Page 152 of Ice Me Out

“You’re my baby, and I will always love you, but I need to do this so that I can heal and be a better father to you someday in the future.”

I turned around without another word and left for my bedroom. I was in such a daze that I didn’t even realize I was lying in bed, crying and clutching my pillow. Eventually, I heard footsteps, picked up the scent of Snoh’s cedar cologne, and felt the bed dip. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to him. I sobbed into his chest, grabbing his shirt like it was a lifeline that would keep me from sinking. He wrapped his arms around me and rubbed my back while he rocked me on the bed.

“At the end of the day… it’s just a house. We never have to forget about her. Plus, she wouldn’t want us to have all this fallout over a house.” I sniffed. “If he needs the money to get himself right, then so be it.” He didn’t speak again until I stopped crying. “You good?”

“What kind of question is that?” I asked incredulously.

“A stupid one, but I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here, Vera.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“I know Dad was paying for your expenses.” I involuntarily gulped, and he paused to look down at me. “He made sure your tuition was covered, right?”

Fuck me.

I had two options: lie or tell the truth. And quite frankly, I was done lying.

“I gotta tell you something, Snoh,” I said into his shirt.

“Oh, Lord. Just go ahead and rip the band-aid off.”

“I’m dating Hart Myers.”

On Sight

Hart

I leaned over the jewelry case and admired the collection beneath the glass. There were diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, a few pieces with price tags ridiculous enough to make me wonder if they came with partial ownership of the store.

They were beautiful, but none of them felt right.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the associate asked.

“Not quite.”

She smiled patiently. “Special occasion?”

“No. I just miss my girlfriend.”

Her face softened while I processed how easily the word girlfriend rolled off my tongue. Six months ago, girlfriend and Hart Myers would’ve clashed like gasoline and a lit match.

Now, I liked the sound of it.

Probably more than I should.

Three days shouldn’t have felt like a long time. During the season, three days was nothing. A couple of flights, a few practices and games, and suddenly I was headed home again. But Vera had seemed off since I left Seattle.

She said she was fine—just busy catching up on schoolwork, spending time with Monica, or tired.

They were all perfectly reasonable explanations. And I believed her.

Mostly.

Our FaceTimes had been short. She’d already been in bed Monday night when I called. On Tuesday, she’d barely made it fifteen minutes before her eyes started closing. And last night, she’d been curled beneath her comforter with half her face buried in a pillow while I did most of the talking.