Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(48)

Who, at Christmas dinner, announced I’d be working under him next year. Something I don’t remember agreeing to, but then again, it’s never stopped him before.

When I brought this up with him after everyone had left, it turned into what might be our biggest blowout yet. Resulting in him threatening to cut me off. And if there’s anything I know about my father, it’s that no threat coming from him is idle.

This was my final warning.

Locking myself away in my ivory tower seemed like the only logical thing to do afterward, if only to escape reality down the mindless rabbit hole of TikTok.

It’s close to midnight and I’m in my third hour of doing just that when a text notification pops up at the top of my screen.

Oakley: Merry Christmas.

I haven’t heard from him since he left my apartment a couple days ago, and I’ve been doing my best not to think about what it might mean. Especially since he left us both hard up and aching when he pulled his body off mine and drove home to his parents.

I didn’t ask him to stay, and from the way seeing his name on my phone screen makes me grin like an idiot, it’s probably a good thing.

I’m falling into this a little deeper than I should allow myself to.

Me: Same to you.

His response is almost immediate.

Oakley: How’s it going with your parents?

Me: Exactly as expected.

Oakley: That bad?

Me: Well, apparently, I start working with Dad in June, though I have no recollection of making any agreement with him.

Oakley: So it is that bad?

Yep, sure fucking is. But I don’t really feel like vomiting all my feelings about Dad’s ultimatum to him via text, so I turn the conversation on him.

Me: It’s fine. How’s it been with yours?

Oakley: The usual. A lot of extended family came over, since we usually host Christmas. Logan being an absolute terror any time hockey was mentioned. Which is often when Dad and Coach are in the same room.

I frown, reading the name I don’t recognize over again. But no matter how hard I think on it, I can’t seem to place it.

Me: Logan?

Oakley: My younger brother.

Wait, he has a brother?

He’s never once mentioned him in passing. Talking about families isn’t something we’ve done until very recently, but I feel like it’s a topic that would’ve come up by now.

Me: Why did I think you were an only child too?

Oakley: Because I might as well be. When your family has generations of hockey players, but you have no interest in the sport despite years of being coaxed into giving it a shot, you tend to disassociate yourself from said family.

I wince, knowing exactly how it feels. Trade hockey for the de Haas family business, and it’s the exact same thing I’m going through at home.

But at least Logan’s family gives him a choice in how he wants his life to go.

Me: Ouch. I feel for him. Black sheep unite.

Oakley: LOL you would probably get along. He’s as moody as you are. Too bad he would also hate you on principle for being a hockey player.

Me: Moody? I think you have me confused with someone else. I’ve been a ray of fucking sunshine lately.

It’s true. I’ve been a lot less cranky lately, and in part, it’s thanks to him. But information like that is best kept to myself.

Oakley: Yeah, you’re right. I’m probably thinking of the other teammate I’ve been messing around with who loves to make my life hell.

Me: Don’t lie, you enjoy it.

I’m expecting some witty retort or straight-up denial. This is Oakley we’re talking about; he’d probably deny enjoying spending time with me until his dying day.

But I get an unexpected response instead.

Oakley: It’s been weird not seeing you.

My heart hammers against my rib cage a little harder as I reread the text a couple times, hating how much it’s making me smile.

I know exactly what he means, though, because I’ve been feeling it too.

Me: Missing me already, Reed? At this rate, I’m not sure you’ll be able to survive ten days without me.

Oakley: It doesn’t have to be ten days.

My blood heats and my stomach rolls as anticipation courses through me. Because he’s not saying what I think he’s saying. There’s no fucking way.

But I type out my response, just to be sure.

Me: What do you mean?

I wait for what feels like an eternity while the three little dots start and stop on the bottom of the screen, my mind racing all the while.

Finally, a reply pops up.

Oakley: I was thinking we should meet up. Gives you an excuse to get out of the house for a while at the very least.

A smirk spreads across my face.

I was planning on going back to my apartment tomorrow as it is, not wanting to spend any more time here than necessary and risk the chance of Dad bringing up quitting hockey again.

But I’m not about to tell Oakley that.

Me: You do miss me.

Oakley: Not at all.

Me: Liar.

Oakley: Think what you want. I was only taking pity on someone in need. You know, in the spirit of the holidays.

Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.

Me: Nice try. Christmas is over.

Oakley: Not for another 23 minutes.

A glance at the corner of my phone screen reveals he’s right. It’s still Christmas Day, but only by technicality.