Page 20 of Fractured Ice

The ice is a mess of stopped players. Ethan's down and not moving immediately, and then he is moving, rolling onto his back. The expression on his face when he sits up is the particular combination of pain and embarrassment that means he knows exactly what happened and why.

Knox is beside him before the coaches reach them. I'm already moving down toward the ice.

By the time I get to the boards Ethan is upright and Knox has one arm around him, steering him off the ice, and Ethan is holding his right shoulder in a way that doesn't look casual.

"You okay?" I ask when they're close enough.

Knox looks at my face, reads whatever's on it, and grins. "Think you better kiss him and make it better."

"Knox—"

"Anywhere she wants," Ethan says, still slightly winded, looking at me with an expression that has no business existing on someone who just got his body rearranged. "Just so you know. Full offer, open invitation."

Whatever concern I had exits cleanly.

"Unbelievable," I say, before picking up my camera bag and turning around.

"Sienna—" Ethan starts, a pure look of regret on his face.

"I'm working on my assignment," I say over my shoulder as I walk down the tunnel, ready to get myself out of this mess. "That's it. That's all that's happening here."

He catches up to me faster than someone who just got hit that hard should be able to, which tells me it's the shoulder and not anything structural. Stepping around in front of me he holds up his good hand.

"It was a joke," he says. "I'm sorry. Knox made it worse."

"Knox always makes everything worse."

"That's genuinely true and I should've anticipated it." He winces as he shifts his weight, shoulder pulling. "I'm sorry."

I look at him for a second. He looks back, and there's no performance in it right now, no angle being worked. He just looks like someone who said the wrong thing and knows it.

"This is my grade," I say. "Bennett's syllabus is forty percent of my GPA this semester. I'm not here because I want to spend my Tuesday morning in a freezing hockey rink. I'm here because it's an assignment and I take my work seriously, and I need you to do the same."

"You're right."

"I'm not a jersey chaser. I'm not here chasing anyone."

"I know that."

"Then act like it."

"Okay." He nods. "You're right. I'm sorry. Can I—" He moves to catch my arm and immediately hisses as his shoulder seizes on him, and his face goes pale under the rink lights.

"How bad is that?" I ask.

"Fine," he says, which is what athletes say when the answer is not fine.

I sigh. "Where's your locker room?"

The Ridgehaven hockey locker room is down the tunnel and smells like rubber and cold air. Most of the team is still finishing practice up on the ice, which means we're alone, and Ethan drops onto a bench with the careful movement of someone managing pain and tries to look like he isn't.

"I can get the trainer. If you tell me where to find them," I say.

"I'm fine. I just need to ice it." He looks at me. "There's a freezer in the back. Shelf on the right."

I go find it. There's a stack of pre-made ice packs and I grab one. Ethan's already worked his shoulder pads off and dropped them on the floor when I get back, but he's struggling with the jersey, left arm working fine and right arm not cooperating.

"Here," I say.