Page 11 of Break the Ice
“Escalate it how?”
His brows pull tight. The strain there says he’s as unsettled as I am. He forces a smile that doesn’t convince anyone.
“Do you seriously think something’s happened to him?” Matheo cuts in. When neither of us answers, he drops his voice. “Do you think he’s done something to himself? I mean, he was off after the shit with Tomes, and?—”
“No,” I snap, the word punching me to my feet. “He’s not like that!”
“Nobody’s heard from him since… I didn’t even think he could lose his shit like that.”
“That fuck had it coming,” I bark back.
“Well,” Andersen says, cautious, “I suppose you know Sylkes better than the rest of us.”
“I do,” I fire back, though doubt scratches behind my ribs.
I only know him as far as he lets me. We’re close, sure. We hang out off the ice. There are rooms he doesn’t let anyone into.
I grab my electrolyte water and push up from the table, ready to head upstairs and prep for the game, when the room dips into sudden quiet. Heads swivel toward the entrance. I follow their stare.
Mother. Fucker.
My heart plummets so fast it knocks the wind out of me. Disbelief narrows my vision. Eli strolls in holding a girl’s hand.
I’ve never seen him with a girl. I’ve never seen him hold anyone’s hand. Touch makes him tense.
“Plot twist,” Matheo murmurs with a low whistle.
“Did not see that coming,” Andersen adds.
Dylan leans forward for a better look. “The fuck?”
“Well… shit,” Broussard chuffs. “Who is that?”
I don’t know. She’s beautiful, the kind of pretty that should put a hitch in my lungs. It would, if she weren’t clinging to Eli as if he’s the only solid thing in the room. The last thirty-six hours of worry curdle any appreciation into static.
Eli stops at Coach. “Sorry I’m late. There wasn’t an earlier flight, and?—”
“Upstairs,” Coach orders, standing with a glare that could peel paint.
We were all worried. He looks oblivious. Am I missing something? Did I get him wrong?
“Coach, I need?—”
“Lose the girl and get your ass upstairs. Now.”
He inhales, ready to argue, but the girl tugs his arm. Coach stalks off, shaking his head.
“Where have you been?” Andersen asks.
“Home.”
“Where’s your phone?” Matheo throws at him.
“Dead.”
“Really?” Dylan snorts. “You’re going to stick with the one-word answers?”
“Something important came up back home. I was rushing and left my charger, so I couldn’t charge my phone after it died, and then…”
