Page 62 of Melting the Ice

You’re something past fucked, if you know what kind of notebook he uses for notes.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I just . . .” Brody didn’t do almost anything awkwardly, but he was shrugging awkwardly now.

“You just what?” Dean asked.

“I had a weird meeting after practice with my coach. Coaches, actually.” Brody made a face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Brody madeanotherface. “Not really, no. We’re here to study, aren’t we?”

“Are you gonna be able to study if you don’t lay it out there? Talk it over?” Dean wanted to know.

Brody shrugged, still looking unsure.

And normally,yeah,Dean would be the first fucking guy to say,leave me the hell alone, but Brody hadn’t done that to him, ever. Even during his whole pity party after the last game. He’d sat there and listened, even though it was crazy late at night. He’d, Dean realized later,stayed upfor him. Waited for him to get home.

Even watched his football game even though he didn’t give a shit about football.

But Dean was beginning to realize, that was what being Brody’s friend meant. He gave a shit abouthim.

Other people did too—Wes was the most obvious example Dean could think of—but he’d never felt such a strong desire to turn it around and give that consideration right back.

“Come on,” Dean said, “tell me about it.” He wasn’t the most persuasive guy in the universe; words had never been his thing. Actions were. And he knew action wouldn’t work here, even as he felt the pull to reach under the table and just touch Brody.

“Coach figured out that I’ve been feeling . . .unmotivated,” Brody admitted.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.”

Brody looked away. “I was hoping that nobody had realized it,” he said. “I keep thinking it’s gonna come back—the way I felt about hockey before I got injured—but it justwon’t.”

“What did you do when you got hurt last year?” Dean asked. Because he didn’t know what else to possibly say.

“I don’t know, rehabbed the knee after I got cleared by the surgeon. Did everything I could in the gym to stay in shape—get inbettershape.”

Dean had had a front row seat, a glorious three-dimensional view, of how fit Brody’s body was, just the other night. But he wasn’t going to say it, so he nodded instead.

“And I guess . . .” Brody paused. “I did other stuff, too. Focused a lot on my classes, in a way I can’t, really, when hockey’s happening. Did extra reading. Dug into some lab stuff that interested me.”

“So you filled that time with your science shit,” Dean said.

Comprehension was dawning on Brody’s face. “Yeah, I think so. I can’t just . . .despite what you might think of me, I’m not just gonna sit on my ass and donothing, just ’cause I can.”

Dean heard the unspoken end of Brody’s sentence.Just ’cause my parents are rich.

Yes, maybe he’d thought that once, but he hadn’t believed that was true in at least a month, now.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry I ever thought that was true.”

“Oh.” Brody looked even more surprised.

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding. “You work hard. It shows.”

“I must, if you’re willing to be friends with me,” Brody teased lightly.

“So, you had time last year to really dig into something that interested you. And it only interested you more, and now you come back, and you’re playing hockey again but you’re . . .” Dean didn’t want to put words in Brody’s mouth so he trailed off. Hoping that Brody might finish his thought for him.

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