Burning Ice - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

It's been three days since I heard from Nate. Three whole days of silence after that awkward, clipped phone call that didn't sound like him at all. And now I'm sitting here, staring at my phone like it holds all the answers, willing him to text or call or give me something.
But there's nothing. No missed calls. No cryptic texts. Just silence.
The anger comes in waves, hot and sharp, bubbling up in my chest until I can barely sit still. How dare he? After all that talk about wanting a shot, about me giving him a chance? He practically put on a damn show, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered, and now what? He ghosts me?
I slam my phone onto the couch cushion beside me, but the soft landing doesn't satisfy the frustration curling in my gut. I think about calling him, but the thought only makes me angrier. No way am I chasing after him. If he wants to disappear, fine. Let him.
But then the anger falters, giving way to something else, something I don't want to name. Concern.
This isn't like him. At least, not like the man I thought I was starting to know. Nate doesn't seem like the type to play games or pull this disappearing act. He's intense, sure. Maybe even a little brooding. But he's also direct, no-nonsense. The kind of man who says what he means and means what he says.
That's why this feels so... wrong.
I grab my phone again, scrolling through our last texts. There aren't many, just a string of short exchanges leading up to that weird, distant phone call. I replay it in my head, trying to decipher his tone, his choice of words. He sounded distracted, almost like he was brushing me off.
My stomach twists. What if something's happened? What if he's hurt, or worse?
I push the thought away, but it lingers in the back of my mind, feeding my unease. The man who practically begged me to take a chance on him doesn't just vanish without a reason.
I lean back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as my emotions churn. I hate that I care this much, that I'm sitting here worrying about someone I barely know. But I can't help it. Nate got under my skin, and now he's taking up space in my head when I swore I wouldn't let anyone in again.
"Damn you, Nate Griffith" I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair.
I want to be mad. I am mad. But beneath the anger, there's this nagging ache, this stupid, persistent hope that maybe there's a reason for all of this. Something I don't understand yet.
I just wish he'd call. Or text. Or something. Because this silence is killing me.
And then, just as I'm about to throw my hands up and admit I'm being ridiculous, an idea hits me. It's so simple, yet I can't believe it took me this long to think of it.
I don't know where Nate lives. Hell, I don't even know much about his personal life outside of the few things he's let slip. But I do know one place I might be able to find him.
The club. The one where we first kissed, where we go after the games to drink, to unwind. It's not a bad idea and it's the only one I've got right now. He should be there. I know he has a game tonight, and after, most of the team likes to blow off steam. I've seen it happen before.
It feels a little desperate, but then again, I am kind of desperate at this point.
I grab my purse, pull on my jacket, and leave the apartment. I don't want to admit it, but my heart is beating a little faster now, a mixture of nerves and excitement. I'm going to find him. I'm going to get answers.
The night air is crisp as I step outside, and the city feels alive around me. I know the club isn't far, just a short drive. My mind is already running through a hundred scenarios of how this could play out with him being there, him brushing me off, or worse, him acting like he doesn't even care anymore.
But I push the doubts away. I'm done waiting around.
When I finally get to the club, the bright lights outside make my pulse quicken. I glance around at the usual crowd, a mix of fans, players, and randoms just looking to have a good time. The bouncer at the door nods at me, probably because I've been here enough times for him to recognize me. I slip inside, the music blasting in my ears as I scan the crowd.
The place is packed, just like always, but my eyes are trained on one spot—the bar.
I spot a few players in the corner, laughing, clearly in their element after a win. The crowd parts just enough for me to see Nate. He's leaning against the bar, talking to someone, his back to me. His broad shoulders are relaxed, but his posture tells me he's not fully at ease. I can see the way he's clenching his jaw, the tension in his body. It's like he's here but not really here.
And there it is again, that feeling in my chest of the need to figure him out.
I take a deep breath and walk toward him. I try to keep my steps steady, even though my heart is pounding, echoing in my ears. I don't know what I'm going to say, but I know I can't leave here without talking to him.
As I get closer, he turns, and for a split second, his eyes widen when he sees me. There's something there—surprise, maybe guilt—but it's gone so quickly, replaced by that familiar guarded expression.
"Billie?" His voice is soft, low, like he's not sure how to feel about seeing me.
I take another step, crossing the distance between us. My gaze is steady, but my insides are a mess. "We need to talk" I say, my voice firm but not quite as steady as I want it to be.
He doesn't say anything right away, just looks at me like he's trying to figure out whether he wants to let me in or push me away. The silence stretches between us. I don't care. I'm not leaving until I get some answers.
We step outside, the cool air hitting me like a slap after the suffocating heat of the club. I don't even care about the cold. I'm too mad.
Nate walks a few steps ahead, his shoulders stiff, like he's trying to distance himself from me even more. It pisses me off, but I can't hold back any longer. I need answers. I need to know why he's been acting like this.
When we get far enough from the noise of the club, I stop in front of him, blocking his path. He doesn't look at me. He doesn't even flinch. He just stands there, waiting for me to say whatever it is that's been building up inside of me for days now.
And I let it all spill out.
"You don't get to do that," I start, my voice harsh. "You don't get to pull me in and then shut me out like it's nothing. You asked me to give you a shot, Nate. You made all these promises, and then you vanish. No text, no call, nothing. I'm not some damn game you can pick up when you feel like it and then discard when you don't."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't interrupt. Just stands there, like he's accepting it, and that only makes me more furious.
"Don't think you can keep me on the line just because you show me some attention and then leave me hanging when it's convenient for you. I've got enough going on in my own life to deal with your bullshit."
I can see the muscles in his arms tense, but still, he doesn't speak. It's like he's waiting for me to finish, but I don't know if I'm done yet.
"You've been playing this game, Nate. I don't know if it's because you're too scared or too proud, but you don't get to mess with me like this. I'm not going to sit around wondering if you even care."
Finally, after a long silence, he exhales sharply and looks up at me, his eyes filled with something that almost looks like... defeat.
"I'm sorry" he says, his voice low. It's not the apology I was expecting and not the kind of apology I thought would make this all make sense.
"Sorry for what? For playing me? For acting like you wanted this and then backing out?" I narrow my eyes, waiting.
He rubs his hand over his face, a deep sigh escaping him. I can see the pain in his eyes now, the weight of whatever it is he's been carrying. "I... it's not that simple, Billie," he says, his voice strained.
I cross my arms, the anger still simmering in me, but there's something else now, too. Something like concern. "Then make it simple. Tell me what the hell is going on."
He looks at me for a long time, his gaze intense, as if he's searching for the right words. Finally, he speaks again, but his voice cracks this time, raw and real.
"My dad... he died."
The words hit me like a punch in the stomach. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that.
His shoulders sag, and for the first time tonight, he seems human. He seems like he's finally letting his guard down, just a little. "He... he passed away a few days ago. And I didn't know how to deal with it. I didn't know how to handle... all of it. So, I ran."
I'm silent for a moment, everything I thought I knew about this situation crashing down around me. I thought I was angry, thought I had it all figured out, but hearing that... it stops me in my tracks.
"I didn't mean to shut you out," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I didn't want to drag you into this. I didn't want to be the guy who's always a mess, who can't keep it together. I didn't want you to see me like that."
I stare at him, the anger fading away, replaced by something else, something softer, more understanding. It's clear now that he wasn't running from me. He was running from himself.
"I didn't know what else to do, Billie," he adds, looking up at me with an expression I can't quite place. "I didn't know how to tell you. Didn't know how to let you in."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. I can feel the weight of his words sinking in, and something inside me shifts.
"I get it" I say quietly. "I get why you pulled away. But you don't get to shut me out like that without at least giving me something, Nate."
He looks down at the ground for a moment, nodding slowly. "I'm sorry."
"I know you are" I reply. "But you need to stop running from everything. It's not going to make it go away."
There's a long pause before he speaks again. "I don't know how to stop running."
"You will" I say, my voice softer now. "But you've got to trust me. You've got to trust us."
He looks up at me then, his expression guarded but with a hint of something I haven't seen before, hope, maybe. "I'll try."
It's not perfect, and I don't expect it to be.
I'm still angry. I don't know how to shake it off completely, even now that I know what happened. The hurt from his silence still gnaws at me, but as I look at him, I feel that anger start to dull, just a little.
He's standing there, looking like he's been through hell, and part of me feels guilty for making him talk about it. But then again, I'm not the one who shut him out.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the storm swirling in my chest. "It's different, you know?" I say, my voice quieter now, but there's still an edge to it.
Nate looks up at me, his eyes searching mine like he's trying to figure out what I mean. I'm not sure what I expect from him, but I know I can't let this conversation go without saying my piece.
"It's different for you and me, Nate. You and your dad had this... this broken relationship. I don't know how to even put it into words. But me and my mom? It was nothing like that. I had love from her, even when everything was falling apart. I watched her die, slowly, painfully, but it was never a thing of anger or regret, you know? I knew she loved me, and that made it hurt a little less."
He doesn't speak, but I can see his chest rise and fall with a shaky breath. He's listening, so I keep going.
"I get that it's different for you. Losing someone you didn't have that kind of bond with. Yeah, that's gotta be hard. But it doesn't change that we both lost someone important. We both feel it, even if it looks different." I swallow the lump in my throat. "It just... it's not the same, Nate. You can't shut people out because of that. You don't get to shut me out."
Nate runs a hand through his hair, his expression tormented. "I didn't mean to. I wasn't trying to shut you out... I just—"
"—didn't know how to handle it," I finish for him, cutting him off. I know what he's going to say before he says it. "I know. But I've been there, Nate. I know what it's like to feel like the whole world is falling apart, and you just want to be alone with your thoughts. But you can't keep running. You can't keep pushing people away. I don't care how bad it hurts, you have to let someone in."
I pause, meeting his eyes, trying to make him understand.
I take a breath, feeling the weight of those memories, but also the weight of what Nate's going through. I know it's hard, but I can't help him if he won't let me in.
"You're not the only one who's lost someone, Nate. And I get that you didn't have the relationship with your dad that I had with mine, but you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
He doesn't say anything right away. He just stands there, looking at me, his face a mix of pain and... something else I can't quite name.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. His voice is rough, raw, like he's finally letting something slip that he's been holding inside for too long.
"I'm sorry" he says quietly, looking down at the ground. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know how to... to deal with it. I'm just... messed up right now. And I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to have it all figured out, Nate. I'm not asking for that. I just need you to be real with me. I need you to stop hiding." I step closer, softening my expression.
He nods, slowly, like he's processing it all, his gaze searching mine. A look in his eyes that lets me know he's going to try.
And for the first time in a long while, I believe him.