Page 12 of Ice Cold, Red Hot (Coldwater Firehawks Hockey #1)

SHEPHERD

“It’s not the same thing. You have no idea?—”

Celeste moved then, getting in my face. “Don’t even start.

You think I have no idea what it means to be under pressure?

To need to focus? I’m working my ass off to be here.

Did you know that I send money home every week, that I pay my family’s rent?

Did you know that I’m buried in student loans?

I’ll be lucky if I ever pay them off. You don’t want to be distracted?

I don’t even have the luxury of considering it.

I can’t afford to screw this up.” The words came out fast, and there were tears standing in her eyes when she finished.

As she wiped at her face, I realized how impossible this situation actually was. She was juggling so much more than just some guy who couldn’t seem to get his act together around her. For her, this was serious. Her whole family counted on her.

I couldn’t hold her gaze as I realized I really was the privileged asshole she probably saw me as. I was worried about a game. About my daddy’s approval. She was worried about real life.

Until that moment, I’d wanted a solution. I’d thought there must be some way to figure it out. Things between us felt so fucking right—how could the universe mean for anything besides us being together? But now I got it. It couldn’t happen.

I gritted my teeth and shoved a hand through my hair. “That’s exactly why this can’t happen.”

“Excuse me?”

“You need someone steady. Reliable. Not a cocky hockey player with a six-month expiration date.” I stood and grabbed my boxer briefs and jeans from the end of the bed, shoving my feet into them. I stared at the closet door as I finished. “You need a guy like Ethan.”

“Wow. That’s rich. You telling me what I need,” she said.

“I’m serious. He’s got his whole life planned out. He won’t let you down. He’s perfect.”

“Maybe you should date him.”

“I mean it.”

She stood, stepping in front of me, the comforter falling from her perfect breasts. I fought the urge to reach for her, forcing my hands to my sides. “And you will? Let me down?”

I already knew the answer and so did she.

“So that’s it? You really think I’d want Ethan the way I want…”

She didn’t finish the question, and the word she didn’t say just about broke me. My whole body shuddered with the effort to keep my hands at my sides. I wanted to touch her. To claim her. To keep her.

But I couldn’t.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do need someone more reliable. Steady,” she said, her voice laced with steel now. “I’m sure about one thing. I need someone who actually gives a shit about me.”

Ouch.

I watched as she stormed out of her room into the bathroom, slamming the door.

I dropped to the bed for one second, sweeping my shirt off the floor and putting it on. If she only knew exactly how much I did care about her. That was exactly why I had to let her go.

I didn’t sleep much. My mind was running a highlight reel of the night before. Celeste… her body. Her voice. Her hands. God, her mouth. And most of all… her. The way I felt when she was next to me, when she looked at me with those caramel eyes, full of trust, full of want…

It was too much.

I didn’t regret that I’d broken, given in to how much I wanted her.

But if I thought I could have her once and get it out of my system.

Well, I regretted what an idiotic thought that had been.

She wasn’t that kind of girl—the kind you attain and then walk away from.

Those girls were all around the hockey rink, the puck bunnies offering themselves up for conquest, for fun.

Celeste was something completely different. The kind of girl who only gets better the deeper you go. One taste would never be enough. One night would never sate the need. Instead, it just drove that need deeper inside me, making me need her that much more.

In other words, I was fucked.

And it only became more obvious at practice.

The second my skates hit the ice, I knew I was off.

My legs were there, but my head wasn’t. My hands felt too tight on the stick, too slow to respond, and I was half a beat behind on every drill. Passes bounced off my tape. My timing was garbage. I fumbled a shot that should’ve been automatic and over-skated a puck like a damn freshman.

Coach blew the whistle sharp. “Renshaw, wake the hell up!”

Griff glanced over from the circle, eyebrows raised. “You good, bro?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Because all I could think about was her. Celeste. Naked and panting beneath me. That soft, breathy moan when I’d pushed inside her for the first time. The way she looked at me like I was something good. Like I was worth wanting.

And now I was here, pretending I could just play hockey like everything hadn’t changed. Like my own weakness hadn’t been the thing to change it.

Coach had us running breakouts next, and I damn near collided with my own teammate because I was looking in the wrong direction—thinking about the curve of her smile instead of the play.

“Jesus Christ, Ren,” one of the defensemen snapped as I clipped his shoulder.

I muttered an apology through clenched teeth, jaw tight .

I was unraveling, and every second I wasn’t with her just pulled another thread loose.

I stood under the hot spray of the shower forever, trying to talk myself back to where I’d been before.

Before I met her. Before I felt the way she’d made me feel this summer, that feeling I’d glimpsed again last night.

Like I mattered—not just because of my name, my family, how I skated.

Because of something else. Because of me.

Finally, I shut the spray off, cleaned up and drove home, pulling into the parking lot behind the building with a growing dread I couldn’t identify. As I stepped from the truck and pulled my hockey bag to my shoulder, I spotted a too-shiny Jaguar in the visitor spot.

It couldn’t be.

Right? Not today.

But that was my luck, it seemed. As I rounded the sidewalk to the front of the building, they were there.

Mom and Dad, sitting on the bench out front as if they were waiting for a valet to bring their car to them. Or like maybe they’d ordered martinis that would be delivered any moment. Like they owned the place.

“Son.” Mom stood and smiled, and I steeled myself. It wasn’t Mom I couldn’t take right now. It was Darren. My dad.

“Hi,” I said, letting the bag slide to the ground as Mom kissed my cheek and I tried to force a smile for her.

She looked the same as ever—perfect blond hair, straight to her shoulders, flawless magenta sheath dress with a cardigan pulled over it just so.

And Dad? In a suit, as always. Looking like he was heading into an important meeting .

He stood, extended a hand. We shook. We never hugged.

“Shepherd.”

“Dad.”

Whatever hopes I’d had for turning this day around shriveled the second I looked into my father’s eyes. He was disappointed.

As usual.