Page 4 of Melting the Ice

Brody stopped himself from rolling his eyes. It wasn’t Dean’s fault, either, that he was a prime specimen of athletic ability or that Brody was already feeling anxious about getting back on the ice.

Not that itwouldbe his first skate. He’d skated plenty since his knee had healed. But not officially. Not in front of their new-old coach.

New, because he’d just been hired to take the Evergreens over.

Old, because he’d coached at Portland U for years, before he’d left for the NHL.

And now he was back, and Brody would’ve probably been anxious about their first practice anyway, but now that he was going to do it under Gavin Blackburn’s watchful and notoriously expert eye?

Well, that wouldn’t be intimidatingat all.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about football,” Brody admitted.

“And I know jack shit about hockey.” Dean cracked another smile. “But I think we’ll manage to stay out of each other’s way well enough.”

If Brody thought that pronouncement was a little weird—after all, why was he hanging out here, trying to make conversation if he wanted them to only co-exist?—he didn’t say so because that would only make thingsweirder.

“Yeah, sure. But you know . . .uh . . .feel free to use any of the kitchen stuff my . . .uh . . .mom brought. The blender and stuff.”

“Your parents those helicopter types?”

Well, they were rich, sure. But they didn’t own a fucking helicopter. “No,” he said. “Owning a Mercedes isn’t the same as a helicopter.”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then threw back his head and straight up cackled. “Not that theyowna helicopter,aretheyhelicopters?” Dean made a circling motion around his head. “Like they don’t leave you to your own shit.”

“Oh, no. No. Actually no.” Brody internally winced at his triple, no doubt very obvious, denial. “I just . . .we’re close. That’s all.”No, it’s not cool. I know that.He didn’t mind it when his teammates and friends or even Ramsey gave him shit about it, because they knew him and loved him, andgotit. But this was some big stranger, three days of beard on his face, looking wary and together, like he’d laugh in the face of any parent who tried to help him doanything.

Who didn’tneeda parent to carry some boxes to the second floor; who certainly didn’twantthem to.

“That’s cool.”

“But yeah, I’m sure she overdid it.” Brody’s wince was not internal this time, much to his embarrassment. “Someone else should get to enjoy her zeal.”

“Zeal, huh?” The corner of Dean’s mouth tilted up, not quite in a smile, but in something. “You a lit major?”

He shook his head. “Biology.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Fucking serious? You’re asciencemajor?”

“Yeah.” He was used to everyone thinking he was crazy at this point. The jock who also happened to be a nerd. “You?”

Don’t say you’re a physical education major, don’t say you’re a physical education major . . .

Those guys were always the worst, the type who rarely bothered with class, and would graduate just because they were bound for the pros in whatever sport they played.

Even Ramsey was in Communications, though that was mostly an excuse for him to send DMs to hot influencers and spend too much time on TikTok.

“Physical education, but don’t say it.” Dean was outright grinning now. “I actually go to fucking class.”

“Are you the only one who does?” Brody asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else does. Just me. I want to get a good education, have options, before I go to the NFL.”

Brody supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the matter-of-fact way Dean said it, like it was inevitable, not even a question. He knew the football team was good, that a lot of their players got drafted into the pros.

And if Dean was as good as he claimed he was . . .well, maybe itwasjust a fact that he’d be going to the NFL.

“But shit, I know how it sounds,” Dean continued. “I know most of those guys are useless. And you’re in biology.Fuck. Why? Aren’t you going to go pro?”

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