Page 35 of Dreams on the Ice

“You okay?” she asks.

Turning my head, I look over at her, plastering on a fake smile. “I’m good,” I lie.

Her fingers flex against my shoulder, then she clears her throat. “Kiki is a gradeAbitch. Seriously. What she’s doing is not cool. Not at all. I don’t agree with any of it, and I just wanted you to know that I support you.”

It’s sweet. Really sweet. I just wish I could take her up on said support. Although, I don’t know what I would expect her to do. She has no control over Kiki being a bitch or not. Thanking her, I chew on the inside of my cheek and turn back toward the rink.

Forrest is in the penalty box for fighting. He watches me, but it’s not just watching—he is staring at me, seeing all of me. And I know that he, without a doubt, notices that I’m upset, worried, anxious… all of the above.

When he’s released from his purgatory, he jerks his chin and skates straight for his team box. I watch him for a moment as he talks to his red-faced coach. There are only five minutes left in the game.

It would really suck if they lost on his birthday. Starting the season off with a loss would also be devastating. There’s something about winning your first home game of the season that lights a fight under these guys that stays with them.

They need this win, and Forrest does especially because he isn’t going to get much of a win after I break up with him. Just thinking about it makes my heart slam against my chest, and my stomach twists.

I’m seconds away from losing my lunch all over this glass in front of me and making a complete spectacle of myself. The horn blares, interrupting my internal thoughts, and everyone jumps to their feet, screaming their heads off.

Automatically, I jump to my feet as well. My gaze swings to meet Forrest’s. He’s staring at me, his eyes appearing as if they are on fire. It’s sexy as hell, and I curse myself yet again for the decision I’m going to have to make.

A decision that I hate.

When everyone starts to settle down, someone skates by Forrest, his shoulder slamming into his. I watch as Forrest spins around, his sights focused on the shoulder checker, and he skates right for him.

I know what’s going to happen before it does. Fists slam, helmets are thrown, and then there’s blood before they’re broken apart, and Forrest is thrown out of the game. Everyone around us in the arena loves it. They’re cheering and chanting, enjoying every second of the fight.

All of them, except the small group of women around me. We know that being thrown out of a game might be exciting to watch, but the aftermath isn’t always that great. I’m not sure how he’s going to take this. I can’t imagine it would be good.

If they lose after he was thrown out, he’s going to be an absolute bear. But if they win, maybe, just maybe, his mood will be saved before it’s my turn to absolutely crush it. God. I hate everything about this situation.

Tears prick the backs of my eyes just thinking about what I’m going to have to do. Everything about this is pure hell. The shit Kiki has pulled has ruined my whole life—my business, my friends, and my relationship.

None of them would admit it. Not any of my friends, and definitely not Forrest. But it has. Her videos, her fans, her lies… they have ruined my entire life. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’ve done something to deserve all of this. I can’t think of what it could be, but I also can’t think of any other reason why it is happening. Because to have everything I could have everdreamed of turning to complete shit the way it has—I must have done something very,verywrong.

Chapter

Seventeen

FORREST

Ejected.What the fucking fuck. I’m so fucking pissed at that asshole I could hunt his ass down and go to blows with no referees around to save him. As I shower, I let the hot water pound against my back, but it does nothing to relieve my anger.

Maybe I’m taking it out on him… I have had a shit day. But then I remember the way he talked about Brooklynn, and I decide that I didn’t take anything out on him that he didn’t deserve.

After I dress, I sit on a bench and wait for the game to end. It ends a few moments later, and judging by the excited way everyone walks into the locker room, we’ve won. Well, thank fuck for that, at least. I don’t get to relish in the win because Coach screams my name from his office, and I know I need to face the music.

It’s almost as if I can hear the drums as I march toward the office. He is good and pissed, his face almost purple by the time I walk in and close the door behind me. Although, I shouldprobably leave the door open so that everyone can hear because I know they’re straining right now.

“I should be pissed at you, but I’m not,” he begins, taking me completely off guard.

He clears his throat, then leans back in his seat. His face is still a little purple, so I’m not sure what is happening.

“Coach?” I ask.

“I’m pissed at the other guy. He used something that he knew would get you and kept goading you. But that doesn’t mean you should have let it get to you. That shit was on you, Westwood.”

He’s right. I don’t want to admit it, not in a million years. But I dip my chin. That’s all I can give him to let him know that he’s right. I let that asshole get under my skin. It’s a sensitive subject, especially today.

My birthday.

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