Page 2 of Off The Ice

“Oh, thank God.” I heaved a sigh of relief, feeling like I could finally breathe again. “Well, honey, I love you, but I’ve got to get back to—”

“I think we need to break up.”

And just like that, the air was gone again.

“W-what?” My lip actually trembled. “What do you mean? I-but we- but… what?”

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, “but I just really think that it’s for the best.”

“For the best?” I repeated numbly. “What’s for the best?”

“For us to, you know… break up,” he explained as if I were an idiot for not picking up on it.

And you know, maybe I was. Maybe I was the biggest, most naïve idiot in the world because I thought, after six years of being with someone, there would be no possible way they’d spring a breakup on me out of nowhere over a phone call.

“Why are you doing thisnow?”

“I’ve just been thinking lately. All my friends are single, and they’ve been giving me a lot of shit for being tied down for so long,” he trailed off. “You know, we started dating so young. I never really got to experience what else is out there. And you didn’t either, right? That’s what I mean when I say I think it’s for the best. For both of us.”

“But we can talk about this,” I pleaded, desperate for something to fix the agony that was tearing through my chest. “We can try—”

“No, Cassie,” he interrupted. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and I’m not going to change my mind. I hope you can understand.”

I nodded, but of course, he couldn’t see that. Just like he couldn’t see the way the tears rolled down my cheeks or the way my fists clenched by my sides until the nails dug into my palms hard enough to leave a mark, all because of his words.

“Okay,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Well, um. Thank you for all that. And, um, good luck out there, I guess?” I laughed sardonically, not sure how to conclude a conversation I never imagined having.

“Cassie—” he said, but I ended the call and then promptly turned my phone off, wanting to be unreachable for the rest of the day.

I closed my eyes, wiping the tears on my sweater before heading back into the battlefield that was my classroom.

In the corner, Julie was scrolling on her phone again while Lilian still sobbed, clutching the sought-after doll she had wanted just moments prior.

“Lil, what’s wrong?” I went over, grateful to have someone else’s crisis to worry about for the moment, no matter how insignificant it seemed to me. “It looks like Kenzie gave you a turn with the doll?”

I looked to where the little girl was playing joyfully with the stallion toy that Lilian had not so delicately rejected.

“Yes.” She wailed miserably.

“What’s wrong then?”

“I want to play with the horse.” She threw herself into my arms, sobbing.

But what were a few more tears on my already sadness-soaked sweater?

Chapter Two

Liam

Iwouldn’t call myself an asshole just because I like things a certain way, enjoy my privacy, and would rather drop dead than engage with some meaningless interviewer who wants to ask about my favorite color, what makes me cry, and—most importantly—what I look for in a woman.

The tabloids, though? They have no issue using that particular label generously whenever my name shows up in some vapid article. Which, unfortunately, is often. Apparently, girls love assholes because—as my teammates so lovingly showed me—I was ranked the number one most, uh,fuckableNHL player across the board.

It was humiliating—and honestly a little dehumanizing. But according to everyone around me, it’s the life I signed up for. As if playing the game I’ve loved since I was a kid entitles the world to treat me like some kind of public trophy.

“Look, another one.” Brody, our goalie, dangled a magazine in front of my face. It had my face blown up and edited to an almost unrecognizable level.

I groaned, skimming the article, spotting a few rumors, one or two facts, and then a handful of blatant lies before I turned my attention back to the photoshopped picture.

---