Page 36 of Ice Cold, Red Hot
“No, but it isn’t your job to make him want more. That’s on him.”
Nat got a glass of water in the kitchen and then slipped back into her room, where I heard her laughing. Evan. I didn’t hear his voice, so she must’ve been on the phone.
How nice that must be, I thought. To laugh with someone so easily. To have a simple relationship based on mutual attraction. Without all the… everything.
I put myself to bed, letting darkness meet midnight both inside me and around me.
The next morning I got up to find Nat about to head out the door.
“Griff’s waiting downstairs. We’re doing pancakes. You want in?”
I forced a smile. “No, I’m good.”
Nat stared me down for a long beat, her eyes taking in more than I wanted to show her. “Yeah, okay. Well, text me if you find yourself doom-stalking his socials.”
“Shut it.”
Nat raised her hand to her mouth, blew me a kiss, and headed out.
I made a cup of coffee and pulled the blanket over meon the couch, flipping open my laptop. I guided my cursor to the folder I’d gotten halfway through grading before Ethan’s offer. When I clicked, nothing happened. I tried several more times, but I was locked out. I’d already lost access.
I closed the laptop and set it aside, pulling the blanket up around me like armor.
CHAPTER 17
SHEPHERD
Practice was brutal.
Coach was on me constantly during drills, and nothing I did was good enough. Not for him, not for me. Nothing I did fucking mattered.
And during scrimmage? I was benched. I sat there, hands wrapped around my stick like it was some kind of lifeline, watching my team tear up the ice without me.
Every slapshot, every shift—they didn’t need me.
The worst part? I knew I deserved it.
Coach didn’t even look at me when he called lines. He just skipped over my name like I wasn’t even there. Like I was already gone.
“Keep your legs moving, Griff!” he bellowed from across the rink. “Goddamn it, Wheeler, get your head in the play!”
But me? Not a word. Not even to yell.
The guys glanced my way between drills. No one said much. No chirps, no locker room shit-talk. Just careful looks. Like I might snap and go after one of them too.
I kept my helmet on and my mouth shut, pretending I didn’t care.
But watching Griff steal the puck and fire it into the net like it was nothing… watching our freshman center take a position that was mine all last year… yeah. It felt like getting gutted in slow motion.
Coach finally blew the whistle and barked, “Hydrate. Back in two.”
I stayed put on the bench, jaw clenched.
Griff skated by, tapping his stick on the boards. “Hang in there, Ren.”
I didn’t answer.
Hang in there?
