Page 83 of Icing Hearts

He pushes a forceful breath through his lips and wipes a hand down his face. It’s still beautiful, somehow. The raw emotion only makes him better. I long to taste that emotion straight from his lips.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go shower. You okay, here?”

I shake my head. “I said we should get you cleaned up.”

Realization dawns and Tory raises his eyebrows in surprise. His mouth opens and closes several times. “Together?”

I nod, tracing his wrist bone with my finger. “Just a shower, though. I don’t want to be alone right now. I—I want to be close to you, specifically.”

Tory almost smiles. Almost lets both corners of his lips quirk north instead of one side twitching slightly. “Was that hard for you to say?”

“Yes.”

He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling. “You are just…” he pauses, and I brace myself for whatever he’ll say next. Tory laces his fingers with mine and pulls me up from the bed. “Just so charming.”

I let him lead me to the bathroom and realize how much we both need it. The ends of my hair are crunchy with chlorine. And his hands. All that sand. I can only imagine what he did, and I’m praying he’ll be okay to play tomorrow. With the way he’s looking at me, it seems like hockey is the absolute last thing on his mind.

Tory kisses away a wayward tear, and I kiss his palms before pulling his shirt up and over his head. We keep the lights low and I’m certain he’ll pounce at any moment. But Tory is a model in restraint. Gently taking my face in his hands and kissing me long and slow. His shorts go next and I’m about to remove the ones I’m wearing when we both seem to remember I’m only wearing his shorts and shirt.

When I hesitate, he turns the bathroom light off, only leaving a small sliver of light through the cracked door. The little that I can see of him in the steaming shower is…magnificent. Sometimes I think guys with long hair are handsome but then they get their hair wet, and I see their forehead and they aren’t so cute anymore. Not Tory. Tory has a nice forehead, and he looks just as delicious when I push his hair back.

He lets me dab away the sand and blood from his hands and doesn’t wince. I let him wash my hair. Tory only puts the conditioner on the ends. We kiss each other everywhere, and it’s sweet and beautiful and feels like coming home.

Tory wraps me in plush hotel towels. We turn out the lights, and we sleep the most peaceful sleep I’ve ever slept. I didn’t realize how poor my sleep has been the past few years. How unsafe I’ve felt.

Until the streaming, too-high sun wakes me the next morning. And pounding on the door.

Chapter 51

Victory

Coach has a vein popping out from the center of his red forehead. He isn’t sunburnt. I think he spends every free second going over game footage or video chatting with his kids.

We’re walking to Coach’s room. He busted in, yelling about how we’re late for the bus and in huge trouble.

“Tory,” Clara whispers from beside me. Her voice trembles, and she squeezes my fingers, interlaced in hers.

“Is there anyone we can call who will pretend to be your dad?” I ask. A last-ditch effort to salvage the situation.

“I’m sure there is but I doubt either of us will be doing the dialing and we don’t have enough time to warn someone,” she hisses.

“Okay. It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

She tugs in his shirt. “Tory, I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be okay, Clara. I have a plan. I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

She nods as I hold her face.

“You need to trust me, Clara. I’m not even asking. I need you to trust me. Period. I have a plan. I’m done letting him dictate my life.”

“Who, Coach?” she asks right as they enter the room, and I don’t have time to answer.

Coach informs me that we’ll be calling our parents in order to share the compromising position we were found in. Perfect.

My parents are up first. My dad laughs and hangs up on me. Guess that backfired. Next up is the chief. This is the phone call I take a deep breath for.

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