Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(66)

He pauses for a beat, and then says, “Eh, maybe not. But what you do need is to get out more. Come with us tonight. Breeze has a friend who just opened a new club in the city.”

Breeze is from Russia originally, but he has a lot of friends out on the East Coast, especially in New York City.

I think about joining them, but in the end, once we’re checked in our hotel, I decline.

“I think I’m going to stay in my room and watch highlights from the last game we played against the Rangers,” I tell Nolan when he calls my room. “There are a few plays I’d like to dissect, maybe figure out how we can do better.”

“Isn’t that Coach’s job?” Nolan replies dryly.

“It’s my job too,” I counter. “I’m captain of this team, remember?”

I’m deflecting, and he knows it. “Whatever, Oliver,” he retorts.

He disconnects, and that’s the end of that.

So here I sit, dissecting footage of plays, and still miserable as hell. I’m still doing all this for Aubrey, still hoping that if I show her all the time she spent with me wasn’t a waste she’ll see that falling in love with me wasn’t a mistake.

She’s bound to recognize that eventually, right?

Of course she is. She just needs time to sort things out. I suspect I’ll hear from her once she sees the light.

Though, I sure hope she comes around before the holidays, which are quickly approaching. If she does maybe we can still spend Christmas together like we originally planned.

That’s what I tell myself day after day.

And that’s what keeps me going—my house of cards, built on a shaky foundation.

But as Christmas nears, and I’ve still not heard a word from her, I finally begin to lose hope.





Moving On Sucks





Life without Brent is hard.

The first thing I do when I’m back at my townhouse is go up to my bedroom and pick up the pillow he slept on after our day of nonstop sex.

Inhaling deeply, I murmur, “Thank God it still smells like him.”

I’ve never been happier that this place has been closed up, preserving all the scents and memories from our visit in October. Even Al is still on the floor, crumpled to where we tossed him in the heat of passion.

I pick him up and laugh. “I can’t believe Brent was jealous of you.” The bright green alligator stares back at me, and I smile sadly. “How ridiculous that he thought you were a real guy, and that Lainey and I shared you.”

I start laughing at the silliness of it, but soon my laughter turns to sobbing.

Curling up on my bed with the stuffed toy held close to my heart, I cry out, “I miss him so much, Al. What am I going to do?”

Depressed, I hole up in my place and do nothing but watch hockey. I immerse myself in the NHL channel, watching every game and all the coverage. What I live for, though, are the Wolves games.

I also monitor every move Brent makes off the ice. It’s as if I’m still his life coach. To my relief, there are no reports of crazy shenanigans, and he plays phenomenal hockey. A few paparazzi shots turn up one night. They’re pics of Nolan, Benny, and Breeze hitting the town in New York City, going into some new club. Nothing looks out of the ordinary; they’re just guys out for a night. Even the club they’re going to looks rather tame.

Everyone is clearly behaving. And it shows in their play. The team holds on strongly to first place in the standings.

The week before Christmas—a holiday I’m not celebrating now on account of my broken heart and the fact that I was supposed to spend the day with Brent—my boss calls.

“It looks like we found you a new client,” he says. “I’d like you to fly out to Los Angeles the first week in January to meet him.”

I’m torn by this news, caught between wanting to move on with life and wanting to stay in this state of inertia where I have all the time in the world to focus on Brent.

“Aubrey, are you there?” my boss asks.

“Yes, yes.” I draw in a breath, then release it slowly. Guess it’s time to move on, whether I want to or not. “LA, huh?” I say with no enthusiasm whatsoever. “Is the new client an actor, then?”

“You know we like to keep those details confidential till you’re actually on the job.”

“Because that worked out so well last time,” I can’t resist retorting.

My boss huffs. “Ms. Shelburne, that was inappropriate.”

If only he knew how inappropriate I really was in Vegas—falling for Brent, f*cking Brent. I almost tell him everything, since it’s messing me up, this keeping it in. But in the end I do no such thing. I simply say, “Sorry.”

He forgives my indiscretion, and we wrap up the conversation shortly thereafter. With that out of the way, I turn on the TV and search for tonight’s Wolves game.

Settling in on the sofa, I watch the man I love play amazing hockey. He scores a goal and racks up four assists, and that’s just after two periods of play.

He’s fine without me. So I should be fine without him, right?

Lots of people go on with their lives with broken hearts.

Brent sure seems to be doing that.

Why can’t I?

By the third period, it’s clear the team will win this game. It takes all I’ve got, but I make myself turn off the TV. It’s the first time I’ve done such a thing since I’ve been back in Chicago.