Thin ice, p.1
Thin Ice, page 1
THIN ICE
NICHOLE GREENE
Copyright © 2023 by Nichole Greene
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Enchanting Romance
Editor: Victoria Hadley
Created with Vellum
For anyone who doubts themselves,
you are worthy.
CONTENTS
A Note from Nichole
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
If you loved Abby and Brody, let me introduce you to Fia and Massimo
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Nichole Greene
A NOTE FROM NICHOLE
Dear readers,
I usually have a lot more warnings for my books. This one has parental emotional neglect and a terrible stepfather but is otherwise free of triggering content.
Writing this book was a breath of fresh air for me. I’ve described it as a cloud of cotton candy drizzled with sriracha because while it’s sweet, it obviously contains the level of spice you’ve come to know and love in my books.
Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
BRODY
Hot, raspy breaths and the sound of my hockey stick breaking against the cinder block wall fill the locker room as I fight like hell to calm down. Being goaded into a fight by my lifelong rival and accidentally smashing my elbow into the ref’s face was not on the agenda for the first game of my senior season. I rip my helmet off and toss it beside my broken stick.
“Fuck,” I yell to no one. The metallic tang of my blood fills my mouth as I lick the split in my lower lip. Bright red splotches of blood from my nose dot my jersey as well, the red contrasting against the bright white.
My chest heaves as I press the heels of palms to my eyes, willing myself to calm down. I knew this game was going to be a problem as soon as I saw the schedule. I try to focus on what my sister always tells me, deep breath in and deep breath out. I imagine every muscle relaxing, beginning at my toes and moving up my body, starting over every time my vision starts to turn red around the edges again.
By the time the game ends, I’m changed and sitting on the bench, waiting for the ass chewing that is undoubtedly coming my way. Jason, my roommate and co-captain, comes through the door first. I can barely bring myself to make eye contact and feel the disappointment coated in pity.
“Bennett,” the angry voice of Coach Carr booms through the locker room. “My office. Now.”
A couple of my teammates give me slaps of encouragement as I start the death march to Carr’s office. Jason stops me with a hand on my chest, his deep brown eyes crinkled with concern.
“It’ll be fine. Just the first game of the season.” He gives me a slight shove and turns away, back to the job of stripping out of his uniform.
As soon as I step out into the hall, I’m swarmed by the college sports press. I mumble a few ‘no comments’ but keep my head held high as I walk down to Coach’s office. The door is cracked, and I see him pacing back and forth with the phone held to his ear.
“I know,” he says before pausing to listen. “I understand.” Another pause. “I’ll tell him. Thanks.” The receiver slams down on his phone, the impact ringing through my ears.
Just as I’m about to knock he turns and sees me.
“Get your ass in here.”
“Coach,” I say as I dip my head in greeting.
“Care to fill me in on what the fuck that bullshit was out there?”
Not really.
“I fucked up. I let Waters get to me.”
“What is it with you two? Every time you’re on the ice things devolve past what’s acceptable.”
“How much time do you have?” Because it started in kindergarten and most recently involved him getting my sister wasted and almost drowning last winter.
“You know, I honestly don’t give a fuck. What I do give a fuck about is that my co-captain is out for the first eight weeks of the season.”
My stomach drops as bile shoots to the back of my throat. Eight weeks of my senior season gone. My chances of being drafted into the NHL shattered.
I drop my chin to my chest as he continues.
“You are going to be at every practice, at every game with a fucking can-do attitude. If I tell you to Zamboni the ice with your tongue, you’ll fucking do it. You’re also looking at some other consequences from the athletic department. I don’t know what those are yet; they’ll call you in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
I have a headache this morning, but at least it’s not from alcohol. Jason is standing in front of the refrigerator with the door wide open as he chugs orange juice straight from the bottle. His dark gaze follows me as I shoulder past him into our small kitchen. I grab a glass, because I’m not a heathen, and hold my hand out for the juice.
“Where did you go last night?” he asks as he hands it to me.
I skipped the party last night and drove out to my favorite lake. The leaves have mostly fallen, but it’s still too early for it to ice over. I just sat there on the hood of my truck thinking about how big of a fucking mistake it was to let him under skin.
“Big Pine.”
“Any ice yet?”
“Nope.” I drain the glass I just filled. “I’m out for eight weeks.”
He swings around, eyes wide. “Eight weeks? It’s our senior season.”
“I know.” I scrub a hand over my face. Thank fuck I don’t have any Friday classes because I wouldn’t be able to handle it today.
“The draft,” he says quietly.
I can see every thought and feeling Jason has flitting across his face as the news sinks in. We’ve been planning our college career together since we signed at Pullson. This program is consistently at the top of the central division and a funnel for the NHL.
“I know.” I hang my head. “I fucked everything up.”
I feel his hand on shoulder as I brace my hands against the counter. “We’ll figure out a way. You’re too good not to be drafted. There’s got to be some kind of damage control.”
“That might not even be all of my punishment. I have to be in the AD’s office in an hour.”
Jason grimaces because we all know what a hard ass our athletic director is, even if we respect the hell out of what he’s done for the rest of the athletics programs here. I’m dreading it. I grab a banana off the counter and take a bite, there’s not enough time to make a better breakfast.
I leave him in the kitchen to grab a quick shower. Luckily, I beat him in a game of rock, paper, scissors and ended up with the bedroom with the en-suite bathroom. I flip the shower on and check out my reflection. There’s some slight bruising under my left eye and a scab on my lip, but I look fine otherwise. My nose was already slightly crooked, so who knows if any damage was done last night. Waters only got a few punches in, but they were solid.
The shower only takes five minutes but finding something decent to wear takes ten. I know he won’t appreciate me rolling in wearing sweats and a hoodie, even though I’m hitting the gym right after. I settle on a navy henley and dark wash jeans.
The training complex is only a ten-minute drive, but with every passing second, my stomach grows heavier. All the guilt and shame and anger I have for myself compounds as I park my truck and head toward the athletic offices. A petite blonde passes me in the hall looking all sorts of pissed off, but I’m too focused to notice anything else about her.
Adam Cole used to be a tight end for the University of Michigan, and his son currently plays hockey for the Blackhawks. He’s still got the aura of someone who will kick your ass if pushed too far. It’s made him damn good at his job; he understands both sides of the coin with college athletics, talent and money.
His office door is open when I reach it, so I knock on the metal frame. He looks up and gestures to a chair.
“Close the door behind you and sit down.” He waits until I’m sitting and for a very uncomfortable silence to build. “You fucked up last night. First game of the season and televised on ESPNU.”
“I know, sir. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your teammates. They’re the ones you let down.”
“I have. I will.”
“Good. Coach said he pulled you for eight weeks. It was a smart move to get ahead of things. I think I’ve come up with a solution that could go a long way to help clean up your reputation, too.”
“I’m all ears.”
“There’s a program at the ice arena across town for kids. Just basic skating lessons. You’re going to be volunteering Sunday mornings and Wednesday n ights. I already cleared you from practice during that time, and Coach is on board. Post on social media about it, really play it up. Everything is about optics from here on out.”
I nod, even though it feels kind of disgusting to use something like this just for optics. I’ve never taught anything to anyone, but how hard can it be to strap some skates to a bunch of kids and let them go crazy on the ice? It’s going to be a cakewalk.
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY
Nothing feels as good as gliding along the ice with music blasting in my earbuds. I’m not worried about choreography. I’m not worried about my infuriating stepfather or school or the pressure of my next competition. No, it’s just me, the ice, and my blades working together to expel all my emotions in a healthy direction.
Volunteering to teach kids how to ice skate has been a dream the past few years. I was so grateful when Veronica, the manager of the local community outreach program, asked me to take over. Every ten weeks a fresh group of kids show up ready to learn. It’s so fun to watch them go from unsure, wobbly little things to having races by the end of the term.
So far, it’s just been me teaching everything and setting the pace of the classes. After trying a few different things, the first year I found the perfect formula for each term. Being a type-A, color within the lines type of person I haven’t deviated from it.
Now, my fucking stepdad has gone above my head and tossed some trouble-making asshole hockey player in the mix. So not only will I be teaching the kids, but I’ll be also babysitting a grown man. I’ve tried to put it into perspective, I’m doing a good thing, helping my family, et cetera. Maybe it’d be easier to swallow if my family showed up for me and my dreams as much as they did for my stepbrother. But they didn’t, and they won’t.
My Olympic dreams are too far-fetched for them, especially when Tanner is already making a name for himself in the NHL, and I’m on the edge of aging out for my sport. Every year my competition gets younger while I remain stagnant on the edge of where I need to be to achieve my dreams. If they would have put money into my passion like they did for Tanner, I could have already been an Olympian.
The lights inside the rink are still off, only the early morning rays of sunrise slant through the windows, painting the ice with pink light. It’s my favorite time of day and having the keys to the arena makes it so convenient to squeeze an extra hour before I head to campus and start my day. At least until someone comes along and pays for the time I’m able to use.
I stop by the exit off the ice and do a few cool down stretches before sitting down on the bench and taking my skates off. After popping my earbuds out and taking a look around the quiet space, I lock everything up and drive to campus.
I like to arrive to my classes ten minutes before class starts so I can get a seat close to the front. I have a propensity to people watch so it helps me, especially in large lectures, if I’m in one of the first rows. Plus, ‘if you’re on time you’re late and if you’re early you’re on time’ is how I was raised. There’s usually only a handful of people who arrive before me, even professors are usually a few minutes back.
I pull everything out of my bag that I’ll need, my laptop, a small planner, a pen, and a pencil, just in case. I had to squeeze this class into this semester as my final elective, it’s an upper-level anthropology course. While the content is fascinating, the professor is a hard ass, and the workload is much more than I was anticipating.
“Hey girl,” my friend Hazel says as she sits down beside me. “How’s it going?”
“Just living my best life,” I joke, watching her dig through her nightmare of a backpack, rooting around for everything she needs. “You ready for the test this week in econ?”
“Fuck,” she says as she blows her chestnut brown bangs from her face. “I completely forgot so the answer to that is no, I’m not ready.”
“I’ll send you my notes and if you time Thursday you could come over to my apartment and have a study sesh.”
“That’d be amazing. Thank you so much.”
We met our freshman year when she lived across the hall from Jackie, my best friend and current roommate, and me. Her roommate that year basically lived at her boyfriend’s frat so she would always come hang out with us.
“No problem.”
“Jackie told me about your stepdad.” She winces, knowing how strained my relationship is with my family. “Do you know which player it is?”
“Does it matter? They’re all the same idiot fuckboys just with a different shell,” I mumble, just as the professor begins her lecture.
A blast of cool air sends the stack of permission slips I’m skimming through fluttering off the front desk at the ice rink. The excited voices of my next dozen students fill the lobby as the driver and volunteer from the center lead them in like little ducks. They range in age from four to seven.
I already had rental skates and helmets lined up alphabetically and ready to go. The skate helpers are lined up on the ice in case they want to use them to get comfortable, but I don’t enforce either way. I want their confidence to build in whatever works for the kids individually.
My eyes move up to the clock above the front door, noting the time and that the happy elbows puckboy is late. I’m not surprised, but I am annoyed. Entitled prick probably isn’t taking this seriously at all.
I almost hope he doesn’t show up at all. That would give me an excuse to tell Adam that it didn’t work and the guy didn’t take it seriously. That thought cheers me up, back to having my class and not worrying about working with anyone else.
Any relief I felt before quickly evaporates as the door flies open and a giant hurries through. His wavy, brown hair is windblown, and his hazel eyes are slightly crazed. The cool air has turned his cheeks just the slightest shade of pink. His body fills the space, wide shoulders showcased in a long-sleeved Under Armor shirt and fucking joggers that hug his thick thighs. His skates are tied together and thrown haphazardly over his shoulder.
His lips tilt in a crooked smirk as I feel the heat of his gaze, equally interested in me. So I scowl and point to a clipboard.
“You’re late. Fill out those forms and meet us on the ice.” I turn and motion for the kids to follow me, giving them a warm and comforting smile.
I’m three kids and pairs of skates in when I feel his presence looming over me.
“I’m Brody.” He holds a hand out for me, which I ignore.
“You can start at the other end of the line and work your way to the middle.” I tell him.
He hesitates over me. “So we can touch them and stuff?”
I stop mid-lace and look up at him, incredulously. “Of course you can. How else is a four-year-old going to lace up ice skates?”
“Right.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just don’t know shit about kids.”
A gasp falls from the little girl in front of him. “You said a bad word.”
“Fuck.” His eyes widen as another chorus of scandalized gasps erupts. He turns bright red and looks down at all of us. “I’m sorry, bad habit.”
“Just start lacing skates.”
“Cool, cool.” He nods and moves down to the little boy at the end of the line, kneeling in front of him to start lacing up. “What’s your name?” he asks the boy.
“Paul.”
“Hi Paul, I’m Brody.”
“You need a swear jar.”
“What’s that?” he asks, pausing to make eye contact.
“My mom has one. Every time she says a bad word, she puts a dollar in and then when it’s full she takes us somewhere fun.”
