Page 2 of On Thin Ice

Nick, the other goalie on the Evergreens, said he’d asked him for a training session, but Jacob had said he didn’t do that, and that was the end of it.

Finn had half-expected Coach Blackburn to try to convince Jacob, but apparently he hadn’t. Or if he had, it hadn’t turned out the way Coach B had wanted, and so Finn had never heard about it.

Even his father had only mentioned Jacob’s presence in Portland once.

“You know,” Elliott said again, “youcouldgo over there.”

“Ell,” Finn warned.

“Not to flirt. Or to fight.”

“And here I thought those were your only two modes,” Finn said.

Elliott made a disgruntled noise. “That’s not true.”

“When it comes to Malcolm, yeah,” Finn said, turning the subject onto his friend because that was easier and way more comfortable than thinking about what he might say to Jacob Braun.

Sorry my dad’s such an asshole? Don’t worry, he’s like that with me too?

It wasn’t exactly a state secret, but Finn still couldn’t imagine walking up to Braun and admitting that.

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work,” Elliott said primly.

“So you’re not gonna tell me, then.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” But Elliott was a shitty liar, and from the waver in his voice and the sudden blissful expression on his face, Finn knew there was a hell of a lot to tell.

He hoped that Mal wouldn’t inadvertently break Elliott’s heart—or that they wouldn’t somehow break each other in this mess.

If he needed another reason tonotgo over to where Braun was leaning against the wall, that was it.

It was too complicated. Messy.

Besides, he was right here. If Jacob wanted to do more than just stare,hecould come over and talk to Finn.

It had been a mistake to come tonight. Jacob knew that now. He pushed open the door to the outside and took a deep gulp of fresh air.

Not because of the Reynolds boy, thoughthathadn’t helped, either.

Seeing Finn, looking like a young shadow of his father, had brought back a lot of memories, goodandbad.

But the rink itself had done more than enough. Even the scent of it had brought it all back. What felt like every moment, flashing in technicolor across his memory, good and bad and fantastic and awful.

Moira had told him that it would be good for him to come tonight, but he was pretty sure that when she asked him how it had gone during their next session, he was going to tell her it had been a complete fucking disaster.

He’d dutifully paid his money—all going to support the hockey team, of course, and he’d laced his skates up. Carefully stretched his hip. Gotten on the ice.

It hadn’t been his first time skating since his retirement, not by a long shot, and he’d thought maybe the rink, with its festive atmosphere, would feel different.Better.

It hadn’t.

The moment his blades had touched it, Jacob had wanted to fall to his knees and beat his fists against the ice, in turns thankful and furious.

Relieved and regretful.

Even with six months of therapy and his admittedly great support system, Jacob couldn’t say he was managing any of his feelings about hockey all that well.

He couldn’t imagine what it would be like without Moira and without his brother and his family. Without his agent, Mark. Without Sophie, who handled his PR.

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