Page 94 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

forty-three

“ S ydney!” My dad yells through the front door. “You open this door right now!”

When I thought it couldn't get any worse it fucking does. My dad never yells, he thinks it's a sign of weakness. He says a person that holds real power could whisper his demands and the world would go silent to hear them.

Lucien pulls his cock out and my pussy weeps either tears– or cum– from the loss but she's definitely not happy with the turn of events.

Blood is everywhere, the cut beneath my breast bone still leaking.

Fuck. That's what I get for breaking a goddamn psycho's heart.

I'll probably need stitches for this one .

. . but brightside, it won't fade so easily with time.

I do my best to cover the gash with my hand, but the pressure only forces it to bleed more, not to mention it fucking hurts.

“Here.” His hand reaches out to give me what looks like a bundled pair of black socks from one of my drawers.

I can't really decipher his expression but it's nothing like he seemed a second ago.

A large sinking feeling grabs hold of me, even more so than when he had a knife to my chest. It holds on so tight I fear it'll end me before the blood loss does.

“Lucien Morrow, this is campus police. We need you to come with us. If you do not come out, we will be forced to enter the premises by force.”

My head whips to Lucien again and the expression I’d tried so hard to place locks in. He looks . . . defeated . When I gaze into his amber eyes, they no longer appear golden, or shine like the sun. All I can see glaring back at me, is defeat.

I’m shaking my head in protest before words can even form.

“Lucien?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, a hoarse, rasped sound serrating the air.

He puts on his shirt in a blur, buckles his pants, then slips on his shoes. I don’t think about putting on clothes or dressing my wounds. I just watch him.

I stand there and bleed while my heart breaks.

Sitting on the end of my bed, he drags his hands through his hair again before plucking his knife from the floor. He folds it in half and, to my surprise, hands it to me.

“I want you to keep this. Don’t let anyone have it, okay? Just, hold on to it . . .” His shoulder lifts into a shrug. “Maybe I’ll get it back from you one day.” He chuckles a little, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“Lucien, wait. Please . . .” I grab his hand, wanting to assure him somehow that he’s not alone in this world, but I don’t know how. I couldn’t show him if I wanted to because I’m just as alone, helpless and defeated.

“It’s fine,” he says, petting my hair with his free hand then placing a kiss atop my head.

I lean into his hold because I don’t think I’ll ever get to again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I cry.

“I know, Princess. Me neither,” he croaks.

The banging has moved to the bedroom door, pounding like dynamite exploding the bridge that once connected us.

“You have one minute or we’re coming in,” shouts the campus police.

“Stop being defiant, Sydney, and open this door right now!” shouts my dad.

“We’re coming, just give us a second,” I call, quickly grabbing some sleep shorts and locating Lucien’s sweatshirt.

I hide my stab wound by holding the sock to it to stop the bleeding, then tossing on a sports bra.

It’s a struggle to get a hoodie on, but I manage.

Meanwhile, Lucien pulls the sheets from the bed in one swift motion, wadding it all into a ball and tossing it in the corner before we give each other one last look.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No,” I whisper.

His lips twitch to smile, but that’s all it is, a brief curl of his lips before he’s headed for the door.

My eyes don’t deviate from his retreating frame even as he opens the door to find the movers, campus police, my dad .

. . and Bradford. They’re all standing in my doorway.

I pay them no mind, reaching for Lucien’s hand again when he stops to look at my dad.

They remain that way, staring each other down, until the campus police interject.

“Mr. Morrow, you’re going to have to come with us. We’ve received several complaints regarding your behavior last night and you’ve been summoned by the school’s president. He’s requesting an audience with you at once.”

Lucien says nothing, looking from my dad to Bradford, but he doesn’t turn to look back at me. His hand lets go of mine and he starts to walk away with the officers.

“Wait!” I shout, seeking his hand again. I need to go with them, explain everything that happened. It shouldn’t all fall on him. It’s not like he’s the sole person to blame for everything last night.

“Sydney, what the hell has gotten into you?” My dad scolds, but I push past him.

“I wanna go with him. I can help, I can explain !”

I look from the officers to Lucien’s back, but still Lucien doesn’t turn around. He walks ahead of them out of my apartment, taking the steps two at a time until he reaches the bottom.

I stomp after him.

“Lucien, stop! Please!”

He doesn’t even pause.

“Stop walking,” I huff, but he has the advantage of both height and speed.

“Lucien!” I call out when he almost reaches the street, a campus police car parked right in front of the building.

His steps falter, slowing just enough for me to catch up. All night he’s heeded my call, so this should be no different. He’ll stop for me. He’ll let me make this right.

“Please turn around,” I beg, pleading with him not to end things this way.

He stops and for a moment I feel like I can finally breathe.

His back ripples as he takes a deep breath, his hand moving to sweep his hair from his eyes as he looks up toward the sky.

His whole demeanor is one of pure agony and I can’t stand it.

I’m ready to run to him, to force him to turn around, to beg him to run off into the sunset with me and say fuck my dad, fuck Bradford, fuck the school’s president, fuck Tiffany and Regina, fuck the Andersons, fuck anyone against us, but he doesn’t.

He only stands there, and I know if I make one wrong move, it’s over.

“I’m sorry, okay!” The cold morning air slices my bare legs, still bruised in areas where he’s touched me.

He doesn’t say anything back.

“Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry,” I choke out.

His head hangs, falling between his shoulders as he struggles not to face me.

“Please don’t go. Not yet. I’m not ready yet,” I cry, tears streaming down my face as I watch him fight the urge to stay.

The two campus police officers ignore me as they open their car doors, one of them standing near the back while he waits for Lucien to get in.

Neighbors stand on their balconies watching the scene unfold down below, and the movers aren’t actually moving anymore—at least I don’t think they are as I stare at Lucien’s back that shivers either from the weather, rage or his fight to remain turned away from me.

My dad is uncharacteristically quiet now, and I turn to catch him scowling next to Bradford who’s even more smug than usual.

I quickly look away.

“Please,” I whimper, no longer caring about anyone else but Lucien.

I’ll stay , I think, but the words don’t broach my lips.

His head turns slightly, and for the briefest moment I allow hope to flourish within me.

“See you around, Princess.”

He climbs into the back of the car, slamming it closed. Then he’s gone, taking my heart and whatever hope I had with him.

6 months later

My heart squeezes like it’s about to burst right out of my chest. I have to rest my hands on my knees while I catch my breath.

“Your technique is really good, Sydney, but I still want you to loosen up a bit. Relax. You were way too stiff on that last move.”

I nod while huffing, desperate for air. Sweat drips down my brow and my spine straightens when I address her.

“I can do better,” I pant. “Just let me catch my breath and I’ll do it again.”

The stern eyes of my new choreographer, Oksana, pinch further as she continues to score me. I know I can’t take too much longer, or she’ll start getting on me about my endurance. The thought oddly reminds me of him, and my heart squeezes for an entirely different reason.

I still miss him. I foolishly thought the memory of him fucking me would keep me warm at night.

I thought continuing to pursue figure skating would ease the pain of losing him.

But more than anything, I thought that one night together would be enough.

I was sadly mistaken. I didn’t consider how much I would miss talking to him.

Yeah, he fucked my brains out, but he was funny and caring too.

We didn’t just connect sexually, we connected emotionally, and I didn’t prepare myself for losing that.

I knew my heart would break when I finally had to let him go, but I didn’t expect him to walk away with it. I didn’t expect him to try to cut it out either, but that’s my overly pragmatic Lucien for you.

My heart might as well have been carved out when I learned he did get kicked out of Belle U.

I’m not sure what ultimately did him in, but the guilt ate me alive for almost three months straight before I ever even considered forgiving myself.

I can’t help but believe that had I never spent the night with him, he wouldn’t have gotten into half as much trouble as he did.

I tried looking for him after everything ended, but as it turns out, my stalking skills have been grossly overestimated. I haven’t been able to find him.

I considered asking Trevor, but every time I tried, I couldn’t do it. It felt like I deserved to lose him and reaching out to his other lover to bring him back to me when absolutely nothing had changed seemed selfish. I still wouldn’t be allowed to be with him, even with my new deal with Dad.