Page 97 of Breaking the Ice

He usually filled up the long silences at night with music or a game playing on TV—or his favorite way, which was Gavin’s voice, hushed and intimate as they talked on the phone.

There’d be none of that.

None of that ever again.

The thought struck him and Zach felt unmoored, destroyed. He staggered over to the couch and cried for the second time.

It wasn’t the most terrible day of Gavin’s life, but it felt like it crept into the top five, maybe even cracked the top three, which was a fact Gavin was studiously ignoring.

He only got through it because he knew he deserved it and because he’d learned, the hard way, that tomorrow had to be better.

Sometimes it wasn’t a whole lot better, but even marginally better would be an improvement he’d accept.

It wasn’t better.

It was worse.

His phone rang way too fucking early, just past seven, blaring on his nightstand, waking him out of a listless, restless sleep that he’d only found after he’d blearily seen the clock hit three AM.

Gavin scrambled for it, thinking, for a single heart-stopping moment, that it was Zach.

He didn’t know what Zach would be telling him, but he only knew he wanted to hear his voice.

It was not Zach.

It was Sidney, and he was blustering, clearly upset and ranting so fast Gavin could barely follow what he was saying.

“What’s going on? Slow down,” Gavin finally barked.

“Did he not tell you?” Sidney demanded.

“Did who not tell me what?” Gavin asked flatly.

“Zach Wheeler. Yourassistant coach. Sending me his resignation! He can’t quit now. You’re leading the conference and he’s a big part of that. You told me he runs the power play. Who’s going to fix the second team power play now?”

Gavin nearly dropped the phone. He couldn’t believe he’d never imagined that this could happen. Maybe he and Zachwouldn’t work out personally butsurelyhe wouldn’t quit this job. This job he loved that he was so fucking good at. It had been killing him enough that he’d let Zach down romantically, emotionally. But now Sidney was telling him that he wasn’t going to get Zach inanyway. He was removing himself from Gavin’s life, completely, and there was suddenly no question.

Solidly top three worst days ever.

That was the only excuse for what Gavin said next. Or at least that was what he told himself.

“Fuck the second team power play,” Gavin snapped.

Sidney made a noise like a dying whale.

He realized he shouldn’t have said it, and heespeciallyshouldn’t have said it to his boss, but he’d been reeling, barely holding it together, and then Zach had just hit him with the knockout punch.

“I mean,” Gavin said, grappling for some kind of dignity, “Ican fix it.”

“Fix the power play or fix your assistant coach quitting?” Sidney asked in a steely voice.

“I . . .uh . . .”

“There’s only one right answer here, and it’s not the fucking power play, though that’s not me saying it’snota problem,” Sidney said.

Gavin could tell Sidney that there was no salvaging this situation but he couldn’t tell him why. The thought was incomprehensible.

“If he’s quitting,” Gavin said, “I can’t imagine I could change his mind.”