Page 7 of Jesse and the Ice Princess
Roman dated a French student sophomore year and now threw out French phrases randomly. Jesse used to think it was funny for a guy who could barely speak his own language.
"You're obnoxious, Rome."
"Want me to prove your kingship?" He waggled his eyebrows. "I could call half the girls in the school right now and ask them to come here to hang with you. They would."
"That doesn't prove anything other than the fact I treat them better than the rest of you fools."
"No, actually, you don't." He tapped his chin, smearing tomato juice on it. "Katrina. Sasha. Emily. Olivia. Need I go on?"
"No." Jesse's jaw clenched. His friend wasn't wrong. He'd had a lot of girlfriends in his high school career, and he'd hurt each of them when he moved on, looking for something he was sure he hadn’t found yet. His record for a relationship was two months.
"See." Roman waved the knife in Jesse's face. "You don't have your nickname because of how nice you are. You're the star of the hockey team—"
"A team that doesn't win."
"Do you think that matters? When we tell people in the future that we grew up playing hockey, do you think they'll ask what our record was?"
Jesse sighed. No. But he wanted more. Just once this year, he wanted to blast victory music in the locker room and have the town know they weren't complete failures.
Roman wasn't one to give up. "Let's circle back around to Mrs. Morrison. Did you see how she treated Charlotte?"
He did. As they'd walked down the tunnel, Mrs. Morrison barked orders at Charlotte like a drill sergeant. It was hard to reconcile Charlotte and her mom with the happy guy he knew as his coach.
"Maybe that's why she hates you."
"Who hates Jesse?" Will asked, running in to steal a piece of tomato from the counter.
"No one, kiddo." Jesse ruffled his hair.
Roman leaned down. "The coach's daughter."
Will's eyes rounded. "Why would she hate you?" He said it like it was the most impossible scenario he could imagine. His big brother wasn't perfect.
"It's nothing, Will. Go set the table, yeah?" He turned to Roman. "You eating with us?"
"I cooked, so yeah."
"Dude, you chopped. I cooked."
"Potato, potahto."
Jesse shoved him. "Go help Will. He can supervise you."
"Low blow, Carrigan." Roman backed away until he shoved open the door with his foot.
Jesse turned back to the meat and stirred in the seasoning. He couldn't imagine having a mom yell at him like that. He remembered his mom as the kindest person he knew. His dad might struggle with distractions, and he was mentally absent in some ways, but he loved his kids.
He refused to allow his brothers and sister to grow up without someone looking out for them, so he'd assumed the role. But he would never order them around or treat them like they didn't matter.
Was there someone telling Charlotte Morrison she mattered?
He drained the meat and tried to shake the icy glare of Coach's daughter from his mind. He'd always found something so lonely about her. Coach bragged to the team about each medal his daughter won, but he was too busy coaching them and running the Gulf City rink to attend her competitions. He'd once admitted as much to Jesse during one of their many heart-to-hearts.
Cassie appeared, not saying a word to him as she gathered the rest of the taco ingredients from the fridge. When it was just the family, she relaxed and talked with them. But whenever anyone—especially Roman—ate dinner at their house, she retreated into herself.
Thinking of Charlotte and the harsh words he'd heard from her mom, he sidled up beside his sister. In a way, she'd been the only person to go through his mom's death with him. The twins were too young, and their dad didn't let his kids in on his grief.
Cassie looked up at him. "What?"
