Page 8 of Crack the Ice

The ringing stops, but soon picks up again, and when I look down, I see Monroe’s name across the top. I swipe to answer and put the phone to my ear. I hold her stare for a beat, dare I say they’re momentarily filled with hope, before every ounce of fight drains out of her the second I say “What’s up?”

Her entire body droops, head hanging in front of her as she walks further into the back. What was that about?

“Are we still lifting? Sammy’s already at the rink. He had PT with Abby for his ankle. I was about to head that way.” His deep voice cuts through the phone. I stare at the spot she had just been in, wondering if maybe I should blow them off for a while. Then I realize Monroe just told me her brother was already there, and that would start a whole line of questioning I’m not in the mood for.

“You sure you’re alright to lift? You just had another kid. Did you get any sleep?” I ask, stepping through the front door of the bakery on the way to my car.

He chuckles, and even though I can tell he’s tired, there’s nothing Lucas Monroe was built for more than being a dad. “Yeah, my dad has been staying in the guest room. He got up with Mia last night. Gave Lettie and me a little break.”

“Alright, meet you there then.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he sings like the stupid theme song from SpongeBob.

I end the call and take a left toward the arena, windows down, music loud, with a touch of a smile on my lips.

This morning may not have turned out exactly how I wanted it, but just being in her proximity is balm to my lonely fucking soul. A soul that’s been wandering around lost for the past five years, looking for anything to fill it the way she does. I didn’t even realize how much she added to my life until she took herself out of it. You never seem to notice the sun as it disappears behind the curtains, but at some point, you realize the room got dark.

I wonder how different things would be now if I didn’t hold myself back at that time. Would she be mine? Would there be a ring on her finger and a last name of Reed instead of Samuels on her back? Or would we have crashed and burned all the same?

I pull to a stop in the arena parking lot, turning the car off and grabbing my gym bag from the passenger seat before hopping out. The sun beats down on the back of my neck, and I swipe my hat off the dash, turning it backward so the bill blocks the rays. The last thing I need is a damn sunburn. I may look tan, but I burn like a lobster in record time.

Swiping my badge, the lock disengages and the door to the back tunnel pops open, blessedly blasting me in the face with cold air. The walk to the gym is short, and by the time I step inside, both Monroe and Sammy are already on the bikes warming up their legs.

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Monroe sings, throwing a hand over his heart as sweat beads along his forehead. I shake my head, dropping my bag next to theirs as I grab the bike on the other side of Sammy.

“Where ya been, buddy?” he asks.

I groan, my stomach abnormally full from everything we tried earlier. I honestly thought I could pace myself, but I found myself picking up more pieces if there were any after Lana cut them. Everything there was delicious. I couldn’t pick a favorite, although the s’mores one will stay with me for… other reasons.

“My sister dragged Kelsey and me to The Penalty Box to be the taste testers of the opening menu. I brought the kids, too.” I rub my stomach, pushing it out as far as I can. “I’m going to have to work twice as hard because everything was so good that it was impossible to stick to the rabbit pellet-sized piece Lana kept giving me.”

Sammy’s face breaks out into a shit-eating grin before his head falls back behind him, his deep laugh vibrating through the room. “I don’t pity you, tío.” His head shakes a few times, eyes dropping to the handlebars in front of him before he looks back at me. “I’ve been the taste tester for years. I had to tell her I couldn’t take it anymore. My sweet tooth has never been worse.”

Monroe crosses his arms over his chest, his bottom lip pushing out into a pout. “How come she didn’t ask me to be a taste tester?”

I scoff, eyes rolling at the giant baby. “You have two kids, dude. She probably thought you were too busy. She still brings you sourdough all the time, no?”

“That’s a valid point. I guess I’ll have to annoy both of your sisters when it opens next week,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows before he moves his hands to the outside of the handlebars as he stands up from the seat and pedals harder.

“It’s glute day, my dudes!” Monroe sings after a few minutes as he jumps off his bike before rapidly popping us both with his towel. “Let’s start with hip thrusts. I need to add a pound or two of clappable material. Lettie likes to grab my ass these days.”

“Clappable material?” I cringe. “My God, man. I don’t even know what that means.”

He turns around and shakes his ass at us, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. “You know, when you push your cheeks together, and they make noise.”

My brows furrow, eyes skating over to Sammy, whose jaw is on the floor.

“Give me strength,” I mumble as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“I’m almost positive that’s not what that means, Monroe,” Sammy adds once he finally gets a hold of himself.

“What else would it mean?”

“You know.” Sammy motions to the front of himself. “When you’re doing it, and it claps against your woman.”

“Like your balls?”

“Dios Mio.”⁠* His hands fly through the air as he bites down on his lip ring. “I regret saying anything.” He pulls a barbell off the rack and places it on the floor next to the makeshift platform we’ve made for hip thrusts.