Page 13 of Cold As Ice

“Tell Morgan…” I hesitated because nothing I could say or do would fix this. But I felt compelled to say something. “Just tell him I said hi.”

She gave me a small nod, waving as she headed to her car.

It felt like a lucky escape, but I didn’t doubt she had questions about where I was coming from and would probably tell Connor the second he was up to it.

As far as I was concerned, though, there was nothing to tell.

It was fun. Madison had been great. Eager and willing and so fucking hot, she’d blown my mind—twice.

But that’s as far as it went.

I didn’t need any distractions, and she haddistractionwritten all over her.

It’s why I hadn’t offered up my correct phone number before I left. Not that she tried to give me hers, either.

It was better this way.

After Fallon, I didn’t need any more complications of the female variety.

I needed to focus on hockey. On getting through the rest of my senior year and graduating, and then figuring out what the hell I was going to do with my life.

Everything else was just white noise.

* * *

“Austin, it’s me,” Rory called.

“In here.”

She appeared a few seconds later, cheeks flushed from the cold. “I brought brunch.” A brown paper bag I recognized from a local coffee shop dangled from her fingers.

“Nice, thanks.”

She moved around the kitchen with the ease of someone who had once lived here, pulling two plates out of the cabinet and placing the bagels onto them.

“Ham, egg, and cheese. Your favorite.” She slid it across the counter to me.

“Thanks.”

Shit, this was awkward.

Since she’d started at LU, the time we spent together, alone, was minimal. But every time we did, an overwhelming sense of guilt flooded me.

Aurora was my little sister, and I’d let her down.

I’d failed her so fucking much that I was surprised she could even look at me.

“What’s wrong with it?” Rory asked, noting the untouched bagel.

“Nothing.” I tried to snap out of it, but it was hard.

Being around her was a reminder of how shitty our childhoods had been.

I’d abandoned her. I hadn’t seen her cries for help because I was so wrapped up in my own anger and resentment. I spent my teenage years believing our mom loved her more and that she was the favorite. I didn’t know…

I didn’t—

“Have you given it any more thought?” she asked, and I stared at her. “Christmas with Mason, his mom, and Scottie?”

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