Page 33 of Shattered Ice
“What is that?” she asks. “Wait—$285 for a computer program? That’s highway robbery.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, my voice tight. “It’s required for my Advanced Seminar in Athlete Psychology.I’ll figure it out.” The lie tastes like ash.
“Figure it out how, Clara?” Genny asks, her voice quiet but insistent. She sits on the edge of my bed, her gaze unwavering,seeing right through my facade. “By working another shift? You’re already exhausted. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I’m fine.” The words are a reflex, the armor I pull on without thinking.
“No, you’re not,” Zoë says, her voice losing its usual bubbly edge. She sits next to Genny, her expression serious. “Look, I’ve only got like, fifty bucks to my name until payday, but it’s yours.”
Genny shakes her head, already pulling out her phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll cover it.”
The sight of their generosity—Genny’s casual wealth and Zoë’s fierce, sacrificial loyalty—is a kindness so profound it feels like a physical blow. A wave of gratitude washes over me, so strong it makes my eyes burn. And right behind it, a tidal wave of hot, suffocating shame. My entire life, my one rule has been to never be a burden. Now I am the charity case. The scholarship girl who can’t even afford her own books, taking handouts from her friends. It’s everything I’ve fought against.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, the word catching in my throat.
Zoë frowns. “What do you mean, no? Clara, it’s not a big deal.”
“Don’t say that!” The words are torn from my throat, sharp and ugly. “Don’t youdaresay it’s not a big deal!” I see the shock and hurt flash across their faces, but I can’t stop. The day’s humiliations are boiling over. “I don’t want your charity! I’m not some project you guys need to fix! My life is not some small problem you can solve with a Venmo payment!”
“Clara, we’re your friends—” Genny starts, her voice calm and pleading.
“Then stop trying to buy me solutions!” I snap, getting to my feet, my whole body trembling. “I don’t need anyone’s money. I can handle it myself. I just… I need to be alone right now. Please. Just go.”
Their wounded expressions are a fresh blow. Genny gives a small, sad nod and quietly stands, her usual composure looking fragile for the first time. Zoë just stares at me, her own eyes welling up, and follows Genny out the door.
The door clicks shut. The silence in the room is absolute, suffocating. I’ve done it. I’ve pushed away every person who tried to get close today. I am utterly alone, a fortress of my own making, and the walls are closing in.
I sink onto the floor, my back against the bed, and stare at the glowing number on the screen. The anger drains away, leaving only raw, aching pain and the crushing weight of my own failure. A single, hot tear escapes and traces a path down my cheek. Then another. A choked sob tears from my throat, a sound of pure, ragged despair. I bring the back of my hand to my face and wipe at the tears furiously, my breath catching in ragged gasps.
I’m angry at them, at Adrian, at the world. But the fury burns hottest when I turn it on myself.
Angry for crying.
Angry for being weak.
Angry for finally breaking.
Chapter 19
Adrian
Istandintheempty corridor outside Addison’s office, the echo of Clara’s furious footsteps fading down the hall. Her perfume clings to the air, sharp as smoke in my lungs, the ghost of her defiance burning through me. The air she leaves behind feels cold and thin; the sterile scent of disinfectant is suddenly abrasive. Her words are still ringing in my ears, sharp and clear as broken glass, replaying on a relentless loop.
“I am not your charity case, Hale!”
The force of her anger, the raw, wounded pride in her eyes—it leaves me stunned. My own reflexive anger is instantly extinguished, replaced by a hollow confusion. I’ve had people fear me, hate me, want things from me. I have never had someone look at me with such profound, burningdisappointment. It’s a completely foreign language, and the only word I understand is that I just failed. Spectacularly.
“This isn’t about money, it’s about respect!”
Her voice had been a blade. She could’ve said,Keep your blood money, Hale. I’d rather starve,and it would’ve cut just as deep. The accusation hangs in the air, one I don’t know how to defend against. I just tried to use my father’s primary weapon—money—to solve a problem. To exert control. And it backfired so completely it feels like I’m the one who just got slammed against the boards. The interaction leaves me feeling powerless and, in a way that makes my stomach churn, exactly like him.
Before I can fully process it, the door to my left clicks open.
“Hale.”
Coach Addison is standing in the doorway, his expression a flat, unreadable mask.He saw. He must have heard. There’s no escape.
“My office. Now.”
