Page 7 of On Thin Ice

He’d come all the way across the country, because just going to college hadn’t been enough difference from his dad’s career trajectory. He’d needed to be even farther away. Three thousand fucking miles away.

But what was three thousand miles when a text could cross that distance as easy as breathing?

Breathing,ha.

The expectations settled over him, inescapable and pressing into him, making even taking a deep breath impossible.

Someday, his father liked to say, karma always comes round.

He’d always worried that all this shit, the baggage he carried around because he couldn’t figure out how to set it down, wouldmake it impossible for him to keep playing as well as heknewhe could.

That day was here.

Every game he started, Finn felt like a ticking time bomb.

One day, he’d go off.

One day soon.

“Hey, what’s going on? Everything okay?”

Finn turned and was both surprised—and not surprised—to see that Elliott had followed him.

Surprised because Elliott should be inside, enjoying his new boyfriend, Mal. It had only been a few weeks since the fundraiser, but they’d seemingly settled into the honeymoon phase.

Not surprised because if anyone had an inkling of how he felt, it was probably Elliott.

Elliott would probably be drafted in the first round. He was one of the most promising talents in years. And yet he carried that pressure like he was built to do it, never letting it faze him, whereas all it did was push Finn farther and farther into the ground, bogging him down until it felt like he could barely catch his breath and barely move his feet forward.

It was unfair, but Finn loved Elliott and couldn’t blame him for it.

“No,” Finn said shortly. He didn’t need to go into details, at least with Elliott. He’d know exactly what was wrong.

“What happened?” Elliott put a hand on his shoulder, worry creasing his handsome face.

Finn both wanted to tell him and not tell him at the same time. Ell would understand, and that would soothe some of the ache. But then Ell would also know the depth of his humiliation.

“Dad saw the score from last night and just texted.”

“What did he say?” Elliott asked, frowning.

Finncouldtell him, it turned out, but he couldn’t quite look him in the eye when he did it. He stared instead at his sneakers, at a fraying shoelace. “Oh, just a comment about how lucky I am that I have such a great offense behind me, ready to bail me out every time.”

“Is that really what he said?” Elliott sounded skeptical, and okay,thatwas worse. Now they thought he was all overreacting. That he was a goddamn drama queenanda goddamn mess.

Finn pulled his phone out of his pocket. Let Elliott see it right there, in undeniable black and white.

“Finn,” Elliott said kindly, after he handed the phone back, “you gotta stop letting him matter.”

Finn didn’t know how to even begin to do that. Probably because to everyone else on earth, every other single person in the hockey community, Morgan Reynolds was a goddamn god.

Hemattered.

How was Finn supposed to fight that inevitability?

Anger surged through him—at himself, and at fate, more than Elliott, but unfortunately for Elliott he was going to have to bear the brunt of it.

“Oh? That’s all I should do? Just tell myself he doesn’t matter? ThatMorgan Reynoldsdoesn’t matter? And I’ll be alright? God, why didn’t I think of that before?”

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