Page 74 of On Thin Ice

The first sob escaped before I could stop it.

I buried my face in the pillow, biting down hard to muffle the sound. Ugly, broken sobs shook my whole body.

I cried for the fourteen-year-old kid who’d just wanted someone to love him.

I cried for the man I’d become, still chasing the same thing.

And still failing.

I cried until my chest ached and my throat burned, and there was nothing left but a shaking wreck of a person lying in the dark.

I cried until there was no more fight left in me.

Some time later, I rolled onto my back, staring blankly up at the ceiling, my face wet and my heart hollowed out.

My duffel bag lay half-packed on the floor, forgotten, just like me.

I wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

I couldn’t.

I was too broken to move.

CHAPTER17

ETHAN

Scalding water beat down on my shoulders, but it didn’t do shit to rinse the stink of tonight off me. I scrubbed my skin raw, like maybe if I rubbed hard enough, I could wash away the memory of the way Bell had looked at me … like I wasn’t worth the dirt under his shoes.

His words slammed into me again, as fresh and vicious as when he’d first uttered them.“You don’t have anything. You’re alone and miserable.”

I braced my hands on the tile in front of me, bowing my head between my shoulders.

He hadn’t said it to be cruel. I knew that. He’d said it because he meant it.

Because it was true.

All night, I tried telling myself I was protecting him. Told myself that Bell was young, naive, and impulsive, and he didn’t understand how the world worked. That he didn’t comprehend what being with me would do to his career. He was just coming into his full potential, and I wanted to keep him safe from the shitstorm that would erupt if anyone found out about us.

But really, all I’d been doing was protecting myself.

Because Bell already knew how ugly the world could be, had personally experienced all the ways in which it would try to break you, and he’d met that hate full on, his head held high with a defiant “fuck you” for anyone who tried to tell him he couldn’t be who he was.

Couldn’t love who he wanted, regardless of what equipment they were packing.

So no, I hadn’t been protecting him at all.

I’d been trying to protect myself at his expense.

With my forehead pressed against the shower tiles, I pictured him on the other side of the wall packing his shit. Getting ready to leave. Breaking apart again.

A whimper bubbled up from my throat as I recalled every night we’d spent curled up together on the sofa watchingSportsCenteror studying video footage for upcoming games, Bell tucked against my side like he belonged there. Every morning when he refused to let me leave the house without one last kiss. Every laugh, every touch, every look that made me believe—even if just for a second—that maybe I could finally have something good.

The panic hit me hard and sudden, and I gasped for breath, my chest heaving like I’d just skated a triple overtime.

I shut off the water, grabbing a towel and dragging it over my body with frantic, impatient hands. My skin was burned raw from scrubbing, but I barely felt it through the panic clawing at my chest.

If I didn’t fix this, Bell was gone.

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