Page 2 of Melting the Ice

Not just an athlete, but a football player.

Brody wanted to find Ramsey and wrap his hands around his neck and choke him slowly until his eyes bugged out and he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“Ramsey didn’t tell you.” Dean’s resignation was punctuated by another sigh.

“Apparently not. Let me guess, he’s not living here this year.”

“He . . .uh . . .” Dean scratched his scruff-covered chin. “Said he got a better offer.”

“Well, that’s rude and well . . .” Tish trailed off, and Brody looked over at her. They exchanged a look. “Very much like Ramsey,” she finished.

It did sound just like Ramsey.

That didn’t mean that Brody wanted to choke him out any less.

“Then yeah, I’m Brody.” Brody shifted the box he was carrying and held out his hand. Dean shook it, and Brody got a brief impression of callouses and strength, before Dean was motioning him into the apartment.

It was tiny, and even tinier with Dean in it.

That was going to take some getting used to. Brodyhadn’t felt small in years, but Dean made him feel practically doll-sized.

“Apartment came furnished, but I brought a few things, and it seems like you’ve got some stuff,” Dean said. “I’ve been here a few months already—I’m on the football team.”

Right. Football season started way before hockey did. In the summer? Brody wasn’t sure; he didn’t spend much time thinking about football. He wasn’t actively against it, not like Ramsey, but it was easy to get absorbed in school and practice and games and forget that there were other sports teams on campus than just the hockey team.

“Right. I’m . . .I should call Ramsey.”

Dean’s gaze narrowed. Like he was suddenly worried. “You had your heart set on rooming with him?”

Well,no, not exactly. Not with Ramsey the person. But Ramsey, the known entity.

This Dean was a stranger. A nice enough stranger, Brody supposed, but Dean was supposed to beRamsey.

“No, not exactly—”

But Dean didn’t let him get the explanation out. “Well,I’mglad you’re here. It’s hard for me to afford this place on my own.”

Brody met Dean’s intense glass green stare. Told himself not to feel ashamed of his parents’ Porsche SUV downstairs, his brand-new car in the parking lot, the new things his mom had insisted on buying that she was currently setting on the old, worn linoleum kitchen countertop.

Both his parents were successful doctors. He’d been lucky to never hurt for anything that money could buy. Hockey wasn’t the cheapest sport to get involved with, but he’d never worried about the costs associated with it—and Brody knew just how privileged that was.

“I . . .uh . . .” Brody hesitated. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He didn’t really want to live with Dean—but then when he thought about it, had he wanted to live with Ramsey, either?—but it would probably be fine.

The guy seemed decent.

“Good,” Dean said, with a firm nod. “You guys need any help bringing your stuff in?”

“No, I think we’ve got it—”

“Hey, Brody, what’s this football?” His dad walked in, salt-and-pepper hair gone more salt than pepper, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his brown eyes taking in every inch of the worn furniture, blank white walls, and the scuffed vinyl flooring.

“It’s Dean’s,” Brody said, gesturing towards the big man. “My new roommate. Dean, this is my dad, Roger, and my mom, Tish.”

Brody gave Dean credit. He greeted them each with a grave smile and a quick handshake, even though Brody had already figured out that the guy wasn’t the most social creature on the planet.

He’d be quiet, if nothing else.

But Brody would still be wringing Ramsey’s neck for letting him show up without having any clue that he’d bailed and found some new guy to take his place.

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