Page 2 of Heart on Ice

“I think you should leave,” Issy says, glaring at me as she struggles to keep her composure.

I take a step toward her. “No. I think you need me.”

Issy rears back as if my words slapped her. “Like hell I do.”

What the hell am I doing?This is her father’s funeral, but now I’m angry about the past and I can’t stop myself. “You’re right, you don’t need anyone,” I tell her as I run my hand through my hair. “But maybe I need you.” The words are out before I realize what I’ve said. An overwhelming sense of grief hits me as if someone is sitting on my chest on a two-hundred-pound boulder. I can’t breathe. I try to hide it, but I’m failing as a sob rips from my lips. “I miss him.” Issy’s face softens for the briefest of moments.

Alberto was like a father to me, especially as my own father left a long time ago, thinking a family was holding his hockey career back. He never became anyone great in the league. He was a solid player, but that didn’t change the fact that he never came back for his family either. He filled his life with women and booze until he died many years ago, which we found out through the news.

“I can’t be the one, Pierre, not today, not now, not ever. I need to leave. I can’t be here with you.” Issy shakes her head, unable to contain her sob as she walks toward the door.

She’s right. But I thought, for one day we could put all the past behind us and honor her father. “You’re good at doing that,” I bite back, the wave of anger lashing at my conscience.

Issy stills before whirling around, the grief suddenly vanishing, it’s replaced with her own anger. “Excuse you.”

I chuckle darkly as I take a couple of steps toward her. I’m guessing today is the day I decide to poke into our past, a past she won’t ever talk to me about. “At least this time you’re not running halfway across the world to get away from me.”

Issy gasps. “Fuck you,” she yells, taking a couple of hurried, angry steps toward me. “How dare you say that to me?” she hisses, poking a hard finger into my chest.

Ouch.

“Today isn’t about you, which I know might be hard for Mr. Hockey Superstar to appreciate.” She continues to push her finger into my chest.

“It’s not about your hate toward me either.” I scowl at her. “Would you stop poking me,” I snap, grabbing the offending hand and moving it behind her back so she can’t bruise me anymore. Unfortunately, that brings her dangerously close to me, the closest she has been since our breakup. I’m six foot five and she’s only five foot five, and the height difference between us has never felt this large until now.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” she barks at me before punching me in the chest with her free hand. Does she forget I’m a hockey player? I’m an immovable object.

“No,” I tell her.

“You arrogant fucking asshole, let go of me,” she yells as she huffs and puffs. Her cheeks are bright red with anger as she continues to push herself against me. “Just let me go,”she pleads, her punches becoming weaker against me. “Please, Pierre.” She hiccups on her tears.

Fuck I’m an asshole. What the hell am I thinking? She doesn’t deserve my anger, not today. It hurt when she left me all those years ago, especially because she’s never let me apologize to her. I needed her to know how sorry I was for fucking up so badly. She’s right, I am a self-centered asshole.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her ear.

“I don’t want you to.” She sobs.

“I know,” I tell her, letting her hand go as I cup her face and wipe her tears away.

“Let those tears out. You need to let them out. Otherwise, you’re going to drive yourself mad.” I didn’t when my own father died, and instead, I took my anger and grief out on the opposing teams. It was great for the fans, not so great for my mental health, not when the golden boy of hockey got into trouble for punching another team’s fan when I was drunk. That was before Kitty. I cleaned myself up before her, that moment was my rock bottom and unfortunately, I had mine publicly. Issy relents for the briefest of moments as I wrap my arms around her. “I’ve got you,” I whisper again as I pull her into me, and this time, she doesn’t fight as she breaks down.

“It’s not fair,” she mumbles against my chest. “I told him he needed to look after himself more. Why didn’t he listen? Why did he leave us?”

I stroke her hair. “Your father was stubborn. It runs in the family.”

“He didn’t have to die. It was preventable,” she says, looking up at me, those brown eyes red rimmed with tears, and she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Sometimes it’s not. Your father had an aneurysm, there was no way of predicting that.”

Issy shakes her head. “I told him to stop drinking coffee, to have a better diet to …” her words catching on a sob.

I hug her tightly again. “Your father loved you girls, and he would have done everything in his power to not leave you, but sometimes the universe has other plans.”

“I’m not strong enough to deal with this world without him,” she confesses.

I look down at her. “You are the strongest person I know, Isabelle Alessi. Your father loved you. He was so proud of you. Anytime we talked he would tell me about everything you were up to, how many new clients you had brought over to the agency. How many multi-million dollar deals you secured, that you didn’t take shit from any of the guys at work.”

“He told you all that?” she asks, sounding surprised.

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