Page 51 of Icy Pucking Play

Okay. That’s a good sign. I can do this.

I take the stairs because the elevator feels too confined for my current anxiety level. By the time I reach 4B, I'm slightly out of breath and seriously questioning every life choice that led me here.

But then the door opens, and...and fuck me…hard.

She's wearing my practice shirt. The one that went "missing" from my locker all that time ago. It's paired with flannel pants covered in tiny hockey pucks, and her hair is piled on top of her head in what might generously be called a bun. Her long dark lashes blink slowly up at me.

She's never looked more beautiful.

"Hi," she says softly.

"Hi." Real eloquent, Daniels. "I, uh...brought your pen."

She glances at my empty hands. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't." I straighten my shoulders, clearing my throat. "I actually just...needed to see you. But I do have your pen. And I’ll definitely get it back to you." I feel my heart beating hard and attempt to give myself a little silent pep talk. You can do this.

Something flashes in her eyes. Hope maybe? And a tinge of wariness. Fair enough.

"Come in," she says finally, stepping back. "But I warn you, I'm in the middle of a horror movie marathon and I'm not turning it off."

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to." I follow her inside, trying not to notice that the place is kind of a wreck. "Though I do question your taste in films."

"Says the man who thinks Die Hard is a Christmas movie."

"It takes place at Christmas!”’

"That's not…" She stops, shaking her head. "No. We're not having this argument again. Sit. Watch people make bad decisions in dark houses with me."

I settle onto her couch, hyper-aware of how small the space is. How close she is.

How much I want to pull her into my arms and apologize for being an idiot.

"So," she says, curling up at the other end of the couch, "about today..."

"I'm sorry." The words burst out before she can finish. "I was an ass. You didn't deserve that."

She studies me for a moment. "No, I didn't."

"Clark just...he brings out the worst in me."

"I noticed." She pulls her knees up to her chest, making herself smaller. "Want to tell me why?"

Yes. No. Maybe.

"It's complicated."

"Isn't everything?" She gives me a small smile. "But maybe we could start with why you're really here?"

I look at her—really look at her—sitting there in my stolen shirt, waiting patiently for me to find the right words. Like she always does.

"I'm here because..." I take a deep breath. "Because you see me. Not the Ice Man or the divorced dad or the cautionary tale. And it’s…a lot.”

"A lot,” she echoes. “And that scares you?"

“Fucking terrifies me."

She nods slowly. "Is that why you pushed me away today? Because I was seeing too much?"

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