Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(93)

His eyes sink closed; only pure anguish etched into his features as his forehead connects with mine. “You really think I want that?”

From the tone of his voice, I can tell he doesn’t. I can’t say I blame him, either.

But I want him to fight me. Fight with me. Because if he does, there’s still a chance. For this to be fixed. That I didn’t fuck this up forever.

To know we’re still worth fighting for.

Because I think we are. I just hope he does too.

It’s only when his eyes open, gaze colliding with mine again, I find the courage to answer as honestly as I dare.

“I don’t know what you want.”

He shakes his head, throat working to swallow. “Well, that makes two of us. I can tell you I don’t want revenge or payback or any of the petty bullshit you just offered me. It’s not worth shit, after all. Something you taught me.”

“Quinn…”

He shakes his head again, eyes darting off to the side as he speaks. “I can tell you what I used to want. Someone who understood my love for hockey. Who liked me for me, not my money or my name. Who would stand up for me. Who was on my side, even if it was just us against the rest of the world. All of which were completely obvious before you.” He licks his lips, and lets out a sharp sigh. “But once this all started between us, I also realized I wanted someone who would laugh at me. Or with me, it didn’t matter which. Someone to challenge me to be better. Who would drag me through the stacks and have his way with me. Who would tell me he couldn’t stand me and then kiss me all in the same breath.”

Every word leaving his lips breaks my heart more, and paired with the broken, raw way he says it, I’m surprised it’s still beating in my chest at all.

Because all those things he said, I can do or I’ve already done. They’re things we are or have together. They make us. And…it gives me hope.

Until he goes and quashes it altogether.

“But most of all,” he utters, his voice shredded and raw, “I wanted someone who wouldn’t fucking betray me.”

His words are a knife slicing through skin, muscle, and bone, stabbing straight into my barely beating heart. But I can’t even complain. Not when I dug one into his back first.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I’m so sorry.”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he shakes his head again. “I don’t wanna hear it, Oak. I’m sick of I’m sorry.”

“Then let me prove it to you. Please. I swear on my parents, my brother, on hockey, on everything I love,” I try reasoning. “Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t know.”

“You keep saying that, but you did, Oak. You told me you thought something was off, but you chose to sit on it.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know.”

“You just said—”

“No, I didn’t know, Quinn. I didn’t know it would matter to me when all was said and done. I didn’t know that I would care about what Braxton did or didn’t do because I didn’t know I would fall in love with you.”

The words fly from my mouth, and honestly, I don’t care if their presence destroys things more. I might’ve kept a massive secret from him about this whole shit with Braxton and his drug test, but to hell if I’m gonna keep how I feel about him to myself.

He’s in every beat of my heart. And he deserves to know that.

I blow out a breath, and scrub my hand over my face, a sense of irony hitting me right between the eyes. And I can’t help the sad, pathetic laugh breaking free when it does.

“That’s the most fucked up part of it all, though. There you were, from the beginning, telling me not to fall in love with you. But I did anyway. And if I’d listened to you, this wouldn’t hurt nearly as much. Because it does hurt, knowing you don’t trust me. Knowing I don’t deserve your trust anymore.”

Every bottled up word and emotion comes spewing from my mouth in what can only be classified as word vomit, but I don’t care. I let it flow free, giving him all the little pieces I’ve been too busy keeping to myself when I should have been handing them over all along.

But I can see now, it’s too little, too late.

Quinn’s jaw ticks, blue eyes flaring behind his glasses. I’ve learned him well enough to know he’s holding something back. Keeping words to himself when I’d sell my soul to hear them. Ones I need to hear.

Even if it’s rage or hate. Even if he tells me to go kick rocks and never come back. Fucking anything would be preferable over silence.

At least, that way, I’d know I’ve destroyed what we had beyond repair.

But all I get is…nothing.

So rather than keep fighting a losing battle, I walk away; tiny pieces of my heart left in my wake as he does nothing to stop me.





Thirty-Three

Quinton

We somehow scraped by with a victory tonight, the last game we needed to win to send us to the Frozen Four. I should be thrilled. Fucking ecstatic, seeing as I’m the one back in front of the team, leading them to victory.

Yet this win is more bittersweet than anything.

Obviously the competitive side of me—the piece of myself that has always wanted this—is thrilled to have made it this far. The entire team, myself included, has worked our asses off to achieve this, and I know we deserve it.