Page 12 of Shattered Ice
Even outside in the sharp, chilly October air, I can still feel his stare, like hooks under my skin.
My phone buzzes.
Zoë’s name flashes on the screen. I answer, pressing the phone to my ear.
“You little traitor,” she says, her voice loud as ever. “Do you know how boring Elm was without you last night? I was forced to dance with econ majors.Econ, Clara. I suffered.”
I huff a laugh, brittle but almost real. “You’ll live.”
“No, I won’t. You owe me. And don’t think that gets you out of plans for the rest of the week—”
“I already told you, I’ve got tutoring on Wednesday,” I cut in.
“And study hall Thursday. God, you’re a hermit. Bring Hale to Elm. Let’s see how he acts when it’s not his territory.”
“Not happening.”
“Coward.” The line goes dead.
Genny: Ignore her. But text me if she kidnaps you. Again.
I smile, the first real one since I sat down with Adrian. But it fades fast. Underneath it all, I can still feel his eyes on me. This was supposed to be simple. But he had looked at me like he saw things I hadn’t meant to show. I don’t know if I can solve him. And I don’t know if I want to.
Chapter 8
Adrian
TheBriarcliffathleticcenter’sdesignated study hall smells like desperation and dry-erase markers. The air is thick and recycled, the fluorescent lights hum with a flat, institutional buzz, and the chairs are molded plastic atrocities designed to punish the spine. It’s a cage, plain and simple. A holding pen for high-value assets who can’t be trusted to keep their own grades up. I hate every fucking thing about it.
I drop my gear bag by a chair in the back, the thud echoing in the tense quiet as the rest of the team files in behind me, a low-grade current of resentment rolling off them in waves. This is Addison’s latest power play, a response to the compliance report that landed me in this mess. Now, the whole team pays the price.
Calder slumps into a chair and immediately puts his feet on the table. Gio starts a rhythmic, annoying tapping with his pen. Rylan is already scrolling on his phone under the table, thinking he’s slick. They act like this is just another inconvenience. They don’t get it. They don’t have my father’s voice in their head, a low, constant threat reminding them that failure is blood in the water.
The door opens and Coach Addison steps in. The room goes silent.
“Listen up,” he says, his voice cracking through the bullshit like a stick across ice. “Midterms are three weeks away. Eligibility is not a suggestion; it’s a requirement. If your GPA drops, you don’t play. I don’t care if your last name is Hale and you score a hat trick every game. You willnotbe a liability to this program.” His gaze sweeps the room, landing on me for a fraction of a second too long. “Don’t test me on this.” He nods to the front of the room. “My daughter is your proctor. You will show her respect. Any issues, you answer to me.”
He leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and the pressure in the room triples.
At the front desk, Talia Addison looks up from her clipboard. She has her father’s serious eyes but none of his overt menace. She radiates a quiet, unshakable authority that is somehow more intimidating. A spy in the camp.Great.
And that’s when I see her.
Clara Harrington sits at a small, designated “Tutor” table near the front, perpendicular to Talia’s desk. She’s not looking at me. She’s meticulously arranging a small stack of textbooks, her movements precise and controlled. My gut clenches, a hot, territorial spike like a skate blade digging into ice.What the hell is she doing here?
Then it clicks. She’s not here for me. She’s a library resource. For the whole fucking team. The thought of Rylan or Gio walkingup to her, leaning over her, asking for her help, makes my jaw ache.
She’s supposed to be my problem.Mine to solve. Mine to fight.Not a public utility for my teammates to paw at.
A freshman defenseman, looking lost, is the first to approach. I watch, my focus narrowing to a blade as Clara’s expression softens almost imperceptibly. She listens, nods, and points to a line in his textbook, her voice too low for me to hear but the tone patient, calm. He walks away looking relieved. I hate the soft edge of patience in her voice. It doesn’t belong to him.It’s mine.
My eyes drift across the room to Declan. He’s in a corner, as usual, lost in a thick history book, his posture a study in stoic concentration. His pen skitters under Talia’s desk. She picks it up and holds it out.
“Reid,” she says softly.
He takes it, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second too long. He stiffens. She blinks, and the moment snaps.
My attention snaps back to the front of the room as Rylan gets up. He saunters over to Clara’s table, leaning against it with a lazy smirk.
