Page 3 of Breaking the Ice

With that, she spins on the heel of her Nikes and stomps away.

It’s then that I notice the name on the back of her jersey. Russell.

Like—Coach Russell?

“Coach?” My voice comes out a rusty squeak. “Do you⁠—”

“I’ll get her to agree to it, Evan. Just leave her to me.”

I don’t know why he’d want to. That beautiful woman hated my guts, but what did I do wrong? There’s no way she’d tutor me.

Which means I’m back to square one. Failing classes, messing up my life, and not playing in the opening game of my senior year.

Great, Evan. Just great.

Chapter

Two

ISABELLA

Dad: You really should reconsider.

Isabella: I don’t have time, honestly.

Dad: But he needs help.

Isabella: He’s in one of my classes, and it’s obvious why he’s failing. It’s a no.

“Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” My mom nudges me, a tiny smile playing at her lips, and I force my mouth to match.

“It does,” I say, hating how true it is.

Because here I am, back in Lafayette, Indiana. Living with my parents. Getting ice cream with my mom after a hockey game.

It’s our tradition. Dad will be too busy watching film to bother coming home for hours, so we always head to The Silver Spoon. In the two years I’ve been gone, did she just…go home to an empty house after his games? How depressing.

Although I guess it’s no more depressing than finally being noticed by my dad—only to have it be for his precious hockey team. So yeah, not enough has changed.

“What flavor are you going to get?” my mom asks, staring at the long display case. Like an ice cream parlor from the Fifties, The Silver Spoon has all the cartons of ice cream under glass along the front of the store. It’s decked out in red and white stripes, dotted with vinyl booths, and plays retro music, too. It doesn’t hurt that the ice cream is the best in the world.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “What do you think?”

Because if I’m going to be stuck in the past, I might as well get the same flavor as always.

“Butter Pecan,” we say together, and this time the smile on my face is real.

No matter how I feel about being back in my hometown and living with my parents, I love getting to spend time with my mom again. She’s my best friend, and I’ve missed her.

Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up practically an only child. My step-brothers from my dad’s first marriage are almost twenty years older than me and were already out of the house by the time I was born. My dad has always been consumed with hockey, so Mom and I became close.

Linking my arm through hers, I rest my head on her shoulder. She’s my height—fun size is how I’ve always described us. We’re both short and curvy. Whereas my hair is a coppery red and so long the waves brush my butt, hers is more strawberry blonde and cut in a stylish bob. People always guess we’re related. Unlike my dad. I have his eyes but nothing else.

We move up in the line, and the person in front of me gets three scoops of Butter Pecan. My mouth waters at the smell of it. I suffered through a hockey game and my dad’s ridiculous request because this reward was coming.

“What can I get you tonight?” The perky blonde behind the counter gives me a toothy grin, and I return it, although not as enthusiastically.

“Two Butter Pecans, please. One scoop each, both in a cone.”