Page 6 of On Thin Ice

“What?”

“You heard me.” But Finn was recovering faster from the surprise, because he seemed strangely sure now. “Help me. Make me a better goalie. You were one of the best to play the game, and IknowI could be better, but I . . .” Finn trailed off.

He’s not your problem, he’s not your problem, he’s definitely not your problem. You’ve got enough of those on your own . . .

“No,” Jacob said. He’d wanted to reject the suggestion more gently, but in the end all that came out was that terrible bark.

Finn didn’t look fazed though. “You could help me,” he said.

Hecould. But helping Finn would mean a whole lot of other things. Like getting back on the ice, regularly. Likeseeing himregularly. And while Jacob had no idea if this recent and verymessy attraction was reciprocatedandhe’d always believed in his own ironclad self-control, he was not going to risk it.

There were so many other,better,people out there who could help Finn.

“I can’t,” Jacob said firmly.

“But—”

“No.”

Jacob had wanted this awkward conversation to end but he was still disappointed—in Finn but more in himself—when Finn took in his last rejection, shot him a venomous glare, and then stalked off.

“Fuck,” Jacob muttered out loud.

Now the fatherandthe son hated him.

Chapter 2

Finncouldn’tbreathe.

He’d learned to live like this most of the time. The inescapable pressure digging into him, not just with its weight but withclaws. Some days were worse than others. And today was a bad day.

His dad’s words, sent innocuously over text, were a litany in his head, over and over, undeniable and unacceptable.

You’re lucky you have such a great offense behind you.

You’re lucky you have such a great offense behind you.

You’re lucky you have such a great offense behind you.

Morgan Reynolds didn’t have to say the rest. Finn could hear it, even louder and even clearer.

You’re lucky they’re fucking bailing you out, because you can’t do it on your own.

Would it have been easier tonotfollow in his dad’s footsteps?

No question.

But in a sweetly painful twist, Finn actually loved playing hockey.Wantedto play hockey, not just to make his dad happy or proud, neither of which he thought he’d actually done.

At first, coaches had always wanted to put him in his dad’s center position, but he’d had no feel for it. Then they’d decided to try him on defense, until one day in his early teens, when he’d stayed late at the rink, helping a friend out who was perfecting a specifically angled shot.

His dad had come to pick him up—one of the few times he’d actually beenpresentin Finn’s life, ironically—and the next day, he’d marched right over to the coach and told him that if he didn’t put Finn in the goal, he was stupider than Morgan thought he was.

Finn had become a goalie that day.

The joy he’d experienced finding his right place on the ice had been short-lived, and sometimes Finn felt like he was chasing it every single day, every single practice, every single game.

He strode back and forth in front of the bar, wishing he was anywhere else. But he’d learned well enough that there wasn’t a place to run that was far enough.

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