Page 20 of Break the Ice
And then it happens.
Bam.
The crack of impact silences everything.
My head snaps between the ice and the jumbotron as Christina slaps a hand over her mouth. “Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.”
Too much blood.
Jayden’s on his hands and knees, crimson blooming beneath him on the white ice while two Comets players try to get him upright. He can’t find his balance, limbs shaking like a baby deer’s. The hush rolling through the arena swells with every failed attempt to get him standing.
The medics rush out, skates carving deep lines in the ice as the ref waves them through. A stretcher follows close behind.
Oh God.
My chest caves as the players pull back to give the medics room. Only the Comets goalie lingers close enough to hear what they’re saying, crouched low, nodding fast, his glove tapping his stick against the ice like he’s praying.
Slow applause starts somewhere behind us as the medics finally get Jayden onto the stretcher, his head lolling, his arm twitching weakly in acknowledgment of the crowd before they wheel him off the ice. The cheers rise like a tidal wave, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart.
The patch of blood by the Fury’s goal glistens under the rink lights.
My throat swells tight. Too tight.
It looks just like the Table of Sorrow back home.
My blood on the ironwood slab. My wrists tied so tight the rope burned through skin. The Muzzle of Grace biting into my mouth until my own breath scalded my lips. Verse after verse carved into the wood beneath my body while Evelyn Sylkes whispered prayers over every lash.
Bleed your sin, Finley-James. Bleed until He forgives you.
“You okay, babe?” Christina whispers, barely audible over the noise.
Yes.
No.
The lashes on my thighs burn and itch, fire racing along my nerves like it’s happening all over again.
“I-I need the bathroom,” I manage, shoving past knees, stumbling into the aisle as the cheers start to fade behind me.
My pulse hammers up the back of my skull by the time I reach the concourse, the crowd blurring into faceless shapes as I shove through toward the restroom signs.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead when I push into the bathroom, metal stall doors swinging on weak hinges as I stagger into one and drop the bolt. My knees nearly give out as I brace my hands on the wall, breathing hard,too hard, the pounding in my ears drowning everything else out.
I barely make it before the nausea wins.
It takes forever to get myself under control, palms flat against the cool metal divider as my breathing finally evens out. My whole body hurts—shoulders, thighs, the rope-burned skin at my wrists, my throat where Presley’s grip left its mark. I feel flayed open, inside and out, every nerve raw.
“There’s only eight or nine minutes left of the game if you want to hang out in here.” Christina’s voice floats in from the doorway.
I shake my head even though she can’t see me, flushing the toilet and forcing my hands steady under the cold tap.I’m safe. I’m with Elijah. This isn’t Havenview. Nobody here can hurt me.
“These games are fucking brutal,” Christina mutters as I splash water over my face.
“Do you think Jayden’s going to be okay? There was so much blood…” My voice trembles despite my best effort. “And he was nice to me. He didn’t have to be.”
“I’m sure he’s going to be fine. These guys are built like tanks.” She leans against the counter, arms crossed, still watching me like she’s waiting for me to break again.
The heaviness won’t leave my shoulders. It drags at my muscles as I force myself upright, wiping my face with a rough paper towel. “We should get back.”
