Page 17 of Melting the Ice

It had given him the strength and the push he’d needed, when he’d needed it most.

But the best part was that when the moment had come, he hadn’t hesitated.

He’d just expected it to hold him, and it had.

“Great fucking game,” Ramsey said, collapsing onto the bench next to Brody. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them overhand into the equipment bin for cleaning.

“You too,” Brody said.

“Party tonight at Gamma Sigma,” Ramsey said. “You better be there.”

“Aw, aparty,” Brody complained as he bent down, unlacing his skates. “I’m worn out, man.”

“You sound like you’re a hundred and one, not twenty-one,” Ramsey said, a gentle reprimand on his face.

“Well, Ifeellike a hundred.”

“You’ll get a second wind. Seriously, you’re coming. You’ve ducked out on the last two.”

“My classes are murdering me, that’s why,” Brody said. Nevermind hockey. He’d not regretted his science major more than he did right now.

“Not surprised,” Ramsey pointed out dryly. “You’re coming anyway. And while you’re at it, bring Dean with you.”

“How do you even know he’s free?” Brody said, forgoing arguing about his schedule, instead focusing on the one thing hecould, which was Dean’s somehow crazier schedule.

“They’re on bye this week so he’s home,” Ramsey said. “How do I know this and you don’t?”

“We don’t see each other all that much,” Brody admitted.

“Well, you gotta change that. Guy needs more friends.”

Brody rolled his eyes, but he nodded too. Hecouldagree with that.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do,” Brody said.

He finished shucking his gear, took a shower, and then headed back to the apartment he shared with Dean.

The whole way home he expected to see that Dean wouldn’t be there, after all, because he so rarely was. If Brody had been home more himself, he might’ve assumed that Dean was avoiding him on purpose, but he knew how much busier the other guy’s schedule was, because heworked, too. What seemed like at least twenty hours a week, monitoring the gym that the college maintained for the general population.

Brody had run into him a couple of times on his way to the weight room reserved just for the sports teams, but they hadn’t done more than exchange semi-friendly waves.

After trudging up the two flights of stairs—hedidregret those, in the end—he unlocked the front door of the apartment, and to his surprise, Deanwasthere, on the couch, sprawled out, with one of the Marvel movies on TV.

“Hey,” Brody said.

Dean glanced up. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Good game? I saw you guys won.”

“Yeah. It was, actually. We’re coming together, I think.”

“I’m glad for you guys,” Dean said, giving him a swift smile that told Brody he meant it. And frankly, he’d looked up their game scheduleandwas keeping tabs on their wins and losses.Brody might’ve believed Dean’s distance meant that he didn’t give a shit, but he kept being proved wrong, over and over again.

He was beginning to think Dean didn’t know howto be afriend. And how to tell that friend that he totally gave a shit.

It was that realization that pushed him to say, “Ramsey’s going to the Gamma Sigma party tonight. Invited me.”

“Yeah?”

“And you,” Brody added. “Apparently we’ve both been working too hard.”

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