Page 1 of Melting the Ice

Chapter One

Brody Faulkner jogged upthe stairs to the apartment, telling himself that the two flights were no big deal and he wasn’t even going to be upset about lugging groceries up them in the rain, because he and Ramsey, one of his friends on the Evergreens, the Portland University hockey team, werefinallysharing a place together.

No more weird roommates who didn’t understand the crazy schedule collegiate athletes had to keep, or who looked down their noses at protein shake stains on the kitchen counters, pull-up bars in the doorway, and the never-ending, impossible-to-eradicate-completely smell of old sweat pervading the place.

Ramsey probably wouldn’t have been his firstchoice of roommate—he was a little bit of a loose cannon,butwhen push came to shove, he was a good friend and an even better hockey player—but Brody hadn’t minded because Ramsey had to be better than the other guys he’d roomed with before this, his junior year.

Brody’s first indication something was wrong was the pot full of half-dead plants sitting next to the door.

First, if Ramsey was staying here, they would one hundred percent be totally dead, because the guy had never met a planter he didn’t want to pee in.

Second, there was a football lying in it, resting in the dirt right next to the bedraggled plants.

Ramsey famously hated every sport that wasn’t hockey.

He wouldn’t touch a football with a ten-foot pole.

But maybe hewouldpee on it.

“You okay, honey?”

Brody glanced down the stairs and saw his mom, box in hand, one of Brody’s duffels slung over her other shoulder, straight dark hair tucked behind one ear, a concerned look on her face.

“Oh, I’m . . .”Worried because Ramsey is Ramsey.“I’m fine.”

“You just stopped there. On the third step from the top. Thought maybe you might’ve felt a . . .”

“My knee is fine.”

His kneewasfine.

The doctors said he’d totally recovered from his season-ending ACL tear last year and that he’d be as fast as ever on the ice.

But mentally trusting the knee had surprisingly not come so easy.

There were some moments he still struggled with the worry that it would just give out again.

Today wasn’t one of those moments, ironically.

“Oh, good.” Tish glanced up at the doorway. “I didn’t know Ramsey was into plants. Could use a good watering, though.”

“He’s not. He’s really not.” But Brody didn’t get any more words out, because the door opened then, and that definitely wasn’t Ramsey filling the empty space, shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the doorframe.

“You must be Brody,” the guy said gruffly, shoving too-long chestnut hair behind his ears. “Hey, I’m Dean. Dean Scott.”

“Dean?” Tish asked hesitantly. Brody could feel her eyes on him and knew that he should’ve told his parents that he could move in without their help.

Ramsey wouldn’t have given a shit if his parents drove up from Northern California to help him move in. Okay, he would’vedefinitelygiven Brody crap about it, teasing him about being a first grader needing his hand held on the first day of school, but it all would’ve been good-natured, because Ramsey liked his parents, too.

But this was a stranger.

Named Dean.

Brody unstuck his voice. “Where’s Ramsey?”

The huge mountain of a man sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. A big, broad chest. Brody knew his way around a weight room and could tell this guy spent alotof time in one. Clearly an athlete of some kind.

Then there was the football in the planter. And the Evergreens logo printed, with “football team” underneath it, on the T-shirt currently plastered to all of Dean’s muscles.

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