Page 183 of Iced Up Love: Part Two

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Then he nods.

“Get on the ice.”

I push myself up. The cold hits harder out there. Sharper. Cleaner. And for a second, just a second, my body falls into it.

The rhythm.

The movement.

The muscle memory that doesn’t need my head to be fully present to work.

I skate.

I pass.

I shoot.

Everything lands where it’s supposed to, everything moves the way it’s supposed to, everything feels… right.

And at the same time, it doesn’t. Because there’s a disconnect running through it. Like I’m watching myself do this instead of fully being inside it. Like part of me stayed behind in that apartment, sitting beside her, touching her, making sure she wasbreathing, and the rest of me showed up here because I was told to.

Zach is the same.

I can see it in the way he moves.

Precise.

Controlled.

But not fully there. We both are. And somehow, we’re still good. Still better than most. Still doing exactly what we’re supposed to do.

Because this is ingrained. Because this is what we’ve trained for. Because this is what we are.

The thought lands wrong. Because I don’t know if that’s true anymore. Practice ends in a blur.

By the time I’m back in the locker room, pulling my gear off, I feel like I’ve been holding my breath the entire time.

“Jackson.”

I look up.

One of the staff is standing at the door.

“PR wants to see you.”

Of course they do.

I glance at Zach.

He’s watching me, already reading the tension in my shoulders.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

“No,” I say honestly.

He nods once.

“Go.”

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