Iced Out: A Rival’s Sister Hockey Romance (Heston U Hotshots Book 1)

Ryan and my parents are at the house when we get in. Mom reaches me first, catching me in her arms when my knees go weak. Dad comes up behind her and fits his arms around both of us while Ryan comes up at my side to rub my back. I’m numb, yet also feel like I’m balancing on the edge of breaking down again at the smallest trigger.

“I wanted to be faster,” I say hoarsely.

“It’s okay,” Dad says. “It was tough to go through. Maybe it’s better this way.”

I look back at Easton, vision going blurry. Would he agree? Both of us lost our chances to say goodbye. He knows what I’m feeling better than they do, although his loss was so sudden he wasn’t able to prepare at all.

Maybe there is no good way to face losing your loved ones, whether it’s in an accident or by illness, or when it’s simply their time to go.

Easton rests his palm at the small of my back when my family gives me room to breathe and holds out a hand.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry we’re meeting this way.”

“Easton, right?” Dad asks.

“Yes, sir. Easton Blake.”

“I’ve seen some of your games. You’ve got one hell of a slapshot.”

A surprised exhale escapes him. “Thank you.”

“Quit fluffing up his ego, Dad. Trust me, he doesn’t need it to grow any bigger,” Ryan mutters.

It’s odd to talk about normal stuff with fresh grief hanging over our heads.

“Why don’t we go inside,” Mom suggests.

As we sit around the kitchen table with decaf coffee, my family recounts Grandpa’s final moments. Mom rubs Dad’s shoulders when his voice thickens. Ryan frowns into his mug.

I stare at my parents and brother, jealousy trickling into the hollow well inside me. They got to have something with Grandpa that I was robbed of. I chew on the inside of my cheek, feeling guilty for even getting angry about something that isn’t anyone’s fault. It was out of our control.

Easton clasps my wrist, thumb tracing a pattern. I concentrate on that, needing a tether to calm down.

I feel out of it when we finally go up to my room. He tucks me in, knuckles grazing my cheek. I wrap my fingers around his forearm.

“Thank you. I would’ve been such a mess without you to get me home.”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “I wish I could stay with you tonight. If I don’t leave now—”

“Go.” My heart rushes into my throat. “I understand.”

His hand unfurls and cups my face. I nuzzle against it, kissing the center of his palm.

“I’m proud of you for making playoffs. You’re going to be amazing.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

He lingers until I close my eyes. I peek them open to find him still by my side. The second time my eyelids shut, they’re too heavy to open again.

The next afternoon, Easton’s back. I’m on the couch, failing to occupy myself with the book I’m trying to read to get my mind off things. It’s always been a favorite, but every few sentences, my thoughts drift. When I get up to answer the door, he’s there holding a huge pot with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

I didn’t expect to see him. He texted me throughout the day, and called this morning when he made it back to campus. I thought he’d throw himself into training for the first round of playoffs that begins later this week.

“What are you doing?” I blurt.

The corners of his mouth tilt up. “Taking care of you.”

He sidesteps me, navigating my house like he belongs here. I follow him to the kitchen.

“Hi, Mrs. Donnelly. One of my teammates made this for you to help out.”

Mom looks up from the paperwork she has spread on the table to make arrangements for the funeral. She slips off her reading glasses and smiles.

“That was very thoughtful of him. Tell him thank you.”

“I will. Cameron’s meatballs are a big hit when we need some comfort food.” He turns to me. “All the guys send their condolences. Noah said he’s offering free hugs whenever you need one. He got the guys to record a video for you before practice this morning.”

My lip quivers. I manage to swallow back the wave of emotion.

“Can I see your phone?”

He unlocks it and hands it over without question. First, he plays the video. Noah starts, then he pans down the entire lineup in the empty ice rink. Even Madden has something brief yet sympathetic to say. After it’s over I pull up the group chat with the team I’ve seen him use. Their responses flood the message thread within moments.

Easton: Hi guys, it’s Maya. Thank you for the food and sweet messages. You didn’t have to do any of that. Good luck this week!

Noah: Anything for our fans. But seriously, I’m sorry to hear about your Grandpa.

Elijah: You’re in our thoughts.

Cameron: Happy to help however we can. Let me know if there’s anything else we’re able to do for your family.

Theo: Really sorry for you and your family. I let Lainey know and she’s going to see if she can come visit you.

Madden: Sorry for your loss.

“Set it on the stove, Easton. I’ll heat it up now,” Mom directs. “When it’s ready, I’ll call you in.”

He does as she asks, then we go upstairs. He sets his bag down and rummages through it.

“This time I can stay longer. I also got this from Reagan when I went by your place to return her car keys. She said she’d pack more if you need it.”

He pulls out some of my clothes, my laptop and phone charger, then some envelopes. One of them has Hana and Reagan’s handwriting, and the other has beautiful flowers illustrated all over it.

I’m touched when I open it to find it’s a handmade card from Corinne. It says thinking of you, remember even after the heaviest rainfall flowers will bloom.

“I ran into her when I went to your apartment. When she found out what happened, she drew this in like ten minutes.”

“Wow.” I trace the drawings.

The card from Hana and Reagan is just as kind, wishing me well and letting me know to take my time. Hana says she’ll cover my shifts at work for as long as I need her to, and Reagan promises to get me anything I need.

Easton loops his arms around me. I sigh in relief, basking in the masculine scent I now associate with everything good in my life.

“Is this you and him?”

I turn to the wall of photos. He’s pointing at one where I’m around twelve. Grandpa’s mounted on the horse next to mine, mid-laugh and waving at the camera.

“Yeah. He taught me to ride. I loved when we took the horses out on the trails.”

It aches to look at, though my lips still twitch into a soft smile. I touch the edge of the frame, wishing more than anything I could relive this moment of pure joy.

A weak laugh leaves me. “He kicked up the biggest fuss because I wanted to do the harder trail that cut through the woods. I got my way, but he wouldn’t let me hear the end of it because my horse spooked when we got to jumping a small stream and I ended up falling in. I was soaked and I lost one of my boots.” I swipe at my eyes. “He fished me out and held me the whole ride back on his horse while I cried about how sorry I was for getting him wet.”

His arms cinch tighter. “It’s nice you got to grow up so close with him. You’ll always be able to look back on the special relationship you two had.”

Memories are all I’ll have left. It’s such a strange thing to get used to.

I can’t go see my grandfather or hug him or tell him about what’s going on with me anymore.

“Come eat,” Mom calls from downstairs.

“Come on. Food will help.” Easton laces our fingers together.

When we climb into bed at the end of the night, it’s the first thing to feel right. I didn’t realize how much I’ve grown used to sleeping with him until last night. I woke up twice after he left, unable to drift off as easily as I did when he waited for me to fall asleep. This time I’m able to get a better night’s rest.

On Tuesday, I block Easton from getting in his car when he’s getting ready to leave for tonight’s practice again after arriving at lunchtime. I’m thankful he’s driven the entire way back and forth from Heston Lake every spare second he can to be with me while I’m home, calling me before and after practices when he can’t.

He’s done more than enough to be there for me while I grieve.

“I wish I could stay longer, too.” He steps into me. “I told the coaches I’d make this work.”

“You’re being crazy going back and forth like this every day.” My fingers tangle in his hoodie as his fresh, comforting scent encompasses me.

“I’m in love. People in love do crazy stuff all the time. Besides—” He presses his lips to my hair. “—you’re worth every moment of insanity.”

“Easton,” I mumble.

“Maya.”

He twists my reluctant tone to a stubborn one, lifting his brows. My heart pangs, affection breaking through the constant fog of sadness clouding my mind.

“You shouldn’t be worried about me. You need to focus on hockey. This isn’t helping to split yourself like this. You need to rest and prepare for playoffs, not spend hours on the road just to see me for a little bit.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it.”

I lick my lips, tugging on his sweater. “Please, Easton. I don’t want you to sacrifice your dreams for me.”

He clasps my chin between his fingers, lifting it to make me look him in the eye. I swallow at his serious expression.

“I’m focused on the most important part of my future. That’s not a sacrifice at all.” His chin dips and his eyes bounce between mine. “You, Maya.”

Damn him. My throat constricts and I sniffle, eyes watering for the millionth time this week.

“I don’t want to cry again. I’ve cried so much.”

His expression softens and he cradles my face between his hands. “I know. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His thumbs caress my cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere, so lean on me, baby, because you’ll always have me to hold you up when you need help.”

I slide my arms around him, burying my face against his chest.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

My arms tighten. I get it now, why he says it so often. We never know when it will be the last time we get to say it, so we have to make every moment count.

This headstrong, cocky man swept into my life and turned it upside down. He taught me what it’s like to love harder than I ever thought possible. I wouldn’t give him up for anything.

“I love you more,” I confess.

“Impossible.”

“Well, we have the rest of our lives together to see who wins this time.”

His chest shakes with his chuckle. “Challenge accepted.”

I press on tiptoe and he meets me in a kiss.

The funeral is on Wednesday. Because of the short notice, we end up having the events out of order due to the church and the funeral home being overbooked. The viewing is after today’s memorial service, then the burial is tomorrow.

I sit through the service tucked into Ryan’s side. Dad gives the eulogy, but Mom has to finish it for him when he becomes too emotional to speak about his father’s life.

Easton doesn’t make it until just before the viewing in the afternoon. He’s partway through changing into a suit when I go outside to meet him. Ryan hands him a jacket he brought with him while Easton buttons up his shirt.

“Thanks. I didn’t want to be wrinkled when I got here.”

“Thanks for coming.” Ryan rubs his nape. “It’s got to be tough to drive back and forth right before playoffs. I know everything you’ve been doing the last few days means a lot to her.”

“Of course I came. She needs me, I’m there.” Easton’s gaze finds me and he strides over. “Hey. I’m sorry I missed the service. We had a team meeting that ran long.”

I shake my head, stepping into his embrace when he opens his arms. “This is good.”

His cheek rests against the top of my head. “How are you holding up?”

I shrug. “Sucky.”

He squeezes me. “That’s okay. I’m here now.”

“The funeral home won’t open to the public for another half hour. It’s just the family inside now.”

“Do you want to go in?”

Taking a shaky breath, I nod. “I haven’t seen him yet. I want to, before it’s too late and I lose the chance.”

He keeps his arm around me on our way in. We wait for one of my aunts to finish first.

Dread knots my stomach as we approach for my turn. I wasn’t able to see him once I got home. This is the first time I’ll face him since he passed away.

The cushion to kneel on beside the casket feels strange against my tights. All the fresh flower arrangements tickle my nose with their strong perfume.

I stare at the pastel blue cushion, willing myself to look up. My chest heaves in trepidation.

“It’s okay.” Easton rubs my back, kneeling beside me. “You have all the time you need, Maya. Breathe for me.”

I’m not prepared when I lift my gaze.

It’s—wrong to see him lying so still. So stiff.

Whenever I caught him napping on the couch when I visited his house in high school, he’d sleep hard with his mouth open, snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors on either side of the dairy farm.

He’s like a waxy doll. His hands are arranged over his stomach. They’re far more frail and bony than when I last saw him.

Sliding my lips together, I gather the courage to hold his hand. A startled noise catches in my throat.

“It’s cold,” I whisper.

Cold. Rigid. Unable to hold my hand like he did when I was a little girl.

Easton covers my hand with his. I close my eyes as more memories with Grandpa hit me.

All the times we spent together in the stable. The day he gave me the Donnelly Dairy hat I love so much. When I was younger and so excited when me and Ryan got to have a sleepover with him at the farm. The first time the car broke down while I was driving and calling him to walk me through what to do.

He’s always been there and now he won’t be.

In my head, I hear his voice calling me chicken.

I cover my face, breath quickening into sharp gasps. Easton helps me to my feet and tugs me into his arms. He guides me away from the casket to find us a private corner for my breakdown.

“I know, baby,” he says gruffly. “I know.”

When I calm down, he’s massaging my nape. I lift my head from his chest, frowning at the wet spot and mascara smearing his shirt. At this rate, I think I’ve cried off all the makeup I reapplied after the service.

“You’re a mess now. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? Come on.” He captures my hand and finds the bathroom. “I don’t care about my suit.”

“Why can’t I stop?” I mumble. “No one else is losing it as much as I am.”

“Because loss fucking hurts. Everyone handles it differently. So no shame—cry your eyes out. Feel whatever you’re feeling as long as you don’t bottle it up. Trust me, it doesn’t work.” His lips twist ruefully. “It’ll still come out.”

He picks through the basket stocked with toiletries, finding a packet of makeup wipes. Grasping my chin, he carefully wipes my face clean with a cool, soothing wipe.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m good.” Once he’s done, he wets a thick napkin and holds it over my puffy eyes. “How’s that feel?”

“Nice,” I murmur.

A few minutes later, he tosses the damp napkin and swipes hair from my face. My lips wobble, not quite forming a smile.

Determined to be useful in some way, I pin him against the counter when he tries to leave the bathroom. He dutifully lets me do what I can to clean the makeup stains off his shirt. I’m not sure if I’ve made it better or worse.

“Should’ve worn a black one instead of white,” he says with a snort. “It’s fine. This jacket’s a little tight, but I think I can get it buttoned if you want.”

I shake my head. We linger in the bathroom for another moment, but I can’t hide out forever. Eventually, we make our way back out.

After the viewing, most of my extended family and close friends move to a pub Grandpa liked to celebrate his life. More memories of times we spent here flood me while they laugh and toast to Grandpa, telling stories about the good times and the bad.

My aunts help put Dad in better spirits until he’s the one telling most of the stories. They laugh and cry, their tears tinged with fond happiness and love for the man who was the pillar of our entire family.

Easton chuckles at the funny ones, keeping an arm wrapped around me. My heart might be crushed right now, but I’m so glad to have him here with me. I rest my head against him, shaking it when he tries to get me to eat something.

“I just need you,” I whisper.

“You’ve got me. Here, at least nibble on the bread. It’ll help your stomach settle.”

It takes me all night, but I get down small bites.

He’s right. The food does help.

It’s hours after dark by the time we get back to my family’s house from the pub. Easton follows me upstairs and sits me on the bed, removing my heels to rub my tired feet. I drop my head back with a grateful sigh.

“You’re the best.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “That’s always what I strive for. Tell me what else you need right now.”

I bite my lip as I think it over. “A walk.”

His handsome warm blue eyes crinkle while he starts humming the tune for the chorus of I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers. My tall, muscled hockey player boyfriend kneels at my feet, humming a song to tell me he’d go anywhere for me—with me.

The cracks of my grieving broken heart fuse together as it swells in my chest with a tender glow. Even though this is all so hard, I know I’ll be okay because I have him there to catch me whenever I fall. And I want to be that same comfort for him, too.

For the first time in the last few long, draining days, a genuine smile breaks free.

“There’s my girl,” Easton murmurs.

I bite my lip. “Are you sure? I could go by myself. You’re probably exhausted. You need to sleep since you have to get up early.”

His fingers loop around my ankles, gliding up my calves. “What did I say about you going out alone?”

I hunch forward to hug him, not needing to repeat his promise when he first found out I like to walk at night to calm my anxiety. “Okay. I don’t think I need a long one.”

“Change while I run to the car to get my bag. I picked up more of your stuff from Reagan before today’s practice. I’m pretty sure she packed your running shoes.”

Once I throw on comfortable clothes to walk in, I stand at the wall of photos. Even though Easton won’t be with me when we bury Grandpa I think I’ll be okay. His advice from earlier when he wiped off my makeup has stuck with me all night.

I don’t know that I’ll ever fully be ready to say goodbye to Grandpa, but I can allow myself to feel whatever I need to.