Page 119 of Break The Ice

I feel sick and woozy. The images of him with that woman swirl in my head. His words slam into me, and I stop. The hurt on her face, the distrust on Kit’s. Callan’s angry accusations.

I’m not welcome.

They don’t want me.

Ryann, Callan, and Kit didn’t stop him. I’m…I should go. I should go home and leave them. They will be better off without me.

I grab my stick, feeling numb and sick. My decision is made. At the end of this game, when the final buzzer sounds, I’ll get on a plane and go home.

Chapter thirty-two

Raider

The game is goingto start soon, but I’m not ready. Not at all. There’s this horrible feeling of impending doom, but that’s probably just the argument I’m having with Wren. Right?

Why did I say that stupid thing to him?

I look up into the crowd and smile despite myself, but in seconds, it falls as I remember everything that happened. Somewhere out there, Kit, Callan, and Ryann are hiding. We decided it was safer for them in a crowd than home alone.

I hope that was the right decision.

This is my safe place. It should be my happy place.

It isn’t. Wren has barely even looked in my direction, and he hasn’t said a word. Missing him is a throbbing ache inside me. I feel like I’m bleeding out from an open wound.

My anxiety is almost explosive. I thought I’d never see him again, but he turned up to warm up and game preparation like nothing was wrong. I was half afraid he wouldn’t. I should go over there and talk to him. My mind goes empty, though, whenever I try. I should say something, anything, to take back those words, but when I look around the ice, he’s not here. I check again, but he must still be in the locker room. He’s avoiding me. I don’t blame him. It’s been like that since we arrived a few hours ago.

I fucked up.

I flick the puck to Waraski. We go back-and-forth, skating and mentally getting ready, except this is the most unready I’ve ever been. Everything’s falling apart. I can’t focus. I miss some easy passes and go left when I should go right.

In fury at myself, I slam my stick on the ice too hard. I stare at the three pieces of my stick in shock. My skin crawls, and a whispered voice echoes in my head.

Ill omens. Unlucky. Portent of doom.

Waraski watches me with wide eyes.

“Raider, buddy, what the fuck is wrong with you? You need to get your head on straight?”

I nod, grit my teeth, and skate to the bench, grabbing another stick and chucking the pieces in the bin. I go back out and try harder. But I get even worse. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s like I’m still a kid learning how to freaking skate and hold a stick.

I look up, desperate for something, anything, to save me. My freak out is getting worse. I’m going to cost us the game. I have to do this. The team has worked too hard, but I can’t even work the puck right now.

Wren skates onto the ice and passes me. We exchange a look that makes my stomach plummet.

I swallow bile and wish the pack was here. Ryann would figure out what’s wrong with him. Callan would be the communicator and smooth over my vile words, and Kit would make everything okay.

And Wren would forgive me. I know he would, and then I’d be able to play with some kind of skill and not humiliate myself and let down the team.

I get up and skate towards the goal, nodding at Bruce. He motions to me, and I pull up to a stop, spraying ice in his direction.

Everything feels off tonight, and Bruce can feel it, too. I can see it in his movements. The entire team is picking up my vibe and side-eyeing me.

Fuck!

I’m almost hyperventilating. I don’t know how to fix this.

“What’s up?”

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