Page 97 of Cold Front
A rush of irritation burned through me, sharp and immediate. “How the hell did you get my number?”
Chase sighed, like I was the one being difficult. “You changed it, yeah, but I have my ways.”
Of course he did.
“And my address?”
“Relax. I didn’t show up at your door, did I?” His voice was smooth, practiced, like we were old friends catching up. “I just heard through the grapevine that you transferred to Michigan.”
I exhaled through my nose. “Whatever this is, I’m not interested.”
“Come on, Eli,” he said, a lilt of amusement in his tone, like I was being dramatic. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“You said it. Bye.”
“Wait.” A pause. “I don’t know why you’re shutting me out.”
I laughed, cold and humorless. “Seriously? After everything?”
“I’ve changed. People change. Can we at least be friends?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. This was classic Chase. Twisting things, rewriting history to make himself the victim.
“You didn’t want to be my friend when we were together,” I said evenly. “You wanted to make sure I only existed in a way that made sense to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“No? You told me I wasn’t really bi. That it was just a phase. That if I was with you, then I was gay, and I needed to stop pretending otherwise. Do you know how fucked up that is?”
Chase sighed. “I was young. I didn’t know better. But I do now.”
“Good for you. But that doesn’t change the way you made me feel.”
Silence stretched between us. Then, softer, “You really hate me that much?”
“No,” I said, and it was the truth. “I don’t think about you enough to hate you.”
Another silence, heavier this time. “Eli, can we ju?—”
I hung up.
I stared at my phone for a moment longer before setting it aside. The past was still there, still trying to claw its way back in. But I wasn’t giving it an opening.
Not anymore.
I was done letting Chase take up space in my head.
CHAPTER37
NIALL
I arrived at the arena earlier than usual, the familiar scent of ice and tape settling something inside me. The air held a crisp bite, not enough to make me shiver, but enough to remind me that winter was creeping closer. The distant hum of the cooling system filled the quiet space, broken only by the occasional creak of the boards shifting and settling. No skates on the ice yet, no voices echoing from the locker room—just stillness.
I liked it this way.
This place had always been my refuge, the one constant when everything else shifted. No matter how much my life had changed, the ice was always there, waiting. But today, I wasn’t here to escape. I was here to face something I had spent three years avoiding.
I found an empty corner in the stands, away from the distractions of the world, and pulled out a notebook and pen. The paper stared back at me, blank and waiting.
