Page 81 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

LUCIEN

Four years ago

“ J esus, slow down!” my dad shouts at drivers who can’t hear him. “Don’t they know these roads can get dangerous at night? There’s black ice everywhere. They should be more careful,” he grumbles.

My mother rests a slender hand on his shoulder to calm him. “I know, sweetie, let’s just get home before the kids die of hunger,” she teases, looking back at us as if to prove we’re withering away.

Of course, my little sister, Lilith, takes the opportunity to voice her demands,

“I’m starving,” she whines, “let’s stop and get McDonald’s.”

“Not this time, sweetie,” my mom placates. “I’ll whip up something special when we get home. The roads are getting dangerous and we’re expecting to get a lot of snow tonight.”

“Ooo! Snow? I love snow!” my sister exclaims.

I scoff, “What’s so special about it? It snows here all the time.”

It’s already falling in chunks and sticking to the windows.

Lilith scrunches her nose at me, the tip as pink as the fuzzy ball on the hat she refuses to part with.

“Because it’s pretty,” she harrumphs, her tiny fists balled in defiance as she defends the weather’s honor.

“It’s so fluffy and white and cold.” She ticks off these things as though it somehow makes snow the most special substance known to man.

Her wide eyes are in awe as she leans forward in her seat, watching it float down and stick to the trees.

It builds quickly, melding with the snow that must have fallen the day before.

“It’s frozen dirt particles that fall from the sky,” I counter.

She sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at me. “Hmph. You’re no fun.”

“She’s right, you know,” calls my dad from the front seat. “That’s a pretty cynical way of thinking, son,” he teases.

“What we call cynical might be his version of observant,” interjects Mom. “I’m glad you know something like that, honey. You learn something new every day,” Mom grins over her shoulder at me and winks. I can’t help but meet her grin with my own. That’s Mom, seeing the good even in the cynical.

“Well, I love snow,” grumbles Lilith.

I chuckle.

“I’m not saying you can’t love it, Lil,” I nudge her with my elbow. “Even dirt can be loveable,” I tease.

Her head cocks to the side. “Are you trying to say I’m dirt?”

The whole car erupts into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she whines. “I wanna laugh too. What’d I say?”

I’m holding my stomach at her expression. She looks so confused. I forget how innocent seven-year-olds can be.

“You’re not dirt, Lil,” I chuckle.

“What am I then?” she pushes.

“You’re sweet , like candy,” I offer, ruffling her dark hair.

“Aww,” my mom and sister say at the same time. My mom with her hand over her heart, and Lilith back in good spirits.

“My sweet boy, you’re such a good big brother.”

“That’s my boy,” my dad grunts in agreement, though I suspect he’s just as choked up as Mom is right now. What is it about the holidays that makes everyone so emotional?

“So, does this mean you’re going to play with me when we get home?” Lilith asks. “I wanna play Go Fish.”

“Nice try,” I call out, seeing her gambit for what it is. “I’m busy.”

She huffs, flopping back into her seat with her arms folded. “You’re always busy.”

“I’m a busy guy,” I drole.

“You just wanna stay up and play with Trevor. Why do you like him so much better than me?” she asks, her bottom lip doing that trembling thing that makes me uncomfortable.

Oh crap, she’d better not cry. Dad will kill me.

“I don’t like him better than you,” I say. “He’s my best friend. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

That seems to stop her from crying, but now she looks as if she wants to smack me.

“C’mon, play one game with your sister,” Mom chimes in.

“But she cheats!” I exclaim.

“I do not .”

“She’s just a kid,” explains my dad.

My point exactly.

“So, I should let her cheat?” I grumble back.

To his credit, my father is as patient as they come, especially when it comes to me and all my . . . quirks. Pulling up to a red light, he turns around in his seat.

“No, son, you shouldn’t let her cheat, but maybe you could teach her how to play the right way, so she doesn’t break all the rules.”

I roll my eyes. “But I’m supposed to be on the game with Trev in like twenty minutes. We finally found a way to unlock the bonus level in the zombie’s lair.”

He blinks at me. Saying it out loud sounds really dumb and lame, but we’re like this close to clearing the whole game.

“What is it with fifteen-year-olds and killing things?” chides my dad.

“Zombies deserve to die, Dad, they eat people!” I reason.

“Right, my bad. How could I forget you were ignoring your sister’s wishes for the fate of the world?” he deadpans.

“That’s not—”

He smirks, knowing he’s got me.

Way to make me feel guilty, Dad.

The light changes and he shifts back around. He’s about to drive forward again when a car swerves in front of us, honking and cursing out his window as he skids along the road, throwing up his middle finger.

My dad’s bad mood returns ten-fold, and he grumbles some more. “ What is the rush? Why is everyone in such a hurry these days?”

“It’s Christmas,” my mom shrugs, unbothered with the delay if it means spending more time together.

“You would think that’d mean people would slow down, take their time, enjoy the scenery.” My dad thrusts his arm out, arching it to showcase all the current ‘scenery.’ Though, I don’t see a thing but snow.

“Wishful thinking, sweetheart,” my mom chuckles, her hand sweeping over his broad shoulder in small circles again as he gradually calms back down.

The woman is half his size, but you wouldn’t know it the way she gets the big guy to chill.

My father would be a force to reckon with if his road rage ever left the car, but ask my mom, and she’ll tell you he’s her own personal teddy bear.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He looks back at us to make sure we’re okay and then does a double take as he leisurely travels at a safe pace down the single-lane street that leads to our house on the mountain. “Put your seatbelt on, son.”

He always says that when we turn onto this street.

It’s a winding, curving road that leads up to the residential neighborhoods that are on the mountain.

I’d never admit it aloud, but I like our winter cabin up here, and I like that we’re going to be away from the city for a while.

Mom and Dad will be home and they won’t be working so hard.

We can go skating on the lake like we used to before dad’s new job, and I can show them how good I’ve gotten at hockey.

I’m officially the fastest guy on my team, plus my goal average has gone up.

“What is this guy doing?!” Dad shouts, honking the horn at his latest road adversary. I go back to looking out the window, watching the bare trees pass by, and the crystallization of ice that forms on the corners of the window. It fogs as I breathe against the glass.

Everything mostly passes in a blur as I count the seconds before we’re home and I can play the game with Trevor—and I guess a game of Go Fish too.

“What’s that sign mean?” Lilith points to a yellow sign on the side of the road.

‘BEWARE OF BLACK ICE’ it reads.

“It’s a warning sign about the black ice on the streets,” I explain.

“What’s black ice?” she asks.

“It’s, um, a translucent ice that builds up on the roads when the temperature drops like this. It causes the roads to go slick and—

Everything is dark.

It takes a long time before I realize it’s because my eyes are closed, and it takes even longer for me to open them. My eyelids are so heavy. I don’t remember being this tired.

When they flutter open, I still see darkness, but a different kind. I see the night sky and floating white specks. Snow.

“Ah,” I wince, jolting upright and looking down at my knee that’s caked in blood, but staunched by the snow. I reach my shaking hand to my leg, wrapping it under my knee to hold it up. I can bend it, so it’s not broken.

I look around, searching the unfamiliar area. Where am I and why is it so quiet?

After a brief sweep, I note I’m no longer in the car like I’m supposed to be, I’m at the bottom of an embankment.

I reach out to push myself up only to hiss in pain when I feel something sharp dig into my palm.

I draw it to my face for a closer look. Glass.

It’s embedded in my hand. I realize it’s all over me, and the ground around me.

A trail of it leads all the way to the top of the road that I can no longer see. Shit, I fell far.

My blood runs cold. I fell?

I follow the trail of glass, but panic as I stumble over rocks I can’t see and hidden tree roots.

My hands and feet clamor for purchase. I can’t hear a thing.

Why is it so quiet? And where is everybody?

I hold my injured hand to my head and smack my temple.

It creates an echoing slap, but at least that’s something.

I finally reach the top of the hill, straining to stand before I shout,

“Hello!”

But there’s nothing.

Snow falls and the wind whispers, but it doesn’t whistle or roar.

I clear the trees, reaching the road a few short feet away only to find our car crumpled like a soda can.

I limp to the wreckage, realizing too late I can’t move very fast and fall onto the hood.

I bring my head up, clinging to the car as I struggle to keep upright, and stare at the scene before me.

What am I feeling? Shock? Is this real? What is this?

This . . . this isn’t right. This is . .

. this is a . . . bad dream. Yeah, that’s it.

I fell asleep in the car and I’m dreaming.

I’ll just wake up. Lilith will wake me up like she always does, in the most obnoxious way possible.

I won’t even get mad this time because this dream sucks. It’s a nightmare.