Page 83 of Break the Ice
Never mind that Mr. Hawk has only been dead for weeks.
You’d never know they just lost a close friend and confidant.
I’d feel sorry for Mr. Hawk had he not made inappropriate passes at me…
I’m more preoccupied with two opposing forces—my curiosity about Mr. Beringer’s absence and if it means he’s the mystery person texting me. Will he show up in the sky box to reveal himself? Is that why he’s not here right now?
The other opposing force is the game itself. The game starts off with the Wolves on defense. Minutes in, the Aces establish they’re not about to be easily defeated. Their offense is impeccable, dribbling the puck to the net with little to no push back from the Wolves.
Rafe works his ass off. He’s everywhere at once, almost a one-man team in how he plays both offense and defense. It’s no wonder he’s nicknamed Alpha.
Rafe plays harder than anyone. It’s a mesmerizing sight to watch.
The sheer force of will that beats off him with every aggressive, skillful move he makes.
As a former athlete myself, it’s undeniably sexy. I flush hot just sitting as a spectator and watching. Vivid flashbacks of our times together fill up my head. I can practically feel the powerful orgasms he gives me all over again.
Another one would be amazing right about now—it’d take the edge off my anxiety.
I’ve gotten up out of my seat. I’ve wandered over to the glass window of the sky box and I peer down at the rink. My anticipation is written across my face as I erupt into cheers alongside three-fourths of the arena.
Rafe scores!
The game is finally even.
“There you are,” says Mr. Blackman from behind. “So, it was you.”
I turn around at the sound of his voice, momentarily distracted from the game happening on the ice below. I’m so taken aback at his abrupt appearance, I fumble out, “You’re the anonymous texter.”
“This is rich,” he says with a haughty laugh. He pockets both hands. “Just what kind of games do you think you’re playing, Ms. March? I’ve tried to respect the moves you’ve been making—I’ve even helped along the way—but this kind of behavior won’t be tolerated. Just know I’m not an enemy you want to make.”
“What moves have I been making, Mr. Blackman? For clarification purposes.”
I’m staring at him agape as I try to fit together puzzle pieces that are entirely wrong for each other. How can he possibly think I’m the anonymous texter? He’s the one who hired men off the street to attack Rafe!
Mr. Blackman remains composed and unaffected as he pretends to watch the live game but answers me with lips that barely move. We’re surrounded by the other managers and execs. He’s trying not to draw attention to our conversation.
“You asked me to meet you here. You have been texting me threatening messages for weeks now. I’ve known it was you all along. Why do you think I sent the men? I was helping you achieve your goal,” he explains.
My head hurts just listening to the accusations. “I never texted you! I received an anonymous text asking me to meet here. See for yourself!”
If Mr. Blackman believes me, he gives no indication. Instead, he issues a stern warning. “Be careful, Ms. March. You may think you’re clever. But I’m cleverer.”
The crowd goes wild and the buzzer sounds. We both redirect our attention to the glass only to find out the game’s over.
The Aces clinched a narrow victory.
They rush toward each other to celebrate as a team. The Wolves congregate too, wearing vexed expressions and shouting at one another.
Thousands in the arena thrive on the victory. Fans with their favorite Aces jerseys hang around in the stands to revel in the game they just watched.
The camera focuses on the players on the ice and then pans out to the greater crowd. The Jumbotron shows exactly what’s aired at home in households across the country—including when the camera scans the sky boxes and catches me standing beside Blackman in conversation.
It takes me another second to understand I’m on the Jumbotron. Then another second for me to glance down at the ice and notice Rafe peering straight up at me, like he’s already made a point to figure out which skybox I was in earlier. Our gazes meet even if it’s from halfway across an arena. His head’s turned right in my direction. He’s seen me on the Jumbotron.
He knows I’m staring, and I know he’s staring. It’s a silent, faraway moment between us that goes unnoticed by everyone else on Earth.
Then… then Rafe shoots toward the rink exit like a burst of untamed fire in an explosion. He disappears from the audience’s view, but while others may frown in confusion, it’s no mystery where he’s going.
