Frozen Hearts (3 page)

"Okay," she said, frowning. "I always wanted to be your agent, but this wasn't exactly how I pictured it. Mother would be so proud of my career choice."

I left Arielle sitting in her car, digging for her phone as I sent her the number for the GM in Boston. The chill of the night surrounded me and I shoved my hands in my pants pockets, wishing I had brought some gloves. Suddenly this walking business didn't seem like such a good idea. The calendar read spring but Mother Nature had other ideas. She wasn't ready to let go of winter.

By the time I reached my front door, I was a soaked mess. The rainy sleet stuff started about a mile back and now I was desperately in need of a shower and possibly another drink to dull the ache in my face.

It was a relief that my apartment was quiet. My roommates were great guys, but I didn't feel like going into a long, drawn-out explanation about my face and my new career choice. I needed some time to process what happened tonight.

The boys were probably at the blue house party, so I figured I had a few more hours before they showed up drunk and obnoxious. I stumbled into the kitchen, discarding my wet clothes on the way. I found an ice pack and held it against my cheek. My face throbbed. By the time I finally crawled out of the shower, the ice bag was limp and my mind was a jumbled mess of things I shouldn't be thinking about.

The worst thing was that I couldn't get Tyce out of my head. Arielle was friends with him. How did I not know that? I wasn't the only one keeping secrets, and it took everything I had not to call her and fire questions at her about Tyce. I felt terrible for wanting to know how many people he had dated after I left, if he was happy or if he ever thought about me.

Arielle had been wrong about one thing though. I had tried to contact Tyce after I was sent away. The first week at the new school, I tried about five hundred times to call him, but I always hung up the phone before I finished punching in the numbers. I tried writing him a letter but it hurt too much. Everything sounded so fucking stupid that I always destroyed them before I signed my name. I composed hundreds of emails, but they seemed too impersonal. After several weeks passed, I figured it was easier to let Tyce get on with his life and forget about me.

Thinking about Tyce hurt worse than my face and I was tired of drowning in self-pity. A pile of unopened books and half-written papers covered my desk, but I wasn't in the mood to wade through six weeks of missed classes. Crawling into bed and sleeping seemed to be my best option. I didn't get the chance, because the door to my bedroom flew open and two hulking guys tackled me to the floor before I could tell them to fuck off.

"Foxy," Derek 'Dix' Dixon shouted, giving me a face wash with his gloved hand. I let loose a strangled howl when he came in contact with my fresh bruises.

"We missed you tonight, Captain," Travis 'Marshmallow' Marshall mumbled. "Fuck, I drank too much."

The sour stench of alcohol filled my nose and I knew they were both shit-faced. "Get the hell off me. If you guys puke in my room, I'll kill you," I said.

Dix laughed as he stood up, holding out his hand to pull me to my feet. Marshy groaned and mumbled something into the carpet.

"Marshmallow, get up," I said. I poked him in his ribs with my foot, but all I got was a loud cackle.

"Help me put him to bed before he passes out," I begged Dix. "I don't want to share my room tonight."

"Oh, Foxy," Dix teased. "Do you have company coming over?"

"No," I said sharply.

"Just teasing, Foxy," Dix said and slid his arm underneath Marshy.

"Sorry." I said quickly. "How'd you get him home?"

"Lindy dropped us off," Dix said. Poor Lindy was the equipment manager for the team and also the taxi driver when players were too bombed to get home by themselves.

We somehow managed to get Marshmallow off the floor, which was amazing because Marshmallow wasn't exactly light and fluffy. In fact, he was the exact opposite. The hockey program listed him at six foot five inches tall and two hundred and ten pounds of pure muscle and at the moment, he was totally uncooperative.

"Wanna stay here," Marshy muttered.

"No you don't," Dix said. "Your bed is waiting for you."

"Anyone in it," Marshy asked.

"Yes," I shouted because I was going to drop him on his ass if he didn't stand up and support his own weight. "There's a beautiful brunette spread out for you."

"Arielle?"

Oh for fuck's sake.

Before I could set Marshy straight and tell him that Arielle was not in his bed, he shoved Dix so hard that when he hit the wall, two of my awards fell to the floor. It was a rather fitting end to this screwed up night. Marshy thundered down the hall, bouncing off the walls like a crazed ping-pong ball. There was another loud crash and some swearing, followed by the groan of Marshy's bed as he fell face first into his pillow. We managed to get him situated and before we knew it, he was snoring loudly.

"Jeez, why is Marshy so fucked up," I asked as Dix and I collapsed on the couch.

Dix gave me a goofy grin. "He got the call, man. He's signing with St. Louis."

I leaped off the couch, rushed into the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of champagne from the fridge. Dix heard the cork pop and joined me, rounding up two glasses that looked semi-clean.

"To Travis," I said, raising my glass.

"May he one day touch the fucking cup," Dix said. We clinked glasses then tossed back the bubbly liquid. He slammed his empty glass on the table and smacked his lips. I refilled both glasses.

"This was your bottle," Dix said, hopping up on the kitchen counter. I sat down at the table and nodded, staring at the bubbles rising in my glass.

"Do you have something you want to tell me," Dix asked, grinning.

"Not really," I answered.

"Foxy, what's going on? You almost bit my head off when I mentioned a guest in your room."

"I'm done," I said and downed the glass of champagne.

"What do you mean by done?"

"I'm not going to Boston. I'm done playing hockey," I said. "And I'm not marrying Rochelle."

Dix slid down from the counter and walked over to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from me, eyeing me carefully, like he was weighing his choice of words before he spoke. Maybe I looked like I would cry if he said the wrong thing.

"You should do what makes you happy," Dix said. He was so serious that I couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled out of my mouth. Someone must have laced his drinks tonight, because Dix was the prankster on the team, the guy who turned everything into a joke. The last thing I expected from Dix was something so profoundly simple and honest.

"What's so fucking funny?" Dix asked. He pretended to be angry but the corners of his mouth twitched and soon he was laughing with me.

"Ah fuck, Dix, tonight's been the shittiest. My old man clocked me, I broke up with my girlfriend who also took her anger out on my face, and my sister," I paused. "I don't know what Arielle thinks."

"Goddamn, Foxy, you're really giving it all up?" Dix asked.

"Yep, I can't take the shit anymore."

"You know you can tell me anything, right," Dix said.

"Thanks, but I'm not ready for everyone to know my business yet."

"Your old man has a mean right hook," he said, throwing a fake punch at my jaw.

"I let him hit me."

Dix shook his head and frowned. "You're a great hockey player. I hope you know what the hell you're doing."

"Not a fucking clue," I said. "The only thing I know is that I'm not happy. People have been running my life for a long time. I want to try and do it on my own."

"Did hockey ever make you happy?" Dix asked and quickly held up his hands. "No, don't answer that. I will count myself lucky that I got to play with you. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Dix," I said and I suddenly wondered if he would react the same if he knew he was talking to a gay man.

After Dix went to bed, I poured the rest of the champagne down the drain and pondered his question. Was I ever happy playing hockey? Before I could really delve into finding an answer to that question, I needed to check on Marshy and make sure he wasn't drowning in puke or something. It was our thing to watch out for each other and I was going to hold up my end of the pact.

Stale alcohol and sweat assaulted my nose when I walked into Marshy's room. His room was almost empty except for a chair in the corner piled with clothes. I couldn't decide if they were dirty or clean so I set them neatly on the floor and sat down. I stretched my legs and let my head fall back. Unbidden thoughts snuck into my mind, begging to be released. I tried to stop them, to keep the door shut, but I was too tired and weak to fight them off. Maybe I needed to be reminded that once upon a time, I was happy.

It was one of those cloudy, calm winter evenings when the outside rink screamed your name and you had no choice but to lace up your skates. Only tonight my mother had banned us from going outside until our homework was complete. Tyce and I were holed up in my room, buried in a mound of papers and books. We were doing okay until Arielle strolled by and opened her big mouth about a pick-up game in the park. We shoved the books away and thundered down the stairs, grabbing our gear and heading out the door. Five minutes later, we were in the warming house lacing up our skates.

The hours melted away. There was no pressure to score, to make a good hit, or show someone up. We practiced trick plays and trick shots, showing off our skills. I loved watching Tyce let loose. My favorite was when Tyce skated full speed, weaving in and out of guys with the puck balanced on the end of his stick. With the goal in sight, Tyce would flip the puck into the air and bat at it like it was a baseball. The play usually shocked the hell out of the goalie, especially when the goalie found the puck buried in the back of the net.

It was like being a young kid again. Sometimes everyone forgot that hockey really was just a game and we were only kids. It was supposed to be fun, but when money and adults got involved, the combination ruined everything. My dad was a fucking pro at sucking the joy out of things.

When the outdoor lights shut down and the adults tossed our equipment out of the warming house, most of the guys packed up their gear and went home. I stayed on the ice, not ready to leave. Tyce took his helmet off and laid his stick aside. I did the same and we skated leisurely for a while, talking about school and the upcoming run for the state championship.

"Do you want to keep playing?" I asked. "In college or juniors?"

Tyce shrugged and mumbled. "I only play now because of you."

I wasn't sure I heard him right. "What's that mean?"

Tyce looked away from me and stared up at the sky. "Nothing," he said, shoving me. "Race ya. One lap."

"You're on," I shouted as I took off around the rink. We bumped and pushed each other and on the final corner, we got too close and our skates tangled, sending us to the ice in a giant heap.

Tyce laughed as we slid into the boards. He was sprawled on top of me and when I opened my eyes, his face was so close that I could count his eyelashes. I waited for him to move, but he didn't, instead his blue eyes sparkled and my stomach flipped upside down when he flashed me a shy smile. It felt weird, but for some reason I wanted to touch him. I shook the glove off my hand and moved a blond curl away from his eyes before I cupped his rosy, wind-bitten cheek. Tyce's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into my touch. Before I knew what I was doing, I was kissing the chapped lips of my best friend.

"Shit," I whispered and shook the memory away. It hadn't been my first kiss or my last, but it was the best, because it had been Tyce. There'd been numerous girls and a few stolen moments in dark bars with nameless boys, but no one else made me feel so much and I doubted there would ever be another.

Chapter 2

About four in the morning, Marshy woke up, stumbling over me as he shuffled into the bathroom. He managed to find the toilet, groaning loudly as he pissed about a gallon of alcohol out of his system. I figured it was safe for me to leave him and go to my room. I should have known that was a bad move. My room was way too quiet for my overactive brain. Now alone, the memories threatened to suffocate me. I turned my mind to schoolwork, but apparently, somewhere deep in my subconscious, I wanted to remember.

It's odd that so much time had passed and yet I could still feel the slide of our tongues as Tyce parted his chapped lips on that fateful night. When I bravely dipped my tongue into his mouth, the taste of him sent me spiraling out of control as I tried to devour the sweetness of my best friend. Tyce groaned and I felt my dick press painfully against the athletic cup I was wearing. I tried to ignore the sensation but it was extremely difficult with Tyce wiggling beneath me, trying to shove his cold hands underneath my hockey jersey.

Noise from across the street startled both of us and I scrambled away from Tyce, staring at him wild-eyed and very confused. I was totally turned on by my best friend. What the hell was wrong with me? Tyce jumped to his feet and leaped over the boards, running though the snow to his gear. He had his skates off before I could even get to my feet.

"Tyce, wait!" I shouted, but he was already a block away from me.

I was in deep shit, like drowning in the crap and about to have a full-blown panic attack. I slid down the boards again and sat on the ice, hugging my knees to my chest. I'd just kissed my best friend, who was a guy, and it got me so overheated I'd almost come in my pants. This couldn't be happening to me. I didn't have sexual feelings for Tyce. I was Erik Fox, hockey player extraordinaire. Hockey players didn't like boys. They were men who fucked women, lots of women.

"Shit," I said as the wind blew across my face, making my lips tingle. I couldn't deny I liked kissing Tyce. My entire body liked kissing Tyce and right now I was incredibly uncomfortable. No amount of shifting or adjusting was going to help. I sighed and reached into to my pants, pulling out my cup. It helped ease the pain, but I still had an enormous problem and I wasn't going to take care of it sitting outside in the middle of a hockey rink. I limped home, slinking quietly upstairs to avoid attention from my parents and my sister. The stairs creaked loudly and my bedroom door sounded like a cannon when I closed it. Everyone in the house was going to come rushing into my room and catch me with a full-blown hard-on from kissing a boy.

The lock snapped shut and I stripped down, racing into my bathroom to jump into a freezing cold shower. Five minutes was all I could stand and it wasn't helping the ache. I turned the water to hot and closed my eyes. My hand slowly slid down my chest until I grabbed hold of my dick. I brought to mind every hot girl I'd ever seen before.

Kissing your best friend did not mean you were gay. It was only Tyce and me messing around. It wasn't serious. The only problem with that idea was that with every stroke, Tyce's bright blue eyes and red lips kept interfering with every girl my mind conjured. It was useless to fight, so I gave up and let the image of Tyce squirming beneath me linger in my head. I re-gripped my dick and with one more slide and twist of my wrist, I cried out Tyce's name.

I finished in the bathroom and crawled into my bed, curling into a ball. What was Tyce thinking right now? Would he ever talk to me again? The thought of losing my best friend was unsettling. I bit my lip and the faint taste of him made my heart pound against my chest.

The memory of Tyce slowly melted away and I realized I was hard. How could he still elicit such a forceful reaction from me? It had been five fucking years and in that time, I'd barely spoken ten words to him. We'd been going to the same school for four years and a cordial nod or hello was the only contact I'd had with him and even that tiny interaction was strained and uncomfortable. Of course, after I'd seen him, I always had to go jack off.

The first time I spotted him on campus, I thought about pulling him aside and telling him how sorry I was, but it sounded lame and maybe he wanted to keep the past locked away. Besides I wasn't sorry for our affair, only the way it ended. Deep down I knew I was too late for an apology. Tyce would think I was making fun of him or something and I didn't want to hurt him anymore.

The last few times I'd seen him he was surrounded by a huge posse of people all laughing and smiling. Once I sort of lurked in the shadows and watched him interact with both men and women, but I couldn't tell if he favored anyone. It made me crazy to think there was someone else touching him.

This whole thing was so fucked up. My dick insisted on staying hard but I ignored it and stared at my ceiling. The light of a new day was filtering through my window. I had classes to attend and people were going to be asking all sorts of questions today. I was sure Boston was going to release some sort of statement, telling the world that I would not be joining the team. People were going to think I was insane for giving up a ton of money and possible fame with no explanation. I could only imagine what the world would think if they knew the true reason I needed to step away from the world of hockey. Staying in bed and hiding was starting to sound like an excellent idea.

"Good morning, sunshine," Arielle said as she pushed open my bedroom door.

So much for hiding. "How did you get in here?"

"Dix let me in. He told me you were sleeping."

"Dix is awake?"

"Yeah, he's helping a very hung-over Marshy pack," Arielle snickered. "Marshy asked me to be his puck bunny."

"He signed with St. Louis," I said, rolling my eyes. Marshy hit on Arielle the first day he met her and everyday since. As far as I knew, Marshy had never been successful. I didn't think I could deal with my sister dating a hockey player.

"I heard," Arielle said and sat down at the foot of my bed. "Are you doing okay?"

I snorted. No, I wasn't doing okay, but that subject was not up for discussion with my sister or anyone else. "I'm fine."

"I spoke with Boston. They are not pleased," she said. "They really wanted you for this play-off run."

"No one is pleased with me," I said.

"Tyce called me," she said casually as she picked at some invisible thread on her sleeve.

I pulled the blanket over my head. I didn't want to talk about Tyce. I'd managed to avoid him for five years and now in the last twenty-four hours, he was front and center in my life again. "Oh."

"There's already talk spreading around campus and he wanted to know what's going on with you. Apparently, Rochelle has been spouting her mouth off about some no good son-of-a-bitch who dumped her ass."

I resisted the urge to ask her about rumors. Arielle had already graduated from school, but she had a lot of undergrads as friends. It was too early to deal with this shit. I wrapped the sheet around my waist, climbed out of bed and held up my hand. "Arielle, I'm going to take a shower, so if you don't mind, get the fuck out of my room."

"What is your problem?" she snapped "He's just following your career."

"Why the fuck would he care what happens to me?" I shouted.

Arielle narrowed her eyes. "Did you ever think that maybe he never got over you either?"

"No," I said firmly. I stomped across the room to my bathroom and slammed the door. I was done with this conversation, because if I even thought for one second that Tyce still cared one shit about me, I'd lose my fucking mind and do exactly what I told my father, crawl naked across shattered glass to get to him.

When I came out of the bathroom, Arielle was gone. Unfortunately, my father was pacing around my room like a caged tiger ready to take a chunk out of his victim.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"We're leaving for Boston in a few hours," my dad said. "So pack some shit."

"Didn't you hear anything I said last night? We aren't going anywhere. I'm staying right here and finishing school. I'm going to put on a fucking ugly cap and gown, listen to some long boring speeches then walk up the aisle to accept my degree. Then I'm going to have a few drinks with some friends to celebrate. After I get rid of the hangover, I'll figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

Apparently my dad didn't care what I was saying because he yanked open my closet doors and fished out a suitcase. He pulled the drawers of my dresser open and took out random items, tossing them on my bed.

"Dad, you need to leave," I shouted, but he ignored me and started jamming the clothes into the suitcase. "Dad! Stop!"

I snatched the suitcase from his hand and tossed it on the floor. Clothes flew everywhere.

"I'm not going to let you throw away your career for some fucking guy," he shouted, poking me in the chest.

I shoved his hand away. "I'm not throwing away anything. This is my decision. We've already had this discussion or do you need to hear the story of how I tossed everything away five years ago. I'm not going to live a lie anymore, not for you or anyone else. My happiness is no longer for sale."

The heat from my father's anger flared around the room and the old man charged at me like an angry bull. I tried to sidestep him, but he caught me around the neck and swept my feet out from under me. My head cracked against the floor and stars floated in front of my eyes, making my head spin. A knee in my gut knocked the air out of my lungs and large hands wrapped around my throat, cutting off my supply of oxygen.

"I will not be made a fool of by a fucking faggot," my dad shouted in my face. "I own you, you little fuck, and you will do what I tell you."

Black spots blurred my vision. Maybe my dad meant to kill me.

"Holy fuck, Mr. Fox," Dix shouted from the doorway. "Get off him."

The pressure on my throat eased up when Dix roughly dragged my dad off me. I rolled to my side and curled up, coughing and sputtering as I tried to take in some air.

"You need to leave," Dix shouted at my dad. "Marshy, escort Mr. Fox out of our house."

Dix twisted my dad's arm behind his back and handed him over to Marshy. Dix knelt down next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. I coughed again. Perfect way to start the day. In the past twenty-four hours, I'd been slapped by my ex-girlfriend, punched by my father, barely slept, argued with my sister, and now my father came back for a second go-round and tried to choke the life out of me.

Shouts came from outside my room, along with a couple loud thumps. My dad was not going quietly. He was calling Marshy every name in the book except faggot; that name was reserved for me. And now thanks to dear old Dad, Marshy and Dix knew my secret.

"You okay?" Dix asked as he helped me sit up. We both jumped when the front door slammed.

"I'm fine. Thanks to you guys," I said and hung my head. "I'm so sorry you had to hear all that shit."

"You got nothing to be sorry about," Dix said.

I didn't know what to say. It was so obvious that Dix and Marshy heard what my father called me. The entire building probably heard my dad call me a fag.

"Look, Foxy, you don't owe anyone an explanation," Dix said.

"But," I said.

"No, it's no one's business," Dix said forcefully.

"Yeah," Marshy chimed in. "Dix is right. Your old man is quite the asshole."

I chuckled and let my head fall back against my bed. Maybe coming out wouldn't be so terrible. I knew I was going to lose some friends, but if the good ones stuck around, I would be okay.

Marshy sat down on the other side of me. "I think we may have to start drinking."

"I really need to go to class," I mumbled. "I'm so far behind."

"Erik," Marshy said. "You're the smartest guy on the team, but right now, you're being stupid. You need a fucking drink. I need a fucking drink. Dix needs a fucking drink. Your dad tried to kill you and I'm leaving tomorrow. I want to hang out with you guys."

"Let's go to Jack's," Dix said, getting to his feet and offering his hand to me. That small gesture meant more to me than anything.

"Thanks for everything," I said. "I should have told…"

Marshy interrupted me. "None of our business, Foxy. You shouldn't have to tell anyone. You've never asked me who I wanted in my bed. I'm not going to start asking you."

"I know you want my sister in your bed," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Finish getting dressed," Marshy said and left my room mumbling about puck bunnies.

"You sure you're okay," Dix asked. "You look like shit."

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I knew he'd be pissed but… Christ." My hand drifted to my throat and I looked away from him. He patted me on the back again.

"Take a few minutes. We'll be in the living room," Dix said and quietly left my room.

I sat on my bed and cradled my head in my hands. The events of the morning were not what I expected, but no one ever planned to be attacked by a parent. My phone rang and a hysterical Arielle screamed into my ear. It took me ten minutes to settle her down enough to tell her I really was okay. Marshy had a big fucking mouth.

"We're heading over to Jack's for a few drinks," I said. "You're welcome to join us."

She finally agreed to meet us at the bar. Right before I ended the conversation, I whispered, "They know, Arielle. Dad fucking outed me to Marshy and Dix."

She sighed loudly before disconnecting the call.

I could hear their voices when I stepped out of my room. For a second, I thought about listening to their conversation, waiting for the inevitable ugly words to creep in when they mentioned my name. They knew my secret and I felt twitchy. Marshy grinned when he saw me. It all seemed normal, not forced, but I was going to stay on guard, just in case things went to hell.

"Jesus, Foxy, you look like you went ten rounds with a heavyweight."

"Feel like it too," I said. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a beer mirror hanging on the wall. Bruises were blossoming around my throat.

A strained silence surrounded us until Marshy gave me a small shove. "We're wasting valuable drinking time and my hangover is getting worse. It needs to be destroyed."