Burning Ice - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

I drove back to my place, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. My mind kept replaying the moment I'd walked her to her car—how she'd smiled, how she'd kept playing it cool, not giving me an inch. I liked it, honestly. There was something intoxicating about the way she held her ground, like she wasn't going to fall for my charm. It made me want her more.
But goddamn, I didn't know how much longer I could keep this up.
I wasn't the type of guy to play games, not anymore. But with Billie? It felt like I was stuck in this back-and-forth dance, and I wasn't sure if I was the one doing the leading or if she was. The way she'd looked at me—her eyes flickering with something I couldn't place—told me she wasn't as indifferent as she wanted to make it seem. But she wasn't giving in, either. That made me want to push harder.
The moment that guy leaned in too close to her, my blood boiled. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, imagining myself yanking him away from her and slamming him into the wall. He didn't have any business talking to her like that, not with that smirk, not with the way he was looking at her. It was like every instinct I had in me fired up in an instant, like a switch. I wanted to punch him, make him realize just how much she was off-limits.
But I couldn't. I had to hold back. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was some aggressive lunatic. Even if I was. Still, the thought of that guy's hands too close to her... it made my jaw clench. I had to remind myself she wasn't mine.
Yet, the anger wasn't going anywhere. It burned in my chest. If I wasn't careful, this could all spiral out of control.
As I pulled into my parking spot, I remembered something.
I hadn't even gotten her number. I didn't ask. I hadn't even thought about it. But then I remembered her Instagram. I'd seen it before, stalked it a bit too much if I was being honest with myself, but I hadn't messaged her. Not once.
I grabbed my phone, unlocking it with a swipe, and found her page. She looked incredible in every picture, her smile, her eyes, her effortless coolness. But it was that last picture that stuck with me, the one of her by herself, looking natural. That was the Billie I wanted to get to know.
I hovered over the "message" button.
I could play it cool, keep it simple, but something about her made me want to push her buttons a little. She'd already made it clear she wasn't gonna let me win that easy. So, I typed it out.
"Had fun at the gas station. If you ever wanted to pay me back for saving your life, I'm free whenever you are"
I hit send before I could overthink it. I couldn't just let her go. Not yet.
But I also knew she was a challenge. And I was okay with that. For now.
Still, I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand playing it her way.
I threw my phone on my bed and went to take a shower. I desperately needed one.
Steam rose around me, curling into the air like smoke as the hot water pounded against my shoulders. I braced my hands against the slick tiles, letting the heat work out the tension coiled tight in my muscles. The game, the team, even my dad's news, it should've been enough to keep my mind occupied. But all I could see was her.
Billie. Always fucking her.
Her laugh, the curve of her lips when she teased me, that stubborn little spark in her eyes when she refused to let me pay for her snacks. It was driving me insane. She was driving me insane.
The memory of her at the gas station, her smile, the way she moved like she was untouchable—played on a loop in my head. I could still smell the faint hint of her perfume, something warm and sweet, clinging to the air when I walked her to her car. I wanted to touch her again, to feel the same spark that left me reeling when I kissed her.
I tilted my head back into the stream, trying to let the water burn away the heat curling low in my stomach and in my dick. I didn't know what it was about her, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep myself in check. Every time I thought about her, I wanted more.
My jaw tightened. She wasn't making it easy, and maybe that's why she was stuck in my head. But the thought of her walking away from me and of someone else touching her made my chest tighten with something dark and raw.
I needed to pull myself together. Needed to figure out what the hell I was doing. But as the water ran over me, scalding and relentless, I knew one thing for sure: Billie Carter wasn't just anyone. She was going to be something to me, whether she liked it or not.
Jumping out the shower, I pretended not to care as I looked at my phone. Praying she would have messaged me back, but nothing.
Of course she didn't.
My phone buzzed on the bed as I was toweling off, Vanessa's name flashing on the screen. I grabbed it, still half-distracted, and answered
"Hey, Vanessa. What's up?"
"Good timing, I've got something exciting for you. ESPN wants to do a quick five-minute live segment with you this week. Nothing too heavy, just a little promo piece to kick off the season." she said, her tone brisk and no-nonsense like always.
That caught my attention. "ESPN?" I repeated, running a hand through my wet hair. "Like, live-live?"
"Yes, Nate, live-live," she teased. "Think you can handle five minutes without swearing or saying something to get yourself fined?"
"I can manage. When is it?" I smirked, shaking my head.
"Thursday afternoon. I'll send you the details. They want to talk about the team, the season opener, and maybe a few personal bits but don't worry, nothing invasive."
I felt a spark of something I hadn't felt in a while: pride. ESPN wasn't small-time. It wasn't just about hockey anymore, it was a chance to be seen, to prove I wasn't just another player skating under the radar. "Yeah, I'm in," I said, already imagining what it would feel like to have people watching, listening.
"Good," Vanessa said, clearly pleased. "This could open doors, Nate. Play it right, and you'll get more of these."
After we hung up, I stood there for a second, the excitement buzzing in my chest. A chance like this didn't come often, and for the first time in a while, I felt like things were moving in the right direction.
Fame in hockey was... specific. Like, yeah, people in the hockey world knew me. Fans screamed my name when I smashed a guy into the boards or scored, and that was great. But outside the rink? I could probably walk through Times Square in full gear and maybe, maybe, one tourist from Manitoba would ask for a selfie.
And honestly? No complaints. Hockey wasn't a fame machine like basketball or football. We weren't out here dating supermodels or getting cereal endorsements. But my paycheck? Solid. Bigger than most of those guys flexing their sneaker deals, and I didn't have to live in the spotlight to get it. Plus, hockey fans? Best fans in the world. They'd freeze their asses off in the middle of a blizzard just to cheer on the team.
Sure, I wasn't on cereal boxes or trending on TikTok, but I didn't need all that. As long as I got to play, live comfortably, and keep my teeth where they belonged, I was good. Life had its lanes, and I'd learned to stay in mine.
Well, mostly.
I guess that's the thing when you grow up without certain lanes, you figure out how to stay on autopilot. My mom left when I was eight. No dramatic blowouts, no big explanations. Just... gone. I never blamed her for it. My dad was a lot, and even as a kid, I could see how he drained people. But sometimes, especially in quiet moments, I wondered about her.
What she was doing now. If she ever thought about me. If maybe we'd meet again and it'd be like one of those tear-jerking movie reunions. But mostly, I didn't dwell on it. You learn not to when people leave you early.
Still, it left its marks. I never had that consistent "woman figure" around, not really. Nannies came and went, but they were just doing a job. Because of that, connecting with women.. beyond the surface, beyond the heat of the moment, beyond sex.. it was like stepping onto unfamiliar ice. It's not that I didn't want to; I just didn't know how.
I was sprawled across my bed, half buried in pillows with the TV softly droning in the background. My phone was on the nightstand, right within reach, just in case. I'd spent the last two hours falling down a rabbit hole of highlight reels and post-game interviews, trying to keep my mind occupied.
But who was I kidding? I wasn't watching sports right now because I cared. I was waiting.
Every so often, I'd glance over at my phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. Just the dull glow of the ESPN app notifying me of some stat I already knew. I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face.
It was stupid to keep checking. If Billie wanted to respond, she would. And if she didn't... well, there wasn't much I could do about it. But even as I tried to convince myself of that, I couldn't help but think about her. The way she'd laughed at the gas station, brushing me off like I didn't have a chance.
I liked her fire.
But damn, she was making me work for it.
Finally, I decided to give up. The clock on my phone read 1:47 AM, and I figured I'd have better luck getting her attention tomorrow. I rolled onto my side, letting my eyes drift shut, when my phone buzzed against the wood of the nightstand.
My heart kicked up like I was back on the ice.
I snatched the phone so fast I almost dropped it.
Billie: "Saving my life? Pretty sure I had it handled. But I appreciate your dedication to stalking me in real life and now on social media. At least you're consistent."
A few seconds later a follow up: "But if you're that desperate for company, I'll think about it"
I stared at the text for a second before grinning like a fool.