Page 116 of Born of Ice

“When it was a new number calling. Mr. Finnegan, who informed me that my father passed away and left me something. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t give a damn fuck about whether he lived or died but I did, and it ate me alive. Suddenly, I was exploding with anger, grief, and guilt for never picking up. I didn’t even know what that man wanted to say but I felt like the lowest of lows for not hearing it. I felt like I was him. The man I despised. Angry and vile and treating those around me as he treated me and that made me even sicker.

“A never-ending fucking loop,” he finishes with a humorless laugh, sending a shiver over me.

If I didn’t already know how remarkable Exton was, this would prove it to me. He cares. He cares after all he lived through. He’s killing himself over not talking to the man who abused him because he still cares.

The little boy in him. The one who never got his share of love, he still cares and it messes with his head.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he does.

Trapped. That’s how he felt. Trapped in his own head and when a predator gets trapped, he lashes out.

“One wrong look and my beast was out for blood, ruining my love for the game and turning it into another outlet I hated,” Exton confirms my unspoken thoughts, but another one strikes me right away.

“You’re not angry around me. Or at least not anymore.”

“That’s because it’s you. You have that effect on me.”

“Am I an outlet?” I ask, my tone hushed, my eyes searching his for the real answer.

“No, Electra, no.” He lets out a heavy, pained sigh, his hands reaching for my face and pulling it to his. Kissing me with gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. “You are my salvation. The light at the end of my dark tunnel. The calm in my storm. You are home, Electra. You are more than a person I love. You are someone who sees me, sees my darkness even though I never told you about it and you don’t run away from it. No, you take a whip and slash it in half.” He huffs out a tired laugh. “I need that. Need you.”

“You got me. I’ll be your calm,” I whisper, kissing him back with matching softness. “But I think you’ve got hockey too—” Before I can finish my sentence, he’s already shaking his head.

“No, I can’t. I’ll just keep ruining everything. They are doing great without me. They don’t need me and my issues.”

“Well, aren’t you the nice one. So, I get to deal with your issues but them you’ll spare.” I send him a faux glare, inserting a bit of lightness into the heavy conversation.

Exton chuckles, rubbing his nose against mine. “See, this is why you are the only one who can. You make everything feel lighter. Let’s go. We’ll be late to the game.” He gives me one last kiss, clearly done with this conversation.

With one last look at the letter, Exton moves, getting out of the vehicle and opening mine, leading me into the arena in silence.

For someone who had no problem fighting for me to overcome my acceptance of the cards I was dealt, he refuses to do the same.

I guess it’s our thing. Fighting for the other when they are down, and I have no problem doing that. I have no problem shooting pucks into him to wake him up. I have no problems driving him around the ice, making him feel. I have no problems beating at his door until he cracks, until he runs the way I did.I have no problem bringing that unopened letter to him every morning until he deals with his grief.

“What are you doing?” Exton shoots up from his seat, completely lost to the game before us.

He was in the middle of explaining the rules to me because the only thing I know about hockey is that the men playing it are hot. That’s it. To which he gave me a long look that said “You are so going to pay for that” and I might’ve had to hide my excited smile from him.

We are just five minutes into the first period and even to my uneducated eyes it’s obvious that the game is heated. Which is only confirmed by Exton’s curses and stiff posture as he can’t stay seated and keeps jumping up every three seconds and shouting from all the fans around us.

When we got to our seats, Exton grumbled about how close to the teams they were but as soon as the lights dimmed and the anthem played, his every thought, every cell in his body tuned into the game. It was trained on the rink. As if a part of him was out there with them. As if his feet were kicking against the ice. It was mesmerizing to watch.

He might say he’s done. He may believe that, but his heart is out there, just like mine was. Exton gave answers to my questions on autopilot in between the shouts much like the one he just threw out.

“MOVEEEE!” he shouts again, his face growing red as he points to the guy standing in front of Sava who is moving from side to side around his net, watching that small puck like a hawk. I’m assuming the guy he’s shouting at is the defenseman and clearly Exton is not happy with him.

But no one can hear him. Not when they slash through the ice at speeds I’ve yet to see.

It’s incredible! How they could possibly be so fast, so agile on that ice with all the gear, chasing such a small thing is beyond me. I might’ve made fun of Exton and his posture, but the truth is hockey is just as difficult and way more dangerous than figure skating.

Every time someone is slammed against the boards, I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth in fear.

Maybe I should rethink my whole idea of having Exton back out there. He’s so much safer with me. Yep, I can keep training him and he can skate with me.

I’m about to grab his hand and run out of here when he jumps once again, screaming bloody murder, his fingers pulling on his hair. “I’m going to rip those legs off your damn body, Fooley! Move them! Protect Sava, you bloody idiot!”

Okay, maybe they are not all friends here…but he’s not the only one yelling and just ten seconds after that a loud buzz sounds through the arena, the screen above exploding with fireworks, the word “GOAL” on it followed by the name Thunders and a very clear 0-1 on the score board.

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