Page 13 of Fresh Ice
Alonso ground his forehead into the car window, wishing the cool glass could soothe his building headache. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise to me. You should apologise to yourself.”
Alonso didn’t reply—what was there to say?
He felt guilty for being so relieved when the call ended shortly after.
Alonso was surprised to see they were almost at their apartment. He held his breath as Levy parked the car, but the phone call wasn’t brought up.
Maybe Levy would leave this one thing alone.
They trudged inside the building, climbing the stairs slowly, legs sore from the game. Alonso breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into his own space. He wouldn’t admit it under penalty of death, but nothing calmed him like Levy’s scent in their own home.
“Hey.” Levy stopped Alonso from disappearing into his room with a gentle hand on his elbow. “You okay?”
Alonso couldn’t stand the pity on Levy’s face. “Yep.”
Levy opened his mouth to say more, but Alonso was saved by the bell, Levy’s phone the one ringing this time.
Levy hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted, but Alonso made the decision for him by pulling away and walking into the kitchen.
“Hey, Momma,” Levy greeted. Alonso tuned him out. He already knew Levy’s conversation with his parents would be nothing like the one Alonso had with his father.
A thick, bitter film coated Alonso’s tongue as he wondered what it was about himself that made him such a bad person. It was his own fault he was such a failure, yet he seemed completely incapable of being happy for anybody else.
No wonder his dad went at him after every loss—Alonso more than deserved it. It was a complete joke that anybody thought Alonso could help the Hounds win anything.
Alonso reared away as a phone was shoved in front of his face.
“And this is Olive,” Levy said.
Alonso blinked as the three people on the screen beamed at him—Levy’s parents and who Alonso guessed was his little sister.
“Oh,” the mom exclaimed. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Emmett has told us so much about you.”
Alonso had to take a second to try and figure out who Emmett was before remembering that was Levy’s real name.
Levy shoved his head into the frame. “Mom.”
“What? I didn’t say anything,” Levy’s mom protested, turning her eyes back to Alonso. “Such a shame about today, but you boys have played so well. I’ve been telling Emmett how glad I am that both of you came up at the same time.”
Alonso didn’t know how to reply. He’d assumed Levy had complained about him to his parents after how distant he’d been at the start. The fact that his mom was glad they had each other told a different story.
Levy’s dad hummed in agreement. “You two are lighting up the third line. Should be getting more minutes, in my opinion—you have the most shots on net out of the entire team.” He nodded at Alonso, his soft, friendly face creasing into a smile.
Alonso couldn’t help his knee-jerk reaction, his dad’s voice echoing in his head. “That just means I have the most shots on goal that didn’t go in.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth, regretting snapping at people that were actually being nice to him, but Levy’s parents didn’t seem phased.
“Oh, that’s no way to think—that’s just hockey. Sometimes you do well without getting the results you want, but that doesn’t take away from how hard you’re playing,” Levy’s dad said.
Levy’s mom nodded. “Exactly. Don’t let today’s game make you think differently.”
The rest of the conversation went much like that, Levy’s parents complimenting both of them, asking about what they were eating and if they were getting enough sleep. Alonso was utterly lost—he’d never had a conversation like it. Sure, his mom would check up on him, but his dad would always take over and tell her not to treat him like a child.
Levy appeared more than happy to be babied, though. Alonso had to admit it didn’t feel terrible to have someone ask him how he was doing instead of telling him what he was doing wrong.
No wonder Levy was so cheerful all the time. He hung up with a grin, raising an eyebrow at Alonso.
Alonso was nothing more than a coward, so his first instinct was to go to his room and hide. It felt as though Levy had traipsed into a secret part of Alonso, a place he had kept quiet and hurt and hidden.
