Page 10 of Thin Ice

I’m about to hit the up button again when a hand reaches out and hits the down button, slowing the belt under my feet. My heart skips, and I almost stumble from the surprise.

The repeated beep of the button as the treadmill slows down brings me fully into reality, and I turn my gaze to the owner of the hand, the only person it could belong to: my wife. Her beautiful features are marred with a frown, brow pinched in both concern and anger.

“Noah,” she scolds. “Were you trying to run yourself to death?”

Two thoughts move through my mind: The first is that I probably was, and second, I’m happy she’s home, even if she’s angry and most definitely going to give me a lecture.

“You’re”—I inhale a tight breath, and the air that enters my lungs is painful—“home.” The treadmill comes to a complete stop, and I grab the towel I’d draped over the front of the machine.

“How long have you been running for?”

I tell the smart home system to turn off the music then take a long drink of water and wipe the sweat from my brow and neck. My skin still feels hot to the touch, the heat burning through the towel.

“I lost track.”

Her frown deepens. “You were going too fast for too long, Noah. What if you got hurt?”

“But I didn’t.”

She puffs out a breath like she’s going to argue but doesn’t. I get off the machine, wishing I could hug her, take her into my arms and apologize, but I’m covered in sweat. She looks freshly showered, wearing an old University of Michigan sweatshirt and leggings.

“When did you get home?”

“Not long ago. I heard you in the gym, and I didn’t want to bother you, so I showered. But maybe I should have.”

Her eyes travel over my muscled chest and down to my toes, but there’s no heat in them like there once was—only a myriad of emotions, none of which are sexual.

I roll my shoulders back, my chest aching when a thought hits me: When did Quinn stop coming to find me in the gym, blue eyes dark with hunger as she begged me to fuck her? She never cared if I was sweaty, because we’d shower after, and I’d eat her out until she screamed my name, rattling the shower doors.

“You wouldn’t have bothered me,” I say.

Her head cocks to the side like what I just said was stupid and untrue. Was it? Have I really been that bad?

“Quinn—”

She cuts me off. “We should talk.”

My stomach bottoms out. Every time someone says those three words, nothing good ever comes of it. But we do need to talk. I’ve been waiting for her to get home so that we could. I just don’t like how she said the words, as if there’s something more to them than only me being too busy for her and my depression spiral after last week’s game.

I push those thoughts away before they can consume me again and focus on Quinn. There are circles under her eyes, and the confidence I fell in love with has been sucked from her body.

“We should,” I say. Her eyes widen slightly, and I wet my lips. “I told you I wanted to talk; I wasn’t lying in my texts.”

She studies me carefully before nodding. I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t hurt that she thinks I would lie about that. I would never lie to Quinn, especially about our relationship.

“Why don’t you shower, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“I’m fine.” I don’t think I could stomach having to wait to talk to her, even if I know I can shower quickly. Thankfully, she doesn’t argue.

I wipe the towel over any remaining sweat and grab the shirt I’d tossed to the floor, putting it on. I silently follow Quinn to the kitchen, and she takes out a cold bottle of protein water for me and a sparkling water for herself. I thank her for it, my eyes never leaving her as I open it and take a sip.

She cracks open her water and plays with the tab nervously, so I circle around the island and slide my hand over hers. Her body stiffens at the touch, and I die a little inside.

“Quinn,” I say softly. “What’s going on?”

She closes her eyes and inhales a long breath before turning to face me. “I’m not happy, Noah.”

The world becomes smaller, and I blink to stop darkness from overtaking my pupils. I push away emotion like my dad taught me to do on the ice when I was a kid, knowing I need to be strong in this moment—a moment I think I’m going to remember forever.