Page 4 of Ice Queen

I stiffen, wrestling with the fact that I’m even here. That, for the first time in more than a decade, I’m making an effort to do better, to heal instead of numb myself to the fear of losing anyone else. “I feel heavy, Doc. I’m tired.”

“Markus,” Dr. Williams’ voice comes out gentle yet firm. “I know this is hard, but it’s part of healing.”

He turns his pad of paper around, revealing to me what I told him. Yet he’s drawn it as if it were a map. The first thought, to the last. A perfect. Freaking. Circle.

“You play hockey for a living, yet you hate the cold because it reminds you of her. But it wasn’t cold when the crash happened, correct?”

I nod, it wasn’t. “It’s not.” I sigh, leaning forward on my knees. “It’s not just her I grieve, doc. It’s the fact that I couldn’t save her that eats me alive.”

“That's why this is important,” he says, underlining the word cold. “If every time you step on the ice, there's a chance that you could be transported back to that moment, to the feelings you have surrounding it, true healing will be virtually impossible.”

I squeeze the tops of my knees, desperately trying to bring her face back, but it seems to be disappearing further into darkness with every blink. “I don’t want to lose the memories of her, though, Doc.”

Dr. Williams stands from his chair and comes to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch where my two best friends and I are sitting. “That’s not what’s happening. You aren’t losing her memory, you’re separating it from the reality your brain has created and been stuck in for years.”

I cross my arms over my chest, pinning my hands between my arms and my ribs.

Letting out a sigh, I ask, “Why does she come to me in my dreams? Why do I still have nightmares? Sometimes we’re at the crash, other days we’re in the arena, sometimes we’re in some void. But every time, I fail in saving her.”

“No one can decode this but you, but I can give you my thoughts.” He picks up his pen and begins writing something on his yellow legal pad.

My lips roll between my teeth, tongue pushing against the silver ring looping through the left side of my lip. “Yeah, okay. Let’s hear it.” Scarlett scoops up my hand as Monroe does the same on the other side.

“It could very well be that you protect your teammates and those around you so fiercely because your brain is either trying to make up for not being able to protect her, or because you subconsciously see your teammates as her in comparison to the importance they hold to you.” Dr. Williams takes off his glasses, setting them on top of his notepad.

“But in every scenario, your brain has convinced you that you will always fail. And you’re believing it. You have to stop the cycle.” He crosses his legs and waits for my response.

I can’t, though. A sensation starts at the top of my head and rolls through my body like a wave. My blood slows to a crawl, chilling like someone injected the very ice that sets me off into my veins.

I jump up from my spot on the couch, releasing my friend's hands, and I’m out the door before I can think twice about it.

Unfortunately, we all drove together, and it seems to take them nine years to walk a distance that takes me two seconds. “¿No puedes caminar más rápido?⁠*” I ask as they round the corner, trying to play off the absolute dread that’s buried itself inside me.

“¡Vete a la mierda!⁠*” Lettie throws back with an eye roll.

The corner of my mouth pulls up at her sass. Our friendship has grown into something more of a sibling relationship over the past few years. Honestly, she’s been pivotal in my being in therapy in the first place. It only took a month after I met with Coach Stevens for her to all but drag me to Dr. Williams’ office.

“You alright?” Monroe asks as he unlocks the door to his new dad mobile, a blacked-out SUV with three rows so that he can fit two car seats, for when he knocks her up a second time, comfortably. The dude pulled up to the rink one day and gave us all a tour like he was on MTV Cribs.

Sliding into the back seat, I pull the door closed while he helps Lettie into the front, like she isn’t more agile than both of us. As soon as she’s settled, she turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her smile is soft, but not pitiful, and for that, I’m thankful.

I never understood Monroe’s aversion to women until I saw the two of them together. I’m convinced that they’ll be like the Notebook couple, dying together because they can’t live without the other.

It may have sent me spiraling at first, because the ache in my chest where Millie sits flared to life every time they’d look at each other. She was my best friend, someone I thought I’d always have by my side. Much like the two of them were as kids. They just got lucky enough to fall in love along the way.

Now, though, I couldn’t imagine my life without either of them. And that’s half the reason I’m willing to go to the circus that is therapy over and over. I can’t lose them, too. I can’t protect them if I’m not here.

“I’m really proud of you,” she says, the car coming to life in the background. We don’t move, but the air kicks on. It may only be January, and not hotter than a post-game jock strap, but it’s still Florida.

“Really, man, are you alright?” Monroe asks again. Knowing what I know now, how long he suffered in silence, how he tried to always be the guy who made everyone else happy, even though he was crumbling inside, it peels away some of my pride over this entire thing.

I push a hand through my hair, letting my head bounce softly against the headrest. The reality is, I don’t even know how to be alright. I mean, this is just how I’ve been for the past decade.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I finally say.

My eyes slowly close, my fingers coming to lace together behind my head. “I didn’t think I wasn’t okay. You know?” I chuckle, but it’s lifeless.

“Sure, I numb myself more than I should. I don’t really deal with it. But I’ve done that for so long that it just feels like me. So it makes sense when Dr. Williams says we’re separating memories from reality. I loved her, never told her that, and then I failed her. I failed them all.”