Page 116 of Ice Cold Chemistry
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Nothing sounds right. Nothing captures what I’m feeling. How do you apologize for being fundamentally incapable of being what someone needs? How do you explain that every instinct you have is wrong, that your survival mechanisms are destroying the one thing worth surviving for?
So I send nothing.
She walked away today, and I deserve the silence. I know I deserve it.
But it’s killing me anyway.
Practice the next morning is a disaster.
I haven’t slept. My body feels like it’s been filled with sand—heavy, sluggish, disconnected from my brain. I go through the motions, but I’m not really there. I’m still on that sidewalk in Brooklyn, watching Winnie’s car disappear around the corner, Zayden’s hand on my shoulder the only thing keeping me from chasing her down the street.
“Banks!”
Coach’s voice snaps me back to the present. I’ve missed another drill. The puck is already at the other end of the ice, and I’m standing in the neutral zone like an idiot, my stick dangling at my side.
“Where’s your head at?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
“Sorry doesn’t win games. Get in the rotation.”
I get in the rotation. I try to focus.
The guys are giving me looks. Not the usual looks—the ones that say, “Banks is grumpy today” or “don’t talk to him before he’s had coffee.” These are different. These are suspicious. Uncomfortable.
Something has shifted, and I don’t know what it is.
Logan is the tell. Usually, he’s all over me—chattering, joking, asking a million questions about nothing. Today, he’s quiet. Distant. He won’t meet my eyes during drills, and when our lines cross, he skates wide to avoid being near me.
That’s when I know something is really wrong.
After practice, I corner Zayden in the locker room.
“What’s going on?”
Zayden looks up from unlacing his skates, his expression carefully neutral. “What do you mean?”
“The guys. They’re acting weird. Logan won’t even look at me.” I lower my voice. “What happened?”
Zayden sighs and glances around, ensuring no one is in earshot before leaning closer.
“Grayson’s been talking.”
My stomach drops. “Talking about what?”
“You and Winnie.” Zayden’s jaw tightens. “He overheard something—a conversation. I don’t know the details, but it was enough for him to figure out that you two weren’t… that it started as…”
“Fake.” The word tastes like ash. I blow out a breath. “He knows it was fake.”
“He’s telling everyone, making it sound like you both played the whole team.” Zayden shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to do damage control, but the story’s spreading. Some of the guys feel like idiots, like they bought into something that wasn’t real. They feel deceived.”
I think about Logan’s excited face at the team dinner:Banks has a girlfriend! This is the best day of my life!I think about Archer’s quiet approval:She seems good for you.I think about all of them welcoming Winnie into the group, treating her like family, believing I had finally found something good.
And now they think it was all a lie.
“It wasn’t—” I stop and start again. “It didn’t stay fake. It became real. Win and I—”
