Page 123 of Break the Ice
“Don’t worry about me, Coach. I’m a big believer in everything happening for a reason.”
I grin slightly before I leave him where he’s standing, staring puzzled in my wake. Really, the grin contains the laughter bottled up inside me. He really thinks I’m upset about what’s happened.
I couldn’t give less of a shit Dad’s gone. Even less of that less of shit that Hawk is.
But I am going on a brief leave of absence. Two weeks. Three games.
It could fuck up our standing this season when we’ve finally had a decent shot for the first time in years. I don’t care about that either.
Hockey’s always been the thing I’m good at—that and pissing people off and getting them to hate my guts.
You could say this ordeal has given me new perspective. I’ve lived and breathed hockey all my life to the point the thought of intentionally missing three games would’ve been unfathomable. Now it’s sounding like a pretty damn good vacation from all the chaos.
There’s more to life than the sport. Like a gorgeous, sassy-mouthed, red-haired PR expert who I’ve affectionately dubbed Sugar.
First, to keep up appearances, I have to attend Dad’s funeral. The public eats up the imagery of two famous hockey players grieving their father. One a past star in the league. The other the current big name.
Colt’s a better actor than I am. He takes time to mingle with the funeral guests and give a eulogy about how Dad was such a legendary hockey player. He makes few mentions of what a great dad he was.
That last one being a blatant lie…
With zero fucks to give, I’m less diplomatic. I wear big shades to cover my dry eyes and routinely check the time on my phone. More than once I’m caught flat-out texting on it or scrolling through TikToks, chuckling at funny sports shorts.
Marisse volunteered to attend with me, but I turned her down—she doesn’t need to be anywhere near Dad after he tried to pin a murder on her.
Not to mention the fact that the public appearance together would fuel gossip we’re seeing each other. Something that we’d rather avoid until the investigation closes.
Then, at some point, we’ll go public with the sob story that we found each other in the aftermath of losing Hawk.
A true statement, but not for the sweet and romantic reasons the public would think. More like we started off disposing of Hawk’s dead body and then hate-fucked a bunch of times ’til we won each other over.
A lot less Hallmark-worthy, but a hell of a lot more fun in a twisted sort of way.
We won’t be alone.
Everybody even somewhat involved is spinning their own narrative, using the publicity and exposure to advance themselves. Coach Oates has appeared on the Today Show and Good Morning America. Several of the guys like Stowers and Foley have got new endorsement deals. Kai told me he’s been comped at every bar and restaurant he’s gone to; he’s even been comped at the illegal gambling ring he plays in.
Colt won’t be any different. He’s playing the angle of the good son for a reason. He’s always been the more underhanded one of us.
I’m fine with being upfront with my fuckery.
Eventually, when the funeral guests move on from issuing condolences and break off into groups to mingle, Colt seeks me out.
I’m in the middle of tossing back a shot of whiskey from the flask I’ve brought. I screw on the lid and slip it back into my breast pocket, issuing a smile to my older brother. “You know, you missed your calling.”
His brows quirk only slightly. “As in?”
“Instead of hockey, it should’ve been acting. You’re a regular Leonardo DiCaprio. All afternoon long, not slipping once. I’m impressed.”
“Selling the story is the hard part.”
“And you’re doing a damn good job. This is a big opportunity for you,” I say, giving a casual shrug. “You were always Dad’s favorite. You were the one he left damn near everything to. His properties. His stock. You get the insurance payout. Only thing I got was his classic car collection.”
“Did you give a damn that I was?”
An honest laugh tumbles out of me. “Fuck no.”
“Then I don’t see the problem. We both got what we want.”
