Page 12 of Icing Hearts

Over and over. Again and again. My delicious slice of torment pie.

It’s unfair, and I’m reminded for the umpteenth time that I quite literally never stood a chance when it came to Clara Rachel Larsen.

Her name should be Clara Rachel Amato.

Or I can be Victory Amato Larsen. I’m not picky, and I’d love to get rid of at least one of my stupid names. Speaking of stupid, I wonder if her horrible father is around. Surely, he’ll find out and—if history is any indication— have some very strong feelings about this little display.

She releases my jersey with a hard shove and a hammering smack to the side of my helmet. My dignity blames her violence for the stars swirling in my vision—not the sight of her yelling at me.

Truthfully, I don’t know what the hell she just said to me. But it makes me want to get out here and play the best hockey of my life. And also, maybe the worst, so she’ll get that close and passionate again.

I’m officially adding “find ways to make Charity yell at me” to my to-do list .

Chapter 8

Clara

When we sit down, me on the bench and Tory beside me in the penalty box, both our chests heave. Be it from the adrenaline or the proximity of our bodies, I’d predict his heart is pounding in time with mine. We don’t look at each other for the duration of his penalty. The other team scores twice. The Timberwolves are down: three-zip.

After five agonizing minutes, Tory skates back onto the ice. Not only does he ignore me, he ignores Jermaine as well. The way he turns his emotions on and off is terrifying. If someone was arriving to the game right at this moment, they’d have no clue that Tory had been doing anything other than playing the best hockey of his life.

Watching Tory is like watching poetry on ice. He moves with graceful precision that maintains a certain level of brutality. Whenever Victory steps onto the ice, the crowd grows a little quieter—out of instinct. Even they know that they’re watching something special, even if they do not know him in particular. He carries that sort of power in his back pocket. And he wields it with reckless abandon, never thinking of how it will impact those around him. Because he’s never had to. That’s the beauty of such power.

I think it’s a contributing factor to my sick fascination with him—one of the motivators behind my shameless flirting.

Tory scores. Then, he scores twice more and has two assists. A five-point night for him. We win the game. With Tory back on the ice, it wasn’t even close. If anything, Tory’s erratic start added to the suspense, making the win that much more rewarding. He’s craftier than I give him credit for.

After the game, I throw his jersey into his locker with disgust and walk straight through to the office, knowing he’ll see it as soon as he sits down to disrobe.

Thomas, Clover, and I break down the equipment and clean the water bottles. Several minutes later, we’re tossing the hand towels into an industrial washing machine beside the coaches’ office when we’re jarred by the sound of the office door slamming shut.

For a few long moments, no other sound comes from the direction of the office, but we’re frozen, waiting forsomething. And boy does Coach Anderson deliver. He flawlessly launches into one of the most aggressive verbal lashings I’ve ever been cursed to overhear. Immediately, I know he’s laying into Tory. He talks about leadership and setting an example and college scouts. Above all, he stresses how disappointed he is and that he won’t hesitate to bench Tory and revoke his captain status if he ever pulls another stunt like that.

Tory accepts his fate, and we don’t hear him even attempt to mutter a word through the closed door. That is, he doesn’t say a word until Coach mentions me. My face and neck flame as Thomas and Clover stare at me with eyes as wide as saucers.

“If this girl is going to be an issue for you, I’d be more than happy to find another manager. They’re a dime a dozen in this school. I let you find someone because I trusted your judgment Amato, and now I’m seriously questioning that trust.”

“No,” Tory says with force behind his voice. “Don’t punish her because I was an idiot. She loves hockey, and she’s gonna do a great job. I know her. She’s so excited about being the manager, you can’t do that to her. Don’t you know anything about her…past?” Tory struggles a moment for the right word. A word that means her mom is dead, and her dad is the police chief. It probably means more, but I don’t know how much Tory really knows about me.

Coach Anderson takes a calming breath, but his voice is still gruff. “I don’t care about her situation. I have a team to get to Nationals. Both of you are on thin ice and it’s your fault, Amato. One wrong move and she’s gone, and you’re benched. Got it?”

“Won’t happen again. Can I go?” Tory says curtly. He’s clearly done with the conversation.

Thomas and Clover look down at the remaining towels, pretending to be busy, but enjoying every second of the drama. They must have had a very boring season last year. Before they can say anything, the office door flings open, and the three of us look down at our work while Tory walks by without a second glance.

Once they’re sure he’s out of earshot, both of them grill me with questions. They aren’t convinced that nothing is actually going on between Tory and I. Clover thinks he’s a jerk who wants to keep our relationship secret so he can continue to play the field, and I’m a naïve, idiot who takes whatever he’s willing to offer. Thomas all but nods his agreement—a peanut gallery of one.

As promised, Jasmine and the lunch girls are waiting for me in the parking lot. I hop in the front seat, and someone hands me a burger. I wolf it down, not having eaten since lunch. Even then, I only had an apple because my account got too low, and I refuse to eat one of the conciliatory PB&J sandwiches in front of my peers.

Based on the chatter from the other girls, it seems they couldn’t really tell that Tory’s odd behavior during the game was directed toward me. No one noticed him glaring at me, and they all assume I yelled at him as a passionate fan. They tell me most people in the stands were lamenting the fact that they couldn’t smack sense into him themselves. But I’m still worried about the optics of his behavior, especially if it were to ramp up in subsequent games. While he sounded sincere in his promise to Coach Anderson, I’ve observed this boy for years, and I know he isn’t easily controlled. In fact, he’s virtually untamable.

While we drive, I touch up my makeup and twin Dutch Braids, tied with satin bows in our school colors—ice-blue and red. I left my team sweatshirt in the supply closet and changed into one of my flouncy signature skirts in a floral print that matches our blue school colors. This one is my favorite because it has shorts underneath so I can dance to my heart’s content without worrying about revealing my London britches to anyone. If I get too hot, I can take off my cardigan because I wore a tank top underneath. Basically, I’m completely prepared for anything the night could possibly throw my way.

With Coach Anderson’s threat still echoing through my mind, I’m wary about my behavior at the party. But, I can only control myself, and if Tory is the problem, then removing him from the equation is the solution, right? So, I decide to take an algebraic approach and subtract the constant…by ignoring him.

Chapter 9

Victory

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