Page 1 of Breaking the Ice

Chapter 1

June

Zach was sweating. A lot.

He wiped a damp palm on his thigh, but the material of his shorts was slippery and it didn’t feel any drier after. Nothing felt drier. Sweat beaded at his hairline, under the brim of his hat, at the back of his neck, and under his arms.

It was the high eighties in Michigan, and humid as fuck, but that wasn’t why he was currently a soupy mess. He considered cranking up the air conditioning again, but he already knew that wouldn’t help.

“You can do this,” he said out loud to his reflection in the rearview mirror. But the pep talk didn’t do much to help. He still wanted to turn around and go back to Traverse City and, also, hit the accelerator and arrive at his destination in the next oh-point-five seconds.

Get it over with.

Zach turned down another road, this sign even more faded than the last. The gravel under his tires gave way to dirt ruts, and the rental car jolted over the driedlumps of mud.

He imagined in the winter this road was basically impassable.

In the fall or the spring, this road wasprobablyimpassable.

Zach tried to be grateful that it was June and he wasn’t going to get stuck all the way out here, but it was hard to be relieved when he was this fucking nervous.

Finally, his rental car jolted down the lane, passing one mile marker and then another until he made it to the one he was looking for.

Without it, he’d never have seen the turnoff. It was half-buried in the surrounding foliage, and Zach wasn’t stupid enough to think that wasn’t one-hundred-percent on purpose.

The person who lived down it didn’t want to be found.

But Zach had found him, anyway.

Hayes, his best friend, had told him that this was a fool’s errand. But because he was ride-or-die, loyal to the absolute core, he’d been the one to call in half a dozen favors to help Zach figure out exactly where he was going.

Zach tried to feel gratitude, but all he felt was a sick, nauseating lurch in the base of his stomach as the cabin came into view.

Despite the foliage surrounding it, the building was clearly well cared for. Windows glistened in the sunlight, and the screened porch running along the entrance side was neat, only a table and a single chair. There was one pair of boots with muddy soles by the front door.

Zach stopped the car and tried to unclench his white-knuckled fingers from the steering wheel.

“You can do this,” he repeated to himself, and it worked a little better the second time, because he actually got his seat belt undone and the door open.

He was halfway out the car when the front screen door swung open.

Zach stared down the barrel of a shotgun and sweat slipped down his spine, dampening his T-shirt even further. Holding up his hands, he said in a shaky voice he barely recognized as his own, “Hey, it’s just me. Uh . . .Zach. Zach Wheeler.”

The shotgun barrel wavered and then lowered, giving Zach his first glimpse of Gavin Blackburn in four years.

Dark scruff covered his jaw, the same mahogany as the too-long wavy hair on his head, sprinkled at the temples with gray that hadn’t been there the last time they’d met. His dark stare was flat, equally dark circles under his eyes, and he shaded them with a hand. He wore a ratty T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and even rattier basketball shorts, exposing still-muscled legs.

Zach couldn’t say he lookedbadexactly, but then Gavin Blackburn would have to be halfway into a grave for him to ever think that.

“Zach?” His voice sounded rough with disuse, and more than a little shocked. “Is that you?”

Zach risked another step closer. “Yeah, it’s me. Zach.” His hand twitched at his side, tempted to wave hello like a complete fucking idiot.

You’re not handling this, the Hayes-voice inside him said bluntly.

Zach told the Hayes in his head to fuck off and cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”

Four years ago Coach would’ve smiled and gestured Zach inside.