Page 242 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
“Marry me, Jackson.”
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s so far from where I am now that it feels unreal.
They have no idea. They’re still looking at me like I’m the same guy I was months ago.
Single.
Untouchable.
Available.
They don’t see her in the background of everything yet.
They don’t understand what that post meant. They think it’s a hint. A tease. A maybe. Not a statement. Not a claim. Not the truth.
My jaw tightens slightly as I push off the bench again, jumping back onto the ice, chasing the puck down the boards.
That’s going to change.
Soon.
The second period bleeds into the third. The score stays close. Too close. One mistake. That’s all it takes and we make it. They capitalise. The puck hits the back of the net with a sharp, final sound that seems to echo louder than it should. The crowd surges.
We don’t. We push back. Hard. But not enough. The clock runs out with us down by one.
And the loss settles in that quiet, frustrating way that close games always do, heavy, but not devastating, the kind that lingers under your skin instead of ripping through you.
I pull my helmet off as we skate off, dragging in a breath that feels like it should mean more than it does.
Because part of me is disappointed.
Of course it is.
We should have had that. We could have had that. But another part of me, a quieter part, just feels… steady.
Like something has settled into place. Like I’ve proven something to myself without needing to say it out loud.
I can still do this. I can still be here. And it doesn’t take anything away from what I have with her.
In the locker room, the energy is mixed. Muted frustration. Low voices. Gear hitting the floor.
Zach sits across from me, pulling his gloves off slowly, and when he glances up, I catch it.
Relief.
Not obvious. Not something anyone else would notice.
But I see it. The looseness in his shoulders. The way his expression isn’t tight with loss. He doesn’t want this anymore.
Not the way I still do.
And I get that too.
I grab my phone from my bag, flipping it over without thinking.
A notification sits there. From her.
Good luck. I love you.
