Page 52 of Ice-Cold Obsession

“Just give them some more time.”

“I’ll have to miss practice. They’re probably waiting to see if I show up.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go tell the team you came down with something and that you texted me because you’re super sick and don’t want to spread it to anyone.”

His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth like he wants to argue, then closes it again. “What if the mafia approaches you?”

“Nothing. I’ll show them the text and tell them the same thing. I know nothing.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands clench into fists at his sides. He sits down on my bed and lowers his head into his hands. His elbows rest on his knees, and his whole body curves inward.

I settle next to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all going to work out,” I say.

“You can’t know that.”

“No, but we had to do something. We can’t just let them control us forever.”

He lifts his head and looks at me. “You could’ve left.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone.”

“Why not?”

“Because I care about you.” I can’t say the dreaded L-word just yet, but I hope he can understand how much he means to me.

He stares at me for a long moment. Then he reaches for me, pulling me into his arms. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close.

We stay like that for a while, without speaking. I can feel the tension in his body slowly starting to ease, but it doesn’t disappear completely.

We’ll figure this out. I have to believe it, or I’m going to fall apart.

Chapter 32

SCARLETT

I LEAVE THE DORM ANDhead toward the rink. The campus is busy with students coming and going. Someone’s playing music from their dorm window. A group of people sits on the lawn, talking and laughing. Everything looks like nothing’s changed, and for them, it hasn’t.

When I reach the rink, I push through the doors and head down the hallway toward the practice area. The familiar sound of skates on ice echoes through the building, along with the coach’s whistle and the shouts of players calling to each other.

I spot Coach near the bench. He’s watching the players run drills. When he sees me approach, he frowns.

“Where’s Gabriel?” he asks.

“He’s sick. He texted me this morning and said he didn’t want to spread it to the team, so he’s staying in his dorm.”

His frown deepens. “He didn’t call me.”

“He’s really sick. Like, he can barely move. I told him I’d let you know.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Stomach bug, I think. He was up all night throwing up.”