Icebreaker: A Novel (The Maple Hills Series Book 1)

FOR THE FIRST TIME, I’m relieved to be waking up alone.

The conversation I had with Nate last night weighed heavily on my mind as I fought to sleep. When he nudged me this morning and said he was going to see Faulkner, I didn’t fight to keep him in bed.

Even without a proper conversation, I could tell he was in a weird and sulky mood, likely riddled with guilt. He’s been blowing up my phone since he left, apology, justification, apology, rant, apology. It’s exhausting. But I put Nate and his worries to the back of my mind while I deal with my second—maybe joint first—favorite man.

Punching in the code when he shouts come in, I find Henry on the floor surrounded by paints and a huge canvas. I’m careful not to interfere with his process as I sit beside him, but I’m close enough that he has to face me. “Henry, is there anything you want to talk about?”

His head shakes, a definitive no. It’s a very determined but unconvincing no, but his looks in my direction get more frequent after a while until he eventually puts down his paintbrush. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Tell me why. They checked me over so many times, I promise I’m fine.”

“I started googling statistics of people who fall through frozen lakes, then those who die because of it. Then somehow, I ended up on people who get severely injured figure skating, and I couldn’t stop looking at all these things that might happen to you.”

“Oh, Henry.”

“I can’t stop obsessing over it, Anastasia. You nearly died. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“I’m sorry I scared you. I was scared, too, but I promise you I’m healthy, and it won’t happen again.”

“Please don’t skate on frozen stuff outdoors anymore.”

“I promise I won’t, but I need you to promise me you will stop looking at statistics. Do you need a hug?”

Thinking about my offer, he chews on his lip a little, but then he again shakes his head. “No. I promise to try to stop looking, I just can’t sometimes. It’s like, once it’s in my head, it burrows and burrows, and then I can’t get it out. I hate it about myself, and I don’t know why I have to do it.”

“You know I love you, right? And that there isn’t one single thing that I hate about you.”

“I know you do, and that’s why I worry about you. I’ve never had what we have before.” His confession shocks the words right out of me. “I don’t want to lose it.”

 I watch him paint until I have no choice but to get ready for my meeting with Aaron, and even then, leaving him is hard.

IT FEELS like I’m going to a job interview as I walk through the entrance toward Brady’s office.

Aaron looks as uncomfortable and nervous as I do, which makes me feel a little better. Brady’s office is small, but the table is big enough for me and Aaron to sit opposite each other, with Coach to our side like some divorce attorney.

“Thanks for coming, Stassie. I know I don’t deserve your time.”

Brady immediately groans. “Let’s not get dramatic straight off the bat, Aaron.”

I try to stay indifferent and not react. “You have my attention. What do you want to say?”

“I’ve been cruel to you and you didn’t deserve it.” He sits up straight in his chair, flexing his fingers. “I haven’t been the partner, or the friend, you deserve.”

“You know what you haven’t said to my face yet?” Stay calm. “You haven’t said sorry. You haven’t said I’m sorry, Stassie. I’m sorry I’ve slut-shamed you. I’m sorry I created a situation so toxic you moved out. I’m sorry I bad-mouthed you to everyone.”

“Anastasia, please,” Brady says, clearing her throat. “We’re here to fix things. I know how much you both care about each other, let’s focus on that.”

“He said nobody would be abl—” My voice cracks. “He said nobody would be able to love me when my birth parents couldn’t. Did he tell you that, Coach? When he said he wanted to fix things?”

“Aaron.” Brady’s face pales, her voice strains. “Please tell me you di—”

He buries his head in his hands. “It’s true, Coach. I said it all and worse. I’m so sorry, Anastasia.”

“I’ve defended you so much, Aaron. When your behavior made people think you were toxic, I told them you were misunderstood. At the same time, you were calling me a bad skater and telling people I was trying to trap Nate with a baby because I’m poor. Do you even realize how fucked up that is? What have I done to make you hate me?”

That’s enough to get his attention and he finally looks up at me again. His face is blank; he’s calculating the appropriate reaction, because he definitely didn’t know I knew that. “My Dad had another affair. Got this one pregnant and Mom finally kicked him out. She’s our age, Stas. Do you know how sick that is? I’m going to have a sibling and their mom is someone I could have dated.”

“Your mom doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. She never has done, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me?”

“You haven’t been around! I needed you, needed your support, and you’ve been nowhere. You’ve been partying and hanging around with guys you don’t even like. I felt alone and it made me so mad at you.”

All this heartache, all the tears, and the hurting. All the feelings of not being good enough, wondering if I deserve what I have, all because he didn’t tell me something was wrong.

“I’ve been so upset about you not being a good friend that I’ve been an even worse friend. I don’t expect you to forgive me yet, but I want to earn it. I know that’ll take time, and I have an idea of how we can work through it.”

Stay freaking calm. “They’re words, Aaron. They don’t mean anything.”

“There’s this therapist here in LA called Dr. Robeska. She specializes in couples but not in a romantic way,” he clarifies quickly, “people like us—pairs and teammates. My mom said she will pay for it after I told her what I’d done. Mom said this could be a fresh start for us all.”

Brady nods enthusiastically, which irritates me since she was the one Aaron was bitching to about me for who knows how long. “Good communication is key when it comes to partnership. You two have had a very rocky few months, and if this pairing is going to continue, we need to get you back on track.”

He knows exactly what he is doing, which is what irritates me the most. Knowing he’s hitting me somewhere I won’t be able to refuse. I’ve been praising the effectiveness of therapy the entire time I’ve known him, mainly to make him go and work out his issues. Even after everything that has happened, he’s trying to manipulate me into doing something.

“Sabrina said you’ve been cleared to skate again. Is that true?”

He’s nodding before I even finish my sentence, holding up his bad arm, flexing it around to demonstrate he has the movement he lost back. “Full bill of health from the doctor. I’m ready to go when you are…So, therapy?”

“I’m going to have to think about it, Aaron. It’s a huge commitment to make, and you’ve hurt me. You’ve really hurt the people around me, people who I love.”

“You loved me once too,” he says flatly. “And I love you, as a friend, obviously.”

“I think our time would be better spent getting ready for nationals. I’m not sure how I’m expected to want to be your friend again, but we can have a professional partnership.”

“If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat, Stassie. But I can’t, and I still want that friendship with you, as well as the partnership, but I need to earn your forgiveness in the right way.” He takes a big, dramatic intake of breath. “By proving I’m better than I was when I was that man. I’ll give you time to think about therapy. I hope you make the right choice. I really am sorry, and I’ll say sorry as many times as you need me to.”

Brady gives us both a speech about sportsmanship, and by the time I’m leaving the office, I’m tired and irritated, cursing the day I decided to give pairs a chance. I feel swamped by other people’s issues and emotions, which is hard, since I have such big emotions myself.

I’m not perfect. I am so far from perfect it’s laughable, but I try my best to be a good friend. So to be told this whole mess is because I’ve supposedly failed Aaron as a friend is hard to swallow.

Logically, I know it isn’t true, but Aaron was never going to sit there and admit he didn’t even try to talk to me about it. Emotionally, I’m questioning if there’s more I could have done. And now I’m annoyed at myself because that’s what he wants, and I’m falling for it.

This is the problem with people. Nothing is straightforward; everyone has good and bad. Look at people like Nate’s dad; is he the father Nate and Sasha need? No. But is he an evil person? Also no. It’s the same with Aaron. I wouldn’t be this upset and conflicted over someone that is a totally bad person.

This is where Nate and I differ because he only looks at the good and the bad. He doesn’t pay attention to the murky, questionable gray area between those two points. And what I’ve now learned is when Nate is bothered by something, it comes out as frustration.

Nathan is waiting with a gorgeous bunch of peonies when I arrive back at the house, and I can’t even pretend to be happy about it. He holds the bouquet out to me. “How did it go?”

“I don’t have the energy to cope when I tell you and you make me feel shitty. Can I tell you tomorrow when I’ve processed it? I need a drink. I think I’m going to go out with Sabrina.”

The surprise flickers across his face quickly, and he leans to kiss my temple. “I deserve that. Yeah, uh, take the time you need. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I THINK I might be dying.

There’s a mane of soft, chestnut brown hair covering my face when I reluctantly peel open my eyes. It smells like fresh oranges, and despite the fact I love oranges, the idea of eating an orange right now makes bile rise in my throat.

I’m wrapped around a tiny frame of sequins and golden-brown skin, and I’m incredibly and headache inducingly confused about where I am, because it’s not with Nathan, that’s for sure.

Rolling onto my back, unraveling myself from whom I hope is Sabrina, I take in the room around me. Part of me worries for a second that we are at the apartment, but this room is far too tidy to belong to either of us.

A deep snore from the bed has me sitting up, then stopping to cover my mouth when the movement knocks me sick. The sight of Robbie’s sleeping face only adds to my confusion, but my alcohol-soaked brain deduces that I’m in Robbie’s bed, weirdly, with Sabrina and Robbie.

I don’t remember getting home last night. Well, I only remember very blurry bits that aren’t helping me right now.

After my shitty day, I could feel the stress and tension leaving my body a few shots in; a few more shots in is when it started to get blurry. Every move I make is making my body physically throb in the worst way, and as much as I want to go upstairs and crawl into bed beside my own boyfriend, I don’t think I have the strength or coordination to make that happen.

Reaching for my phone, I say a tiny prayer that Nate is awake.

NATE

STASSIE: You awake?

NATE: Hey, drunk girl. Yeah, just woke up.

STASSIE: I think I’m dying.

NATE: A bottle of tequila will do that to a person.

STASSIE: Why am I in bed with Brin and Robbie?

NATE: I tried to put you in our bed but you said I was trying to come between you and Sabrina.

NATE: You guys wanted to snuggle.

STASSIE: Even thinking about moving is making me nearly vomit.

STASSIE: I have thought motion sickness.

STASSIE: Watching the words on my screen is making me feel sick.

Help me.

NATE: Want me to carry you up the stairs?

NATE: You’re not allowed to be sick though.

STASSIE: Can you carry me really softly? Is that a thing?

STASSIE: I can taste sound rn I’m very delicate.

NATE: Omw to carry you really softly.

Heavy footsteps sound on the stairs after I hear his bedroom door slam, and yet, I still can’t motivate my body to move. The door lock beeps as he enters the four-digit code, and he strolls in, looking effortlessly beautiful in his boxers. I want to watch him, admire him, but the more he moves, the worse I feel, so I scrunch my eyes shut.

“I’ll try not to be offended at your grimace.”

“You’re a work of art, bub, truly you are. Absolute ten out of ten sex god. But watching you move that quickly is making me wanna hurl,” I mumble through tight lips.

“Ten out of ten sex god? I think someone might still be a little drunk.” His strong arms scoop under my body, pulling me to his chest in one effortless movement.

“Oh my God, stop moving.” I moan through the palm of my hand glued to my mouth. “How can I be drunk and hungover?”

“You’ll feel better after some Tylenol and a shower. I take it you don’t wanna work out with me this morning?”

When I glare up at his outrageously pretty face, he’s trying not to laugh, which is wise, because the motion of his laughter might make me throw up on his chest.

He walks us slowly to the kitchen, sitting me on the counter gently. “You smell like McDonald’s and regret.” He reaches into the drawer and produces a bottle of painkillers.

“Did I eat McDonald’s last night? Or do I naturally smell like a Big Mac?”

He brushes my tangled hair from my face and looks at me so lovingly that, for a second, I forget that I am an actual dumpster gremlin right now. “You ate twenty chicken nuggets in about four minutes. It was like you were in an eating competition, but you were the only contestant. I’ve never been more in love with you.” He hands me a glass of water and puts two pills in my palm. “Do you not remember getting home? Russ picked you guys up because he was sober. You forced him to take you for food.”

“I like Russ.”

Nate chuckles to himself and rubs his hands up the front of my bare legs while I throw back the pills. “I know you do, you said it quite a lot. You called him muffin in front of everyone. Can you guess what all the guys are calling him now?”

Oh no. Poor muffin. “Uh-oh.”

He scoops me back up and heads toward the stairs, being careful not to rock me around too much. “Uh-oh is right. Poor kid, he’ll get over it, though, don’t worry. I think he’s going to live here next year, so you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make it up to him. Russ and Henry are becoming friends, I think.”

Nate lowers me onto his bed and wraps me up in the covers until I’m the equivalent of a human burrito. He’s looking at me so lovingly, and in that moment, it’s hard to think about our differences.

“Nathan?”

“Yes?”

“I need to be sick, but I can’t move my arms or legs…”

He frantically unwraps me and watches as I sprint toward the bathroom, and I don’t know what he does while I violently expel everything in my body, but I imagine it’s along the lines of being grateful to have such a graceful girlfriend.

Nate showers me, puts me back in bed, makes me food, and heads to the gym, and I stay in bed, feeling sorry for myself, with a book.

I must have dozed off because I jump when he comes through the bedroom door, looking sweaty, having apparently been gone a while.

“You good?” he asks, dropping his gym bag at the bottom of the bed.

Before my impromptu nap, I’d been reflecting on the past twenty-four hours and quickly came to the conclusion I had an apology to deliver. “I’m sorry I was snappy with you yesterday.”

“You apologized last night, don’t worry about it.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, about thirty times. Then you tried to seduce me, which I politely rejected—sorry. You were far too drunk to be doing anything other than sleeping.”

Sinking farther into the duvet, I feel the heat creep to my cheeks. “Doesn’t sound like me. You sure?”

He hums a “Yep,” smirking to himself. “You were very graphic with what you wanted to do to me. Told me my dick is the prettiest you’ve ever seen.”

 Peeking over my duvet shield, he looks so happy. “It is, to be fair.”

Sitting beside my legs, he rubs his hand up and down my shin gently. “Listen, you always want me to be honest with you, so I am. It’s bugging me that I don’t know how yesterday went with Aaron. Can we please talk about it?”

“Of course.” Nathan doesn’t say a word while I’m talking; he sits in silence, listening carefully. When I’m finally done, he still doesn’t say anything. I shuffle nervously on the bed, nudging him with my foot. “Well?”

“Couples therapy?”

“Sports partner therapy.”

“He’s up to something.” Nate crawls up between my legs, wiggling until he’s positioned with his head on my stomach. “I don’t want to upset you again. It’s never about you, baby. I’m sorry if I made you feel like it was.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t like it.”

“I know that too.”

“I’m trying not to make him an us issue. I just get annoyed and it’s hard to see past it.”

“Nate…”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my stomach, I’m going to be sick again!”