Page 55 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

Amelia : You know I don’t like that term, Lucien. And though I appreciate the compliment, you also know I’d prefer it if you didn’t flirt with me. I’m your psychiatrist.

Lucien : What? Psychiatrists can’t be pretty?

Amelia : Mr. Morrow.

Lucien : Oh no, she’s using her formal voice. She must mean business.

Amelia : All jokes aside, I am happy to see you’re in better spirits this week.

Lucien : Yeah, I’ve been filling my time with more . . . stimulating activity.

Amelia : That’s great. And it’s helping?

Lucien : Immensely, I am much better when I have my sights set on a particular goal.

Amelia : If anybody can achieve their desires, I have no doubt it’s you.

Lucien : We’re going to be parting ways soon, doc. You gonna miss me?

Amelia : We’ve been over this. Though our state-ordered meetings are ending, I highly encourage you to continue our sessions.

The work we’ve achieved together has been pivotal to your overall growth and healing.

I feel deeply that we can continue with our positive trajectory should you stay on with me.

Lucien : Nah, you’ve done more than enough. I don’t need to be fixed, I just need to stop fighting it.

Amelia : Fighting what?

Lucien : My true nature.

SYDNEY

“Detective, why do you think you’ve been having so much push among the community when it comes to seeking justice for these heinous murders?”

“Unfortunately, Kate, the victims of these acts were not considered upstanding citizens. A couple of them had rape charges. One was a child molester, and the others have been in and out of prison on domestic violence charges, sexual assault, and all were severe alcoholics with multiple DUIs. People haven’t been motivated to come forward, but we must continue to do our job.

It is up to our judicial system to enact justice, and it is our job to catch these criminals.

We will not let these acts of violence go unanswered. ”

“Thank you, Detective Rothschild. Again, if you have any further information, please contact the helpline featured on the screen below.”

“Can somebody please turn that down? I can’t hear myself think,” Tiffany whines.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if that’s because there aren’t many thoughts in there to begin with, but unlike her, I am not needlessly cruel.

Or at least I try really hard not to be.

Tiffany isn’t my enemy; she’s an obstacle.

There’s a difference. I’m not going to go out of my way to be unkind to her, even if she is a bitch.

We should be hitting the ice and perfecting our programs in our allotted time slots.

Instead, she’s insisted we have a team meeting.

“So, a lot of us have been talking and we think”—she nods her head in each direction to embody the whole locker room—“that only those of us without disciplinary warnings should get to go to the competition next week. It’s an important event and only those who take this seriously should get to go.”

“You can’t bar people from competing, Tiffany, it doesn’t work like that,” I quip.

“ Sure , they can compete, but why should the school fund the amenities for a team when not everyone’s a team player?” she snarks. “If you want to compete, I’m sure you can afford it, Sydney. But it shouldn’t be on our dime.”

And there it is.

“So, what are you saying, Tiffany?”

“Oh, Sydney, don’t misunderstand me. I’d be thrilled to have you come, you know me and you go way back. I’m just not sure it’s in the best interest of the team to include you when you’ve been so absent lately.”

“What team?” mumbles Kieran, typically the quieter type who ignores the rest of us.

Thank you, Kieran!

“Exactly, we’re not a team. This is figure skating, not hockey. It’s every woman for themselves,” I agree.

“Or man,” pipes Shane.

“That’s yet to be determined,” mutters Bria.

“Wow, so did everyone eat their cereal with piss this morning?” Shane quips back, sweeping an accusing finger across the room.

“Look I’ve had a lot going on,” I deadpan.

Tiffany pretends to regard me, faux concern painted all over her face.

“Right, right, dating Lucien Morrow, correct?”

I almost fall out of my chair.

“Excuse me?”

Her fake-ass smile creeps me out, “Oh, you know, your boyfriend? The one you skip practices to go see?”

“I didn’t know you and Lucien Morrow were dating,” mentions Hannah.

Shane scoffs. “ That’s why you’ve been missing practice? I thought you were sick.”

“Dick sick,” snorts Regina.

“You’re wrong,” I snap. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.

” My ears ring, summoning more panic. My heart beats against my ribs, drumming up more anxiety.

They’re going to spread this weird rumor around the entire campus and then he’s going to find out I’ve been the one following him around like some sort of crazy fan.

He’s going to tie me to the messages. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out . “It’s not like that.”

“So, what’s it like?” asks Bria, obnoxiously chewing gum that we’re not even supposed to have in here. It’s partly why I chew my nail folds and not sugary confections. And exactly what I’m doing now as I attempt to get out of this situation.

“It’s like nothing . I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I press.

Tiffany puts her French-tipped nails to her lips, playing coy as she giggles. “Oh. Am I lying, Sydney?”

“You’re mistaken ,” I re-word. I know what she’s trying to do, and it won’t work.

“Hm, well,” she sighs. “I guess that wasn’t you I saw coming out of his dorm room this morning then.

Sorry for the mistake—won’t happen again.

I suppose that makes sense though. I mean, what would Lucien Morrow be doing with you anyway?

I’m sure a girl like you is too good for the likes of him, right? ”

“I didn’t say—”

“You have so many better things you could be doing with your time. Like, say, being on time for practices like the rest of us.” Tiffany is rolling in bitchiness today.

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Tiff?” Hannah asks. “Sydney’s been a good team player for the—”

“So that means we should give her a pass?” Regina guffaws, cutting Hannah off.

“No, I’m just saying—” Hannah tries to defend me again.

“Yeah, if you girls are just going to be catty to each other, I’ve got actual ice time I wanna take advantage of,” cuts in Shane.

We all pause when we hear footsteps around the corner. The clanking of Coach’s whistles against her insanely large key rings, unmistakable.

“Sydney, in my office please,” calls Coach, ducking her head around the corner before disappearing again.

“Oop, well, that’s our cue, I guess,” Tiffany smirks. “We’ve brought up our concerns with Coach, so we’ll find out soon what her verdict is. Good luck, Sydney ,” calls Tiffany over her shoulder while the rest of our so-called team trickles out of the locker room.

Hannah turns back, her hand resting on the large metal doors before they can close and gives me a sad smile.

I try to smile back, but the truth is I’m over being a part of this ‘team.’ I’m here to be great, not to be friends .

It’s exactly what Dad is always trying to tell me.

You can’t make it to the top and still have your friends at your side, so why slow yourself down trying?

It’s best to leave them behind at the start.

The meeting with Coach does not go Tiffany’s way, but it doesn’t go my way either. I’m removing my guards from my skates and am about to step onto the ice when I hear loud whispers that are obviously not whispers at all.

“Don’t choke,” one voice carries.

“Again,” finishes the other. The voices giggle loudly among themselves.

I sigh.

It’s obviously Regina and Tiffany, but I don’t say a thing.

“Don’t worry about them,” says Hannah and I almost jump out of my skin from how close she’s standing to me.

“Jesus Christ”—my hand flies to my chest—“you freaking scared me.”

Her face scrunches, as if tasting something sour. “Sorry about that. I’ve always been told I’m light on my feet. Guess that’s what makes me a pretty good figure skater, huh?”

She nervously scratches at the one faint dimple at the corner of her mouth.

She’s more than pretty good, but I’m not going to boost her ego two seconds before I’m supposed to hit the ice and outskate her.

“Yeah, sure, all good.” I try to wave her off.

“That’s a relief,” she teases. “Can’t go around giving heart attacks to my friends.

” She giggles and it’s unlike the fake snickers I get from Regina and Tiffany.

It’s relaxing, the type of laugh you want to join in on when you hear it.

“So, it looks like things went well with Coach if you’re getting onto the ice?

That’s good.” She beams at me, her smile precious.

I smile back. There’s no wide showcasing of teeth or anything, but I don’t want to be mean to her.

“Uh, yeah, it went fine,” I say.

We may not be the best of friends or even close teammates, but she’s always sweet like this and she’s always defended me.

Even when I haven’t deserved it. I’ve dropped the ball and lost sight of what was important.

That’s on me. If I can find time to try to talk to Lucien, I can certainly find it in me to talk to Hannah.

“She decided to give me another chance,” I add, hoping it’s enough to smooth things over with her.

I could give her more details than that, in fact there’s a desire there to talk all of this out with her, to have a real friend to share my burdens with.

But I’m dying to get on that ice and prove I belong here.

The more we stand here, awkwardly attempting a conversation at the mouth of the rink like this, the less time I have to practice.

The silence drags on when I don’t continue.

Hannah takes the hint and steps back, giving me space to pass.

“Okay, well, I just came over here to check on you and let you know that not all of us feel the way they do.” She nods her head in the direction where Regina and Tiffany walked off.

“It’s stressful for all of us, but I’d imagine it’s even more stressful for you.

You’re only a few more wins from qualifiers.

” She beams, her tone animated and excited.

“You know my stats?” I ask.

She rolls her lips then leans in like she has a secret to tell. “I’ve always been a fan of yours. You’re really talented, Sydney, and I think of all of us, you have a real shot of representing the US team in 2026.”

I could cry at her admission. Shit, I think I am.

“Oh, no, wait, I didn’t mean—” Her face turns to a look of shock when a stray tear kamikazes its way down my cheek. I brush it away with a delicate pass of my finger, blending the tear stain along my under eye.

“It’s okay, that just . . .that really means a lot to me. It means . . . more than you know.”

She stills. “Oh. Well, you’re welcome,” she smiles, waving me off as though it’s no big deal.

Genuine kindness is no big deal to her.

I didn’t say thank you. I should have, but I didn’t. God, I’m the worst.

“Anytime you need a pep talk, I’m your girl.” She points her thumb at her chest before leaning in again. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you cried.” She tosses a wink over her shoulder as she walks away.

“Thank you,” I whisper, but she’s already gone.

Stepping onto the ice, I try to hold on to her kind words, to drown out the words of my father. It helps.

It doesn’t completely keep them at bay, but I do a perfect run-through of my program. Then I do it ten more times until perfection is muscle memory.

“God, come on !” shouts a voice from the edge of the rink. “Your time is finished, it’s my turn, Sydney. Or do the rules of the rink not apply to you?”

I roll my eyes. “I never said that, Tiffany.” I skate toward her, ready to exit the rink, but she blocks my exit.

“You think you’re so much better than us, don’t you? Well, newsflash: you’re not .”

I try not to react, but the words hurt. They sting like an open-handed slap to the face. She grins when she sees me flinch.

“Don’t think for one second this changes anything. I don’t care how good you are. Coach and everyone else will see you the exact same way I do,” she hisses.

I don’t bristle this time.

“Careful, Tiff.” I smile wide, my eyes soft and friendly like Hannah’s. “You wouldn’t want anyone seeing those true colors of yours .”

Her eyes cast around me for a second when she catches on. Hannah and Coach are watching us from the other side of the rink.

“Less talking, more skating, ladies!” Coach shouts.

Tiffany’s usual condescending smile reappears.

“Coming! Was just congratulating Sydney on her amazing set. Wasn’t it beautiful?” she exclaims like she’s so proud of me.

“Yeah, good job!” Coach agrees. “Now, come on. Let’s see yours. I want to work on your run time. You’re late on some of the cues.”

Tiffany scowls but quickly adjusts her face before pushing past me, shoulder-checking me along the way.

She doesn’t deserve the spot she’s coveted.

She's everything I hate, a goddamn thorn in my side.

Thorns are meant to be removed, cut out, and shaved directly from the stem.

How else is one meant to enjoy the roses?