Page 30 of Fate on the Ice

It gives me time to myself to think—to daydream.

Reaching into my pocket, I look at the phone and clear my throat. It’s my father. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, then suck in a deep breath knowing this is it. I’m going to have to tell him.

COACH BURNS: LUNCH TOMORROW. I HAVE YOUR TICKETS TO THE FIRST GAME.

Of course, the lunch is about hockey. What else would it be about? Because hockey is my father’s life. It’s his first love… his only love, really. Everything else comes secondary to the game. I’ve come to terms with that, but I don’t think he’s going to appreciate me dating one of his men.

Sure. When and where?

I quickly type the words, unsure of how I’m going to face him tomorrow. This feels bigger than me being expelled. I know it probably isn’t, but at the same time, it consumes me more than school ever did.

Otto consumes me.

Wholly.

My father texts me the time and place. Thankfully, it’s during my lunch hour here, and where he wants to go is close by, within walking distance. I don’t know if he did that on purpose since he knows where I work, but I’m glad.

I’ll be there.

After I start the washing machine, I turn away and walk back into the salon. I need to get back to work. I need to try and focus on the task at hand. Cleaning, answering phones, all of it. But I can’t concentrate on anything.

My focus is only on lunch tomorrow and what I’m going to tell my father, but also what he’s going to say to me. I don’t think he would forbid me to date any of his players, but I can’t imagine he would be happy about it, either.

Then I think about the fact that I’m going to have to tell Otto, too. Sooner rather than later. Once my father knows, there’s no way I can let Otto find out from him. This whole thing is a complete cluster, and I wish I could walk away from Otto just to make it easier on myself.

But I can’t.

There is no way I can make it even a day without him.

I’m falling in love with him…

OTTO

Leaving the arena, I hitch the strap of my bag over my shoulder and head toward my car. It’s the last one in the lot. I hate being last, but work calls. Making my way toward the car, I use the remote to open the trunk.

I toss my bag in the back, then dig my phone out of my pocket before I sink down in my seat. Finding her name on the screen, I touch it to call her. It rings exactly three times before I hear her voice on the other end.

“Hey,” she exhales.

The moment Grace’s soft voice reaches my ears, I swear my entire body relaxes. Just hearing her voice does something to me. It consumes me and relaxes me all at the same time. Starting the engine of my car, I look down at my lap, trying and failing to hide my smile.

“You want to go to dinner, or do you want me to bring dinner to you?”

She's silent for a moment before she clears her throat, and for some reason, it sounds like she’s hesitating. I don’t know why she would be. Anxiety creeps up, threatening to strangle me at the thought of her leaving me.

“Let’s go to dinner,” she says. “I want to talk to you.”

And I feel like the biggest pussy in the world, but my heart stops. What the actual fuck? What did I do wrong? I open my mouth to ask her but decide against it. Instead, I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a moment before I let it out.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” I clip.

My anger, as a defense mechanism, is on the tip of my tongue and in my tone. She won’t break up with me first. I fucking refuse. It’ll be me who ends things, and I will make sure that I come out on top—always.

Heading home, I don’t speak to anyone as I climb the stairs and make my way to the shower. The water starts, the steam filling the space, and I close my eyes as I inhale and exhale deeply.

I don’t want to lose her, and I’m not going to go down without a fight, but I’m also not going to look like a fucking fool, either. I feel sick to my stomach as the minutes tick by, and I know it’s time to go and get her.

I wish this were a game. I know how to handle that. In my uniform, in my gear with my stick in hand, I know what to do and how to do it. In a pair of jeans, with a goddamn polo shirt on, I have not a single fucking clue.

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