Page 41 of Ice Me Baby

I have to hold back an eye roll at that. Because allowing your son to go outside is considered an adequate reward for winning a hockey game and being named MVP. As if there would be no other reason to allow me out of this prison of a home.

My mother waves me off, and I don’t need to be told twice, so I race toward the door. As soon as I’m outside, I take off running, not stopping until I reach the park swings across the street.

I sit on one of the swings and begin to slowly move. My fingers tighten around the chains as I stare down at my feet. There’s a burn behind my eyes, and I bite my lip to keep the tears at bay. Crying won’t fix anything. It’s never fixed anything. The one time I cried in front of my parents, they sneered at me and demanded I stop acting like a child.

When the swing beside me squeaks, I’m jerked out of the memories. A gentle voice asks, “You okay?”

I quickly look up to see who it is before dropping my eyes again. It’s the goalie on our team; I think his name is Mac. I grunt as I reply, “Fine. Fuck off.”

“Well, that’s not very nice.” He chuckles from the swing beside me.

I envy him. He doesn’t seem to have a problem talking to anyone. There are always people surrounding him. Friends everywhere he looks. “Haven’t you heard, I’m the asshole on the team. I’m not nice.”

He hums before bumping his shoulder into mine. “I don’t think you’re an asshole.” We are quiet for a moment before he asks, “Shouldn’t you be at home celebrating? We won, and you were named MVP! That’s pretty awesome.”

I snort. “My parents are more worried about how I could have done better than praising my accomplishment.”

His feet hit the ground with a thump, and I look up when his feet stop in front of me. With a wide grin, he holds out a hand. “Well, my mom made cake. You should come to my house.”

I look at his hand before looking up at him with a glare. “Are you trying to punk me or something? Do you have brain damage?”

His head tilts as he asks, “Punk? What’s that mean? And no, I do not have brain damage as far as I know.”

That’s when I notice his accent. It’s the first time I’ve actually listened to him speak. He’s not from around here. “Where did you move from?”

“Canada. My mom wanted me to join a team here.”

“Punk means that you’re fucking with me. You’re trying to play a trick on me,” I explain.

His eyes widen as he says, “My mom would have my butt if I was mean to anyone, let alone one of my friends.”

“One of your friends?”

He rubs the back of his neck, but he’s still holding out his hand to me. “I mean. I think we are friends. Are we not friends?”

I can’t help but laugh; he looks concerned that we wouldn’t be considered friends. Looking at his hand one last time, I put mine in his. “Yeah… yeah, we’re friends.”

He gives my hand a squeeze and drags me to his house. “Good. I was a little worried there for a moment that you hated me.”

Emotion clogs my throat as I manage to say, “Not a chance.” How could I hate a guy who’s this genuine. To be honest, I don’t really hate people, I’m just envious of them. I’ve always wanted to be part of a group. To have a friend who won’t leave me behind. But they always do. Everyone leaves eventually.

He smirks at me over his shoulder. “Congratulations on getting named MVP. I’m proud of you. You worked really hard for that.”

He either ignores the tears sliding down my face or doesn’t notice them. “Thank you.” My chest aches, but it feels good. I never realized how much I wanted someone, anyone, to say that they were proud of me. Proud of what I’ve accomplished and worked so hard for. That I was more than just a waste of space or a pawn for my parents to use.

He gives my hand a squeeze as he leads me to his house. “Don’t worry. My mom will gush all over you too.”

I’d never met a woman quite like Nora Oliver. After that day, she became my adopted mother, and I never felt a lack of love when I was around her. She’d truly become my mother. Mère was a godsend for the years I had her. She was the one person other than Mac who I could rely on. They were my family.

She died while Oli and I were in college. I’d never cried as hard as I did at her funeral, and I didn’t care who saw. My chest ached for weeks after, and I hid in our dorm room, bawling. I wanted my mother back. Oli wasn’t the only one who lost a mom that day. I did, too, and he didn’t fault me for it.

We clawed and fought our way into the NHL for her. Her one wish for us was that we played together in the NHL. And we did it. We did it for her. But, at some point in life, you have to do something for yourself. The only problem was… I didn’t ever want to feel the pain of losing someone else I loved.

Chapter Seventeen

Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Monroe

Lewi leaves in a hurry, and it shocks me. Is something wrong? I turn in the direction he ran off before looking to Oli. He has a sad look on his face, but he gives me a small smile. “He needs a moment.”

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