Page 1 of Crack the Ice

PROLOGUE - CECILIA

Seven years ago - Age Nineteen

The wind blows through the tree, making the leaves rustle as I hook my legs over the branch and throw myself backward right as Maverick walks under it. My hands reach out and snatch the hat off his head as he continues to walk further into the backyard. He screams, leg hiking up in front of him like he’s going to kick the threat. My laugh starts as a flutter in my chest until it’s loud enough to echo through the space we occupy.

“Cecilia Samuels!” he hisses, rushing back to me so that I can put my hands on his shoulders. “You’re going to fall and break your neck. What the hell are you thinking?”

I let him help me down, though my laughter doesn’t lessen until I see the hardness of his eyes.

“Sorry, Mav,” I whisper, suddenly embarrassed that I thought that was a good idea.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I reach up behind him, putting his Tampa Bay Hawks hat back on his head.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days, you know that?”

I snort, pushing him back a bit. “You’re a twenty-two-year-old professional athlete. You’re not going to have a heart attack.”

He shrugs. “Would you like me to get you the statistics of that possibility?”

I roll my eyes, lacing our hands together as I pull us to our favorite spot in the back corner. The one we lie in and talk about all our hopes and dreams. The grass is cold against the back of my legs as I sit, waiting for him to get comfortable next to me.

“How are you feeling going into the playoffs this year?” I ask as I lay my head over his thigh.

He immediately starts to run his fingers through my hair, and tingles break out over my scalp with every pass. I love this time of year—mid-April, not disgustingly hot outside, perfect for this kind of thing.

“Confident. We’ve been good this season. We can take the whole thing.”

A smile slowly grows on my face, my heart beating faster as I turn my head toward him and pop one eye open. “Yeah? Are you going to hold up the cup and wink at the camera for me when you do?”

He chuckles, his hand halting its movement for a second. “I’ll come find you. Date night with pizza and sour straws.”

“A date, you say?”

He nods.

A hum vibrates through me as I sink into the feeling of him. He’s been one of my best friends for as long as I can remember, but when I turned eighteen last year, those feelings became something more.

“What if I made you pizza? I can’t promise it’ll be any good, but Publix has dough.”

He snorts out a laugh, probably remembering all the other times we’ve tried to make something, only for it to turn out disastrous. I’m proven right when he says, “We don’t need a repeat of my cooking failure.”

“It wasn’t a failure.”

The wind blows the hair sticking out of the side of his hat a bit, and I’m struck by how beautiful this man is, chestnut brown hair, striking green eyes, and muscles that have muscles. But it’s the heart that lives inside that’s always drawn me to him.

He looks down at me, moving his hand from my hair to my cheek, his thumb softly brushing against my cheekbone. “Agree to disagree.”

We’re silent for a few minutes, staring at one another like it’ll go away if we blink. Eventually, he clears his throat. “Have you decided what you want to do yet?”

I have, but I’m nervous to tell anyone. It’s not like anyone expects me to want to go to culinary school. Everyone thinks I’m going to work for my mom, but honestly, nothing sounds worse. “I have an idea, but I’m still working through it.” I bite down on my lip, letting it roll over my teeth. “I don’t need opinions, though, so I’m going to keep it to myself until I decide.”

His low chuckle ripples through the air around us. “You’ve got time. No matter what, you have to do what’s best for you, okay? If they don’t agree, I’ll kick their asses for you anyway.”

My smile stretches as I bask in the afternoon rays. The sun feels fantastic, moving over my skin like the most gentle of caresses, and I let my eyes slowly drift closed, blocking out both the sun and his handsome face. “Thanks, Mav.”

He lies back on the grass, careful not to jostle my head too much. “Do you ever think about how different life would be if I didn’t lose my mom and your parents didn’t go through the crash?” he asks quietly.

I have, but I’ve never liked how it ends. Because if my parents weren’t dealing with the fallout of the plane crash that took their best friends, Mav and Lana’s mom never would have taken me home from dance class or let me hang out here so much.