Page 65 of Iced Out
LUKE
I’d driven aimlessly last night after talking with my brother—just thinking. Trying to figure out my next move. And I had. I was still angry about the way she’d left a year ago. Maybe she couldn’t tell me everything—but that had to end. Her reaching out, sharing with me what she had, meant something. A step toward rebuilding what she’d torched when she walked away. And maybe a bridge for us to stand on now. Maybe even build something new. Goddammit, I wanted that. We just had to figure out how.
The morning at school hadn’t gone the way I’d planned. Every time I got close, she bolted. Or had Avery flanking her, a shield at her side.
Then I spotted her outside the locker rooms right before gym. She leaned against the wall, scrolling on her phone, her posture loose but guarded.
The hallway was chaos. People moved in waves. Laughter, slamming lockers, background noise. But she was still. And alone. No Avery. No exit route. Just her. And a chance.
The guys had been reading my mood all morning. So when they spotted Mila, not much needed to be said.
“I’ll catch up,” was all I gave them.
They nodded, didn’t press, and kept walking. I turned back to her. When I was in front of her, I stepped in close and braced my hand against the wall just above her head, creating a small pocket of space—closed off from the noise, the stares. “Mila.” Her name caught in the air between us.
Her eyes flicked to me. Wary. Guarded. Wounded. All of it captured in that tilt of her head, framed by amber lights overhead.
“I was wrong.” The words were low, meant only for her. “You brought me information tied to my family—and I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have.”
She held my gaze. Didn’t blink.
I swallowed. “I hurt you when you were trying to help. Thought I was being careful—rational. But I didn’t see what it cost you.” My hand flexed against the wall, the fingers at my side curling into a fist to stop from touching her. “And I made it worse. Not better.”
She shifted. Took a breath. “Why the change in perspective now?”
“Because you took a risk.” I kept my voice steady despite the weight behind it. “I can’t undo how I handled it. Only how things happen going forward.”
She studied me then raised her hand slowly, resting it flat against my chest—right over my heart. Her fingers didn’t tremble. They pressed in, steady. Not soft. “Words don’t fix what’s broken.”
“I know.” My voice was rough. “So here’s mine.” I leaned in, just enough to close the distance. My breath skimmed her skin—close, not touching.
I wasn’t blocking her in completely—my body angled, shoulder turned toward the hall. From there, I caught movement as Elise passed. Her gaze flicked to where Mila’s hand waspressed to my chest. She didn’t say anything—just absorbed the moment, storing it as a weapon for later.
“I’m sorry. For not trusting you. For the rejection when you tried to give me information that mattered. For hurting you. I’m not asking for a chance. I’ll just show you what I would do with one.”
Silence swelled. Lockers slammed, feet shuffled, voices drifted. But in our space—just breath and the weight of everything unsaid.
She didn’t move. Then slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine, steady and unreadable.
“Saying you were wrong means something,” she said quietly. “But it doesn’t undo what it did.”
“I know.” My chest tightened. “We should talk. Really talk.”
She studied me then gave a small nod. No promise. Just a maybe.
I took it and ran. “Meet me on the arena roof. Tonight. After practice.”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped out from under my arm and walked toward the locker rooms. I stayed there long after the bell. Because all I saw was Mila.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MILA
Ispent the rest of gym class trying not to think about Luke’s promise. Every whistle, every echoing thump of a basketball, every squeak of shoes against the floor was a drumbeat telling me something had shifted. It wasn't just the apology—it was that he meant it. And maybe that meant we weren’t done.
Teachers droned on in my classes, one after another, but not a word registered. History, English, science—they all swirled in the background while my mind replayed everything Luke said.
Avery had tried—quietly during lunch. She caught my hand beneath the table, asking what had happened. I wasn’t ready to share. I gave her a half-smile and watched the hallway, telling myself later I’d talk. But I didn’t. Not yet.
