Page 7 of Breaking the Ice

Lost in thought, I run my thumb over the photo. My mom took it on the day I left. As much as I try to suppress my guilt towards Jess, it just won't go away. There's no excuse for knowingly using her - even if only initially. I lured her in with my looks, that's clear to me. Frowning, I examine the picture of myself more closely. I have sharp features, brown eyes, and a narrow nose. Personally, I prefer my teeth the most. They're naturally strikingly white. Jess, on the other hand, is more into my dark blond curls and my physique. Anyway, my appearance certainly opened the door to professional hockey. And I'm grateful for that.

“Ta-da!” I hear Jessica behind me. I turn to see her standing in the doorway to the bathroom, wearing a sky-blue dress. She's straightened her hip-length hair and put on makeup.

“Wow,” I say approvingly, placing the picture frame back. “You look stunning.” Okay, that's a bit exaggerated; even with all the makeup in the world, Jessica remains who she is - an average woman. But she does look pretty. “May I have this dance?” I ask, walking over to her and offering my arm for her to link with. “My lady has ordered a romantic movie night, and that's what she shall receive.” And I mean that just the way I say it. Even if it means enduring a sappy romance flick. Jess deserves romance, and that's exactly what she'll get.

5

Emma

“We should get proper beds as soon as possible. I feel completely drained,” my dad laments, rolling his head back. He sits across from me at our tiny kitchen table, looking utterly exhausted. Dark circles lie beneath his eyes, and his hair resembles a bird's nest. He's slept on the sofa bed in the living room for my sake, giving me the single bed in the bedroom. Bill apologized numerous times yesterday for the sparsely furnished apartment, but given the short time frame, there wasn't much to be done. After all, it's only been two days since he got the job offer and we arrived. Mr. Flake insisted that we start as soon as possible.

“What do you think about hitting a few furniture stores later? Maybe we'll get lucky, and they'll deliver today,” I suggest, taking a sip of my coffee from a glass tumbler. “And some dishes wouldn't hurt either. We don't have toilet paper or dish soap.”

“True, I know. Apart from a carton of milk, the fridge is pretty empty. But that's not a problem; we have enough time to take care of everything. Today's training, if I remember correctly, is scheduled for late afternoon. Let me check.” Dad reaches for a note lying behind him on the kitchen counter. He scans the training times written on it. “Today is Monday. Normally, the team would have training at eleven. But since they had a game yesterday...”

His index finger lands on the paper and slides down to a marginal note. “... It's postponed to five in the afternoon.”

“Perfect. It's only eleven now. We have plenty of time to do the shopping without stress,” I say with satisfaction, mentally compiling a list of all the things we need. My beeping phone grabs my attention. It's on the kitchen counter behind Dad.

“That's probably Riley,” I explain as I get up. “I sent her a video of our new apartment earlier.” Riley is my best friend. We've grown up together, known each other since kindergarten, and we're used to doing things together every day. It was tough for both of us when I got this job and had to pack up and move overnight.

While picking up the phone from the counter, I glance at the display. I was expecting a WhatsApp message, but instead, I find a text message. Odd. I open the message from an unfamiliar number and read the following sentence:

*11:30 A.M. in the massage room. Need a treatment.

Frowning, I return to my seat and sit down. What a rude text. There isn't even a name mentioned. Well, who knows. Brief messages are probably common among professionals, I consider. Time is money, after all.

“What's up?” Dad looks at me over the edge of his newspaper, which he's just opened. “Is something wrong with Riley?”

“No, but I received a text from one of the players.”

“Oh yeah? From whom?”

“It doesn't say.”

“And what does the mysterious man write?”

“Basically, just that he needs a treatment at 11:30.”

“That's in less than half an hour, and you haven't even had a proper breakfast. I'll take care of it for you,” he suggests, setting the newspaper aside.

“No, Dad, it's fine, I don't mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I assure him, getting up and heading to the bedroom to change. I exchange the oversized T-shirt I'm wearing for a mint-green polo shirt with the words “Tade – Healing Hands” embroidered over the chest. I slip into white pants and sneakers. Then I head to the bathroom, tying my shoulder-length black hair into a ponytail. This will be my first official treatment. I'm immensely excited, a feeling mirrored on my face. My slightly uneven dark brown eyes seem to gleam. I owe my eye shape to Mom, just as I do my flawless skin. She's Thai by birth and... oh man, I haven't even had time to call her yet. I resolve to give her a detailed report later in the evening. It must be tough for her to be home alone in Aberdeen without Dad and me.

With no time to spare, my makeup is minimal – just some eyeliner to accentuate my cat-like eyes and a bit of mascara. I spend a little more time brushing my teeth, as neglecting oral hygiene is something I find repulsive. After spitting out the toothpaste and wiping away the foam, I return to the kitchen where Dad is still engrossed in his newspaper.

“Sure you don’t want me to take over?” he asks.

“Dad, stop worrying. I've got this!” I retrieve my jacket from the back of the chair, grab the key to the company car we've been provided, and plant a kiss on his forehead. “I need to go, see you later. Love you!” Without waiting for his response, I hurry away. I'm running late.

Four minutes before half past eleven, I arrive breathless in my massage room. Traffic on Portland's streets is horrendous around noon, I've come to realize. Fortunately, the player who requested my services seems to be running late too, as I'm the only one here. That's fine by me; it gives me a moment to acclimate. I switch on the light, take off my jacket, and hang it on the hook on the wall behind the oil shelf. Then I step into the adjacent bathroom to wash my hands. Since I didn't get a chance to look around in here yesterday, I let my gaze wander through the small space. Toward the front is a sink and a shelf with towels. Further back, next to a shower, there's a toilet. The room, much like the team's locker room, is tiled in white, and, as I notice, equipped with underfloor heating. On the left wall, the grinning devil's face of the Devils is plastered above a few hooks. They must be quite patriotic here, the logo is everywhere, I think to myself, just as I sense something behind me. I turn around and spot a guy watching me near the massage table.

“Oh, hi,” I greet him, wondering if he's the player who summoned me. I can't recall seeing him with the others when Bill introduced me yesterday. I would have remembered that face!

“Hi,” he replies curtly, his baritone voice filling the room.

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