Icebreaker: Chapter 10

HAVE you ever seen a woman sprint in stilettos? I have.

Last week. I hadn’t even gotten off my knees before Anastasia’s hand was straightening her dress and reaching for the door handle. She gave me one last look, post-orgasm glow warming her cheeks, then she got the fuck out of there like Road Runner.

She was moving so quickly, I’m surprised there wasn’t smoke behind her. All I could do was let her leave, otherwise, I’d have been stepping out with a throbbing boner into a house full to the brim with people.

Did I know that was what was going to happen when I took her upstairs? No. The best-case scenario was she’d think I was looking out for her, maybe she’d agree to finally be friends. Did I think there was a chance that she’d end up crying my name, and I’d be sucking the taste of her off my fingers? I don’t think any normal man would, under the circumstances.

Is that memory on repeat in my head every time I jerk off? Obviously.

She clearly regrets it, since every time she sees me, she darts off in the opposite direction. I thought at first it might be embarrassment, but after seeing her in bed with Rothwell yesterday, I’m back to believing the interest is one-sided.

I thought maybe she was dating Rothwell, like Henry seems to think she is. Maybe I was a mistake, a moment of weakness, but I had to stop because I was making myself feel ill. I hate cheaters and my gut was telling me that wasn’t the case with her. I felt immediately better when I spotted Ryan looking close with Liv Abbott.

I don’t know what type of relationship Stas and Ryan have, but whatever it is, they’re clearly not exclusive.

I’ve decided today is the day we’re going to talk it out. She’s good at communicating her feelings, she’s proved that a few times. She’s obviously not good at facing men whose faces she’s come on.

The plan is to catch her straight after training, since she trains with Shithead before us on a Friday. JJ is furious we’re not going to have time to stop for Dunkin’, mumbling something about his constitutional rights. I promised to buy him two doughnuts next week, and it seemed to placate him. He’s excited to ambush—his words, not mine—Stassie with me, and watch me get shot down.

Bold of him to assume that I’ll get close enough to be shot down.

Focusing on how to win over Anastasia has been enough of a distraction to not wonder why my dad has been blowing up my phone for three days and is currently showing no signs of slowing down.

Assuming he’s calling about the significant dent in my available funds after paying for Robbie’s party, I don’t want to speak to him anyway. I’m sure a guy with a normal dad would assume it’s a good luck call, since our first game of the season is tomorrow. But sadly, my dad isn’t normal.

Mr. H has been more of a dad to me than mine and having the Hamlets in town for Robbie’s birthday has been great. Great for me, maybe not great for Sabrina, who had an impromptu meeting with them on Sunday morning, while only wearing Robbie’s T-shirt.

Mrs. H looked like she was going to combust with happiness, while Mr. H gave Robbie a double thumbs-up. Brin looked like a deer caught in headlights, and Robbie was just as bad.

JJ had a look on his face that I’ve never seen before. He looked like it was the best moment of his life, and that only increased when Henry asked Sabrina loudly if she regretted not putting on pants.

Having the Hamlets here reminds me of home, but the good memories, the ones before Mom died. Talking out strategies with them reminds me why I love hockey, and now I’m pumped for the start of this season.

I know I’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. This year is going to be different.

I ALWAYS KNOW shit is going down when my phone incessantly buzzes. Ignoring Professor Jones’s painfully boring recap on macronutrient metabolism, I pull my phone from my pocket.

I’ve always liked Ryan Rothwell, until now.

I make the strategic but easy decision to put my phone back in my pocket and try to concentrate on learning something, or at least learn something not about Ryan Rothwell and where he’s sticking his d—anyway.

Actually concentrating seems to help the class go by quickly, but I wish I’d stayed behind as soon as I spot JJ. From the minute I meet him outside his lab, to when I pull up outside the rink, he’s been laughing at me.

Thankfully though, he opts to let me fail in private and promises to wait in the car until the rest of the guys get here.

“Clare de Lune” is blasting over the arena speakers when I walk through the double doors. There are other skaters hanging about but only one pair on the ice, which means I’m here at the right time. Dropping my hockey bag on the benches, I make my way to the edge of the rink, giving Brady a polite “Hello” when she spots me and scowls.

I’ve never seen Anastasia skate before. Usually, one of us is arriving as the other is leaving, so I don’t ever get to see her at work, but today I’m twenty minutes early.

She’s fucking mesmerizing. I’ve been on the ice since before I can remember, and I’ve never, ever moved the way she is moving right now. She doesn’t even look like she’s skating, she looks like she’s floating; I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her arms reach out toward Shithead, they’re not even looking at each other but they still connect perfectly. Before I know what’s happening, she’s up in the air, resting on one of his hands, spinning, gripping the blade of her skate to hold her leg above her head.

I think he’s about to drop her as he quickly lowers her, but somehow, she’s spinning through the air, a combination of limbs that I can’t even keep track of. I wipe the sweat from my brow when her skates are back on the ice and let go of the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

The pair pick up speed, flying across the rink flawlessly. I can tell something is about to happen by the way Brady’s posture changes; her fingers grip the boards, and she holds her breath.

Stas and Aaron are moving in perfect rhythm, both turning to travel backward. They hit the toe of their boot against the ice, spinning at a speed my brain can’t even register. My eyes don’t even realize what’s happening as Aaron lands, his leg flying out gracefully to finish the move, and Anastasia’s body skids across the ice, slamming harshly into the board on the other side of the rink.

Fuck.

I’ve been slammed into more boards than I can remember, but that’s when head to toe in hockey equipment. She’s in leggings and a long-sleeved sports crop top, doing nothing to protect her, even if she hadn’t hit it with force.

The music abruptly stops as Aaron pulls her to her feet, checking every inch of her in a frenzy, looking at the crown of her head as she points to it. She pushes him off as he tries to scoop her up, instead accepting his hand, letting him guide her as they skate toward where Brady and I are standing.

I feel like I should make myself scarce, but my heart is about to fall out of my ass. I need to hear her say she’s all right, even if it’s not to me.

The short journey across the ice feels like a fucking lifetime. They eventually reach the side, and she looks at me but it’s almost like she doesn’t realize it’s me, because there isn’t any emotion on her face. Not even disgust.

She must be properly injured if she isn’t even annoyed by my existence. Fuck.

Brady grips her face, it’s almost protective, like a mother in a way, tilting it every which direction until she’s satisfied. “It’s coming out, Anastasia. You’ll do the triple.”

“What?” she squeaks, genuinely looking confused. “It’s fine! Give me a minute we’ll go again. I’ll land it. You know I can land it.”

“Anastasia, I’ve just watched you violently slam into a solid structure! This isn’t up for discussion.”

Stassie looks to Aaron, her jaw slack, tears beginning to line her eyes. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, tugging her body to his as she begins to sob. “Triple is still hard, Stas. There’s no shame in dropping the quad, so many people can’t even do the triple, and yours are perfect.”

Her entire body is shaking as she brings her hands to her eyes to wipe away the tears, wincing as she raises her left arm, the side of her body that took the impact. “But I can do the quad. I’ve been working toward the quad for so long. I need to go again; I didn’t take off right. I can fix it.”

Her eyes land back on me as she wipes the falling tears on her sleeve. I try to give her a comforting smile, but it sinks into horror as a dark, red, stream of blood escapes from her hairline and runs down her temple.

It’s like we all see it at the exact same moment. Aaron pulls her to the exit between where Brady and I are standing. We all lunge for her at once, confusion on her face intensifying as the three of us inspect her.

“Coach, I’m a trained first aider,” I say quickly. “She needs to go to the hospital but the open wound needs cleaning and wrapping before she goes anywhere.”

Brady’s lips are pinched into a hard, concerned line but she gives me a tight nod.

“Stas,” I say softly. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the first aid room, okay?”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?”

Aaron snorts beside her and wipes his hand down his face, looking at the ceiling in a mixture of amusement and despair. The guy is a jackass, but there’s no denying right now that he does care about her. He looks worried sick and he’s not even fighting me about checking her over.

“I’m glad that bump to the head didn’t get rid of your charming personality,” I say playfully. “I’m going to carry you because you haven’t got guards on. Plus, I’m scared if you walk and you collapse, when I catch you, I’m going to hurt you where that big-ass bruise is going to be. Can I pick you up?”

She grumbles expletives under her breath and gives me a halfhearted nod, paired with an eye roll. “I’m heavy,” she mutters as my arms scoop under her legs and around her waist.

We leave Brady and Shithead behind us as I start the walk toward the locker rooms, where the first aid room is. “Shut up, Anastasia. You’re not even half my warm-up weight.”

She wiggles in my arms, and I realize she’s trying to elbow me in the ribs. I’m too preoccupied trying to open the door with my ass to be worried about her being annoyed. Setting her on the medical bed, I take a step back and as soon as our bodies are apart, she punches me straight in the arm. “You can’t tell me to shut up, I’m injured.”

“I’m fucking injured now.” I moan, gripping my bicep. “Jesus Christ. Who taught you how to throw a punch?”

“Sabrina. She has seven older brothers.”

I collect the supplies I need from the cupboard—saline solution, gauze, and an ice pack—enough until she goes to the hospital. I wash my hands thoroughly, dry them, and reach for some gloves. “You’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

Her eyes narrow, lips pulling into a tight line. “No, Nathan. I’m not allergic to latex.”

Suppressing a snort, I brush off the obvious latex connotations that have her glaring at me. “Glad to hear it. We don’t want to add a swollen face to your list of injuries.”

I think I get a smile, but I might have imagined it.

I start on the semi-dried blood on her face, cleaning the area thoroughly, while working into her hairline. I must reach the cut because she winces, and her hand shoots out to grip my sweatshirt. “I’m sorry,” I coo, trying to work as quickly and light-handed as possible.

The blood is soaked into her hair and every time I dab, the gauze picks up more. Her hand is still gripping me, foot moving up and down in the air, and it’s clear she doesn’t like being tended to like this.

I need to distract her, but I can’t think of anything to say that won’t make her remember she’s avoiding me. “You’re a phenomenal skater, Stas. I couldn’t stop watching you.”

“Until I bowling balled across the rink and tried to take down a board with my body, you mean?”

Her eyes look up to meet mine, a 100 percent confirmed smile on her face, definitely not imagining this one. “Yeah, until the human bowling bit, you were breathtaking.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, looking back at her hands. “Why are you here so early?”

I round up the used gauzes now her wound is as clean as I can get it and throw them into the medical waste bin. I don’t know how to answer her question without ruining this nice, semi-normal moment we’re having right now.

“I wanted to see you. You’ve been avoiding me, and I wanted to check you were okay. Can you raise your left arm for me? That’s the side that took the impact, right?”

“Right,” she repeats back, ignoring everything else I said. She grimaces slightly, but overall the movement is fine, nothing’s broken from what I can tell. I strap the ice pack to her shoulder, where the majority of the inflammation is, and give her one last look over.

“Ice pack for no more than ten-minute intervals, okay? You feel dizzy?” She shakes her head. “Sick? Headache? Dazed and or confused?” She shakes her head again, this time with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

I reach down to unlace her skates, pulling each one off her feet and placing them behind her. “I want you to go to the hospital. They need to check you over to be on the safe side, and you need to rest this weekend.”

She snorts loudly, hand flying to her mouth to smother it. “Sorry, that was rude. It’s just that I’m competing tomorrow, I can’t rest.”

“Anastasia…”

“It’ll be fine. Are you done, Dr. Hawkins?” she says, releasing me and attempting to jump down from the bed. My hands instinctively grip her hips to keep her in place, but I let her go like she’s made of lava. Her eyes meet mine, something uncertain swimming in them. “Nate, I—”

The door opens behind us, and Shithead walks in, carrying a pink gym bag. Like I didn’t already have enough of a reason to want to strangle him. He places her bag behind her, handing her some sneakers, which she pulls on. He examines her head like he’s got a clue what he’s looking at.

Dick. I think he studies history or something.

For Stassie’s sake, I temporarily put our differences aside and be polite. “Can you take her to the hospital?”

Nodding and mumbling an uninterested mhmm, he doesn’t bother to look at me as he reaches into her bag again, pulling out a UCMH sweatshirt for her. “Don’t let her fall asleep before the hospital and you need to tell Sabrina to check on her when she’s sleeping later.”

“I’ll check on her,” he says nonchalantly, throwing her skates into the bag and zipping it shut.

“No, I mean at night when she goes to bed.”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing out the word like I’m not understanding him. “I’ll check on her. You know we live together, right? My bedroom is just as close to hers as Brin’s is.”

What the fucking fuck?

“Okay.” I try to keep any sign of shock out of my voice. “Feel better, Stas. Good luck tomorrow, guys.”

“You too,” Shithead says back.

Weird.

Anastasia looks over her shoulder and takes me in one last time before she leaves. When I’ve cleaned up the room and headed out to where the guys are waiting, they’ve clearly heard what happened and are all giving me fake-sympathetic looks.

“Poor girl would rather give herself a concussion than speak to you, Hawkins. That’s rough, buddy,” Robbie says, earning a chorus of snickers from the rest of the team.

“Hey, funny guy,” I bite back. “Did you know your girl has seven older brothers?”

His face pales. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t joke about something as funny as this.”