Page 58 of Cold as Ice

“Malcolm?”

“Hey, Dad,” he said, stopping under a tree, shielding himself from the worst of the drizzle.

“Everything okay?”

His father’s concern was not surprising considering that Malcolm didn’t call much, especially in the middle of the week, or at night.

“I’m having a problem,” Mal said.

“A hockey problem? An injury? Or a school issue? Your grades not up to snuff?”

Like his grades had ever been anything but perfect. Mal had done everything he possibly could to ensure they were.

“No. Nothing like that. An . . .interpersonal issue,” Mal said.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Answering him without saying a word.

Whyhadhe called his dad for advice on Elliott? His dad would tell him to just keep white-knuckling it out, but he couldn’t. Hecouldn’t.

“I . . .uh . . .I just can’t figure out why someone’s acting a certain way towards me.” It was not really true. Deep down, Mal knew why. What he didn’t understand was whyhim? Why wouldn’t Elliott just give up and move on? There was nothing special about Malcolm—or at least, there was nothing special about him that he believed Elliott might actually value.

“Have you asked them?”

Mal nearly laughed. Muffled it just in time. Began to pace back and forth under the tree. “That’s a thought.”

“If you want to know something, Malcolm, you know you need to ask. To use your words to communicate.”

What if I used something else to communicate?

“I know.” He paced some more. “But—”

“There are nobuts. No exceptions. Man up and talk to them.”

But Mal didn’t want to. He didn’t want to address it. He didn’t want to shine a spotlight on the elephant in the room. Because if he did, Elliott would invariably want them to do something about it, andGod, Malcolm didn’t know how they could.

Correction. Howhecould.

If he’d called Jane, she’d have told him to man the fuck up, tell Elliott, and let themselves get carried away.

Ironically, even though his father had no idea he was a virgin, his advice was similar.

“Malcolm,” his father added sternly, “you don’t usually have an issue with shirking away from what needs to be done. Remember you’re the man I raised.”

Oh, he remembered alright. He couldn’t fucking forget, ever.

If he’d ever had a pipe dream of being different, he didn’t knowhow.

“So just . . .just go and ask him.”

“Malcolm,” his father chided, “that’s what I just said. If he’s not willing to answer, then he’s not worth your time or your energy.”

Something in his tone reminded Mal too much of that night.

The night he’d discovered that the guy he’d crushed on so fucking hard, that he’d thoughtmightreturn his feelings, had only been leading him on for a joke.

His father had let him cry for five minutes. No more and no less. And then had set him down and reminded him of the difference between men and boys.

Reminded him of what he was working so hard for. Hockey. A career. Building something he could be proud of.

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