Page 58 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

The people scream for an encore, piercing through my shocked haze. They holler and cheer at his impressive shot, begging for more.

Lucien only smirks at me.

“Did you see that, folks? The new girl didn’t even flinch!

” Asshat announces over the mic, fully reverted back to the asshat we know and tolerate.

“Everyone who said she’d pass out or cry needs to pay up right now.

” He holds out an old paint bucket and though many people lost their bets, no one seems particularly upset about losing.

The crowd screams their shouts of praise and accolades, his blunder during the hockey game earlier almost totally forgotten, or simply forgiven.

I’d imagine it’s his precision skills to aim so well that’s made him a top scorer in the NCAA. I wonder who’s all aware he uses human targets to hone his craft.

I look at the piles of apples at my feet, then pick up another one.

He nods, looking so smug, so confident in his abilities and for a second I contemplate chucking the apple at his face, if only to get him to lose that cocky grin.

It’s no wonder he’s such a good hockey player, why they win games, why his team must put up with his shit, because they know how good he is.

They might be mad at him right now but they at least respect him.

They believe in his abilities to win so profoundly that even if he does struggle to rein in his temper, it’s worth keeping him on the team, worth being a champion.

My so-called team saw me as nothing more than dead weight.

At the first sign of trouble they took the opportunity to cut me loose.

Said I couldn’t hack it, that I couldn’t handle the pressure.

They said that’s why I did it. They accused me of becoming so desperate to win I did the unthinkable.

I believe Tiffany’s exact words were “it was about time they trimmed the fat. ”

She made sure to slide that little jab about my weight in there. Girls like her are why body dysmorphia runs rampant among female athletes.

I should be grateful I’m no longer a part of such a toxic environment, relieved that I don’t have to deal with the pressure of constantly failing them or maybe even a little bad for the danger I put them in .

. . but I don’t feel any of those things.

I wanted to be a champion figure skater.

I wanted to go to the Olympics. I wanted to win Gold.

I want to win first place, to be the girl who wins Lucien’s heart.

To outshine anyone who’s ever stood in this exact spot and challenged the demon himself.

It’s not enough to be the last girl standing.

I want to beat Lucien himself. I want to win . . . win . . . win .

Tossing him a teasing smile, I place the apple on my head, balancing it on the center.

Let’s see him hit his target now.

Soft murmurs buzz around me, but I quiet the noise. There’s only me and Lucien. His eyes paralyze me. I’ve never seen Lucien accept defeat and I don’t suspect he’ll start now but for a moment he stares back at me like I’m his whole universe.

And then a blade soars right toward my face.

My eyes remain trained on Lucien as I feel the sickening crunch of the apple being pierced.

If it were anyone else, I’d have passed out like those who bet against me predicted, or ran home but the pride on his face makes me feel like I can pull off a perfect quadruple axel blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back.

That’s how invincible I feel. He may have hit his target but I stayed true. I endured and I didn’t falter.

I submitted.

Except, I do falter when I hear a familiar voice ring out among the audience’s jeering as they crowd around Lucien and celebrate the awesome shot.

“Hey, Lucien, do me next.”

It instantly snaps my attention, the voice who dares think they’re getting anywhere near my Lucien. I’m so focused on the voice that is undeniably Tiffany saddling up next to Lucien that I almost miss the second voice strutting in my direction.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sydney Sinclair. Surprised you’re even here. I can’t believe you showed your face after what happened today. You’re bold .”

Whispers immediately ratchet up.

“Sinclair?”

“The heiress.”

“The figure skater?”

I take a step away from my position against the target, finally taking in the sight of the blade sticking right out of the apples center and once again planted deep into the wood. I wonder exactly how deep because, if need be, I’ll need to use that blade.

I look from the bitch on a warpath to the knife, moving to grab it before thinking better of it. If Tiffany wasn’t bad enough, her roommate and best friend, Regina, was just as bad.

“Poor thing. You’re downright filthy,” she mocks, swiping a finger along my forehead where I realize apple juice has dripped down my face.

I try to brush her hand aside, but her sharp acrylics dig into my jaw, gripping my face with a punishing bite that keeps me in place.

“I suppose it serves you right after what you did. So, what is Little Miss Rich Girl doing slumming it with the rest of us, huh? I mean, I heard you were having money troubles, but betting your life seems a little extreme, even for you,” she sneers. “But I guess a life for a life, right?”

Those shouts of praises and excited stares I once felt not twenty minutes ago feel like judgment and disgust now as my dirty laundry is aired for all to hear.

Regina’s eyes snake down my body and if I thought I looked ridiculous before, that repulsive glare she’s displaying makes me feel like the naked emperor. Like I’m the fool who thought she was draped in expensive garments when in fact she was naked and arrogant.

Her head tilts, as if catching sight of something of particular interest in the black sequin dress and wrapped heels I’m wearing.

“Did you dress like that to prove you’re better than us? Or was it to see which hockey god you could seduce next?” She shakes her dark hair. “Shame you snagged the attention of the crazy one.”

“He’s not crazy,” I strain, unable to keep the raw emotion from my voice. All I want to do is scream and lash out while also wanting to cry and run.

You deserve this.

“I guess you weren’t good enough to fuck anyone of real caliber.” Another jab that lands.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grit, but she keeps going, ignoring me in the process.

“Newsflash: you’re not even good enough to stay on the team! Unlike you, the rest of us earned our spots.”

I did earn my spot, is what I want to say but the words won’t come.

It’s all your fault.

“You’re not one of us. You never will be,” Regina seethes, her nails digging deeper.

It hurts. It all hurts.

“Get off me!” I swat at her hands, trying to raise my voice, but her grip on my cheeks is solid.

Regina’s cackle matches her menacing tone.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re a simping little puck bunny now?

Can’t hack it on the ice, so you’re fucking the next-best thing, is that right?

God, I can’t believe Lucien’s even wasting his time on you.

I knew Tiffany was telling the truth. All those times you were sick , or late , you were just out fucking him.

Must have been so beneath you to follow the rules like the rest of us. ”

“That’s not true,” I grit, though I know it’s not all lies either.

“You really are pathetic, you know that? A little girl vying for attention and love from Daddy Bigbucks . . .” I try again to push her away, but I’m so bruised by her words that I’m uncoordinated, stumbling back and slamming into the wooden panel as I fall on my ass.

Laughter erupts from a few onlookers who watch the humiliating exchange, but they do nothing to help me.

Even the girl from my ethics class turns a blind eye, though I can’t even say she does that since she’s opted to stay and watch.

It’s on the ground staring up at Regina’s cruel face that I’m reminded she’s absolutely right.

These people aren’t my friends, they aren’t my teammates, they aren’t my anything.

They’re strangers I’ll never see again after tonight, so why am I even bothering?

Angry tears well in my eyes and I want to scream at her for being so mean and disgusting.

But most of all, I want to scream at her for being so goddamn right.

I tried so hard to be a good person, to be unlike my father, but look what that got me. Maybe Lucien was right and there really is no such thing.

Regina smirks down at me, watching on in delight as I curl in on myself, drowned in thoughts of what if and maybe .

“No wonder Coach kicked you off the team; you can’t even stay balanced standing up . Just look at yourself,” she spits.

I don’t though.

Instead, I look at the cold rough ground, riddled with rocks and weeds from improper lawn care.

I burn all my feelings and hatred into the half-dead grass, wishing Regina was beneath it all.

I want to put her in her place, to say something vile and unkind right back but then I’ll justify why she thinks she hates me so much to begin with.

I’ll become the person she thinks I am. I want to destroy her, and that thought alone scares me.

It’s because of that line of thinking I ended up here to begin with.

If I resort back to my old ways now, I’ll never recover.

I’ll be forgotten and the Sydney I am with Lucien will be nothing but a fever dream, lost to the harsh reality of failed expectations.

She scoffs. “What are you going to do? Cry? I can’t believe—” her words are cut off, garbled and strained as she tries to catch her breath.