double down at the same time that my phone rings. Pulling it from my pocket, I swipe to answer while I keep my eyes on the donkeys. “This is Scarlett.”

An annoyed sigh sounds from the other end. “Well, I certainly hope no one else would be answering my goddaughter’s phone.” Shit on a stick.

“Not your goddaughter," I say in my sweetest voice, but the duo picks that moment to yank the fabric at the same time, ripping my shirt. “Hey! I liked that shirt!” I yell, my phone tumbling from my hand.

“Scarlett!” Damien’s annoyed voice booms through the phone.

I dust it off before putting it on speaker. “What do you want?”