Page 78 of Breaking the Ice

Grabbing his phone, he cranks up a playlist, and we tackle our chores for the next hour. We work in silence, and the music helps reset me. The camaraderie, too. Even without conversation, knowing that I’m not doing this alone makes it bearable. After everything is done, we stand in the center of the room and survey our handiwork.

“Not too bad,” Caleb says, pride in his gaze.

Mateo whistles. “So clean it sparkles.”

I clear my throat. “Thanks, guys. It would have taken me at least three hours to do this on my own, maybe four. Now I get to go to bed—” I glance at my watch, “before midnight.”

“No problem,” Caleb says while Mateo mutters, “Don’t mention it.”

We file out of the locker room, making our way through the darkened arena.

“I just have to ask.” I stop in the foyer, and my voice echoes in the space. “Do you guys think Coach is being extra harsh with me? Or would he do this to anyone?”

Caleb leans against one of the glass doors. “Hard to say, man. You married his daughter, and he just wasn’t expecting that. It’s a lot to process.”

“Probably feels like you stole his little girl,” Mateo adds, swinging his lanyard.

I hadn’t really thought about things from Coach’s perspective. I mean, he’s seen a lot of shit from me over the years. On paper, I suck as a son-in-law. In real life? It remains to be seen. And his relationship with Isabella is not exactly stellar right now, either.

“So what do I do?”

Jonas shrugs. “Just keep showing up. Both for Isabella and for practice. Give it your best. He’ll have to see that you’ve changed.”

Unfortunately, Coach proved today that he doesn’t have to see anything. But Jonas is right. I just hope my best is good enough.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

ISABELLA

Blood boils in my veins, and I’m sure my face is the same color as the red stop sign I just blew through on my way to the hockey arena. I don’t care. I let my anger propel me through the parking lot, taking one of the staff spots up front. That’s fine—they owe me.

I slam open the glass door to the rink, not caring at the way it bounces back. My feet stomp as I storm down the cement halls, making my way through the bowels of the arena. My anger fuels me. The scenery blurs until I get to the men’s hockey locker room.

The creak of the door echoes in the empty space as I shove it open. I make a beeline for my dad’s office in the center. The walls of his space are mostly glass windows, and the blinds are pulled so I can see inside. He looks up from his computer as I let myself in, his face changing from surprise to unease.

“Isabella. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He winces, his expression the opposite of pleasure.

“You. Benched. Him?” I spit the words out between my teeth.

My dad stands, coming around his desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t make it a habit to discuss my players or my coaching choices with anyone outside of the staff or the university administration.”

“I think you bypassed professionalism when you benched my husband for missing one practice to take care of me.” I match his stance, leaning towards him. “That was clearly not an unbiased decision.”

“If your husband,” he sneers, his voice taking on an ugly tone, “has a problem, he should fight his own battles instead of sending you to do his dirty work.”

I can’t help it, a gasp escapes my lips. “He didn’t send me. He has no idea I’m here.”

“Then why are you?”

My response comes out harsher than I intend. “Because I can’t stand by and watch while you punish him unfairly!”

My dad laughs, but it’s a mean, sarcastic sound. “Unfairly? Isabella, he didn’t show up to practice. There are consequences for that, and my players know how it works. Evan made his choice.”

Tears prick my eyes, and my emotions make me even angrier. I ball my hands into fists at my side until my nails dig into my flesh, and my palms ache.

“He did make his choice, Dad. He chose to put me first, for once. Chose to put his family over hockey. I was sick, and he took care of me. He made me soup. Can you even imagine what that would be like?” A muscle ticks in his jaw, but I keep going. “No, you can’t, because you’ve never put another person before hockey in your life. Certainly not me. And instead of cutting him some slack or⁠—”