Page 5 of On Thin Ice

He is not your business or your problem. He is definitely not a solution either, or a very convenient and attractive distraction from all the shit you’re carrying around.

If it happened—and it wasn’t going to—Morgan would take it as just another insult in a very long list. He’d fly to Portland to beat Jacob’s face in and probably drag his adult son, who knew how to make his own choices, back to New York by his ear.

“You guys are . . .uh . . .good this year,” Jacob said. “You’re playing good.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Haven’t caught you at a game, yet.”

He wasn’t about to tell Morgan’s son that he was still struggling to return to an ice rink. Not that Finn was necessarily his father’s biggest fan either, but it wouldn’t be too surprisingif that knowledge slipped out. Even inadvertently, Jacob didn’t need Morgan to know just how much he was struggling.

“I . . .uh . . .I’ve been following on TV. And online.” That wasn’t a lie. Sometimes when the silence of his house felt like it was going to eat him alive, he switched on a game.

“Then you know I’mnotplaying good,” Finn said flatly.

“That’s . . .no,” Jacob stammered, guilt washing over him. Had he paid attention to Finn’s play? Well, yes, because he’d been a goalie too, and also because he was Finn. He’d been interested.

He hadn’t thought Finn was really taking advantage of his good instincts, but he hadn’t believed he wasbadeither.

And suddenly it occurred to Jacob why Finn might feel that way.

“Morgan’s not—”

“Don’t give me thathe wouldn’tbullshit. You know exactly how my father is. More than anyone else,” Finn said bitterly. “All the way across the country. Going to college instead of going into juniors, like him. Different position. Doesn’t matter. I can’t escape him.”

This is not your problem.

“I never could either,” Jacob said gently.

“You didn’ttryto,” Finn snapped.

But he had. He’d tried to make nice with Morgan so many times, and a few times he’d thought they’d actually gotten to a decent place, sharing late-night drinks after a game or even once having dinner a few years back. And then they’d play again, and once they were back on the ice, everything always changed.

The difference between him and Finn was that he could escape Morgan Reynolds. He never had to think about him or probably ever talk to him again, if he didn’t want to.

Finn didn’t have that luxury.

“Well, from one ex-goalie to another, I don’t think you’re playing bad,” Jacob said. Maybe it wouldn’t make any differencewhat he said. Maybe Finn wasn’t his problem. But he couldn’t turn away from all that obvious pain without saying a goddamn thing.

“Sure,” Finn scoffed. He stood, and for a split second, Jacob was sure he was going to stalk away, and that would be the end of this weird conversation.

But then Finn turned back. “You really don’t think I’m playing shitty? I know we’re winning, but—”

Jacob’s heart ached.

He didn’t want it to, but he felt the painful echo anyway.

“You’re not. But listen to your instincts more, okay?”

“What instincts?” That bitterness was back in spades.

And nowJacobwanted to fly to New York and beat the shit out ofMorganfor making his son feel this way.

“You got ’em,” Jacob said.

“Then help me,” Finn said.

It was the last thing Jacob expected him to say.

It seemed it was also the last thing Finn had expected to say, too, because the shock on his face mirrored exactly how Jacob felt.

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