Page 10 of Icebreaker

Coach wasn't finished. He handed Mark the spent bottle and continued his praise: "And let's hear it for the rookie! Quinn stepped up big time. That's how you enter the big leagues."

I passed on the champagne and grabbed a bottle of protein water instead. Quinn approached me with a confident stride. It was time to show I could be a cheerleader when required. "Nice job out there, not bad for a first game."

"Thanks. It means a lot coming from you, and your shot? Legendary." The intensity of the game had not dimmed his enthusiasm.

"Keep that focus, and remember how you recovered for the end of this game. Do that every time. Sounds easy, eh?"

"Piece of cake." Quinn laughed, and then he turned to join his teammates in more celebration.

As the festivities wore on, I gravitated toward the edge of the room, a quiet observer. Shared stories of past victories punctuated with loads of laughter washed over me. I lingered longer than usual, letting some of the warm sensations seep into my bones.

Gradually, the celebratory chaos subsided. My teammates headed off for the night, their voices echoing down the hallway. I sat and savored the quiet settling over the room like a soft blanket.

Before long, only Quinn and I remained—the final two stragglers. I sat with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. The adrenaline from the game was gone, leaving only aches and a strange, hollow sensation.

Quinn fiddled with his gear, packing and unpacking. His restless energy continued to crackle in the air. As he worked, he hummed under his breath. It took me a moment to place the tune. When I did, it hit me hard.

"Bridge Over Troubled Water" was my mother's favorite song, and my dad played it every time he felt down, as if the lyrics held the key to coping with his grief. Hearing it so many years later, coming from Quinn, felt like a sign or perhaps a cruel joke.

"Interesting choice of tune," I commented, more to myself than him, but it was loud enough that he noticed and tensed as he turned.

"You know it?" he asked.

"Heard it a lot as a kid. Dad said it was one of Mom's favorites every time he played it."

"Yeah? That's very cool. It was my dad's favorite song. He would try to sing along, but he couldn't hit those high parts." A warm smile lit up Quinn's face.

He pulled his bag onto his shoulder, ready to leave, then paused and turned back toward me. Those eyes that usually sparkled with mischief were earnest and sincere. "Hey…thanks again for everything today. I needed that verbal slap on the ass out there. I'd gotten tangled up inside my head."

My chest tightened, hearing the vulnerability in his comment. I hadn't seen that side before. It was a crack in the irrepressibly sunny disposition. I hesitated, not quite sure what to say.

"Yeah? You came back from it. That shows character." I returned to my gruff voice. "Keep up the good work. It's a long season ahead."

Quinn smiled softly, more intimate than his superstar grin. "I will, and I'm counting on you to keep me in line, old man."

He held my gaze longer than necessary before hoisting the bag higher on his shoulder. As he turned to leave, I watched him go with a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. Pride, protectiveness, and maybe curiosity felt both dangerous and exhilarating.

Long after Quinn disappeared from view, I felt the presence of his smile. I shook my head and tried to drive out the unwelcome thoughts and feelings.

The effort wasn't successful. As I finished gathering my gear, the last strains of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" faded from my mind, and weariness took over.

The muscle aches and hollow sensation in my chest were familiar. They were the price I paid for playing hockey, the only thing that gave me purpose and made me feel fully alive.

As I sat alone in the locker room, the ghosts of my past crowded closer. They made the cost feel even higher. The weight of my father's expectations, my mother's absence, scars of betrayal, and even Quinn's sunshiny smile all pressed down, making it difficult to breathe.

I closed my eyes and tried to fill my lungs with oxygen. The acrid blend of sweat and disinfectant was the smell of home or the closest I'd ever known. The rink and locker room were my sanctuaries, where I could lose myself in the game's intensity and forget the rest of the world.

But, as I sat there and remembered the sound of Quinn's laughter, I couldn't shake the sense that something had changed. I was skating on thinner ice than before.

Maybe it was the song and the unexpected reminder of the mother I'd had for too few years. Or it was the rookie. Most likely, it was more about the passage of time and the wear and tear on body and mind.

Whatever it was, I knew I couldn't outskate my personal demons forever. Eventually, I had to confront them and the emotions I'd buried so deep in the ground.

For now, I couldn't think about that day. I had to concentrate on tomorrow and the new challenges it would bring me. I'd face them the only way I knew how—with my head down, skates sharp, and my icy heart locked away from the intrusive world.

Chapter four

Quinn

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