Page 8 of Fresh Ice
Alonso jerked away. “Don’ttouchme.”
They both froze, Levy unsticking long enough to step away and raise his hands. “Sorry.”
Alonso shook his head. He was so tightly strung it felt like he could snap at any second. “It’s fine.”
There was a long moment of silence as Alonso spaced out, self-hatred bubbling in his gut.
Why was he such a goddamn freak? Why couldn’t he be normal and score some goals and—
He was snapped out of his obsessive spiralling when Levy pulled him by the back of his shirt.
“Come on, let’s go,” Levy ordered.
Alonso stumbled after him. “What the—”
“We’re going for ice cream and chilling the fuck out.”
Alonso could have definitely resisted a lot more, but he was tired, and, honestly, ice cream didn’t sound half bad.
Levy took him to Ralph’s, ordering a chocolate chip cookie dough monstrosity while Alonso stuck with strawberry and pistachio.
“Holy shit,” Levy said with his mouth full. “This is so good. Try some.”
“I’m okay.”
“Dude. Try some.”
Alonso capitulated, stealing a spoonful. “Mmm, yeah. Nice.” He tilted his own ice cream towards Levy, who took some readily.
“Yeah, but mine is better.”
Alonso snorted. “Pretty sure it’s not a competition.”
“Anything can be a competition if you put your mind to it,” Levy teased.
Alonso snorted. “You must be used to losing then,” he dared to say.
He peeked at Levy, wondering what his reaction would be, but he just laughed and bumped their shoulders together as they wandered down the street.
The silence between them was surprisingly companionable, lasting until they’d finished their food and Levy’s mouth was no longer occupied.
“Your parents were here during our first game, right?” Levy asked.
Alonso tensed. He didn’t like talking about his parents, but it was a perfectly innocent question. “Yeah, but they didn’t stay long. Too far away from Alberta.”
“I get that.”
“Yours were here for a while, weren’t they?” Alonso had instinctively avoided meeting them, making sure he was out of the house when they visited the apartment. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it, only that the idea of meeting anybody’s parents made him uncomfortable.
“Yeah, it was bomb. They’re in Minnesota, so not exactly close. It was nice to have them here for a while,” Levy said with a small, warm smile.
“That’s cool.”
Levy side-eyed him. “Are you close to your ’rents? Your dad calls you sometimes after games, right?”
Alonso looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?”
Levy raised his eyebrows, probably at Alonso’s tone. “I hear you say hi to him before you disappear into your room. I’m not, like, listening in or anything. Promise.”
