Crack In The Ice - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

It's New Year's day.
Natalie is home for the holidays. Mack is not.
Natalie's brother, Nathan Sullyvan - former golden hockey boy - is also back, as is my sister Logan and bunch of other siblings and cousins of people I grew up with. And for some reason, the fact I am no longer in high school meant to my parents that I am no longer allowed to go shut myself inside my bedroom with my friends after some brief socializing.
Gus seemed about as thrilled with this as I was, or maybe even less, back at my parents' party.
He has always been even worse at dealing with this kind of thing than I am. He tried to smile and nod and give all the right answers when people asked him about his life, but he seemed even more uncomfortable at being shown off by his parents as the town's very own Olympic medalist than he used to look when his parents used to just pretend he wasn't there.
Natalie was good at this, though. Which made her the perfect buffer. She knew just when and how to smile, and exactly what to say.
If people asked me about my dating life she'd bring up the new engagement, marriage or vows renewal happening in their family tree. If people asked me about plans to go to college eventually if skating didn't work out after all, she would ask about whatever impressive graduation or academic achievement was next in calendar in their own family. If people asked if I ever thought about following in Logan's footsteps, she'd talk about the next promotion or professional milestone in their lives.
It was almost like she knew a question asked at these kind of events was just foreplay to get to your own bragging.
I never loved her so much.
When the ball finally dropped and the New Year commenced, we made our usual escape. This year, we had the recreational center for ourselves.
The Wong twins joined us for the second half of the night's celebrations, and Trey Coleman handled all the drinks with the other former hockey boys who came home. Which means it didn't take long for people to get absolutely hammered.
I poured myself a drink, but it still rested on the armrest of my seat, barely touched nearly two hours later. It was strange to do this without Mack. Chloe and Nat aren't really the drinking type and Gus has a tendency to get gloomy after a few drinks these days.
I sat back for a minute and that minute turned into an hour. Next thing I knew, I was starting my new year reviewing the previous one in texts.
One particular text thread, to be honest.
Chloe and I actually became national champions last year, and Eli actually called.
I'm down with being your overseas, whenever-we-can, secret booty call.
I actually said that to him, almost a year ago. What the fuck was I thinking?
Eli never replied.
Around two months later, Chloe and I actually got to step onto the podium at the World Championship, and I couldn't stop myself from texting Eli like the desperate idiot I'd become after his silence.
The worst part is that I wasn't even drunk when I did that. Just lonely and devoid of any and all pride.
My heart swelled just as much re-reading it ten months later than it had reading it for the first time months ago. He saw. He was paying attention.
Obviously, he ignored that.
A couple of months later, Chloe and I had the chance to go to Canada to train with another coach - an old friend of Helga's, a medalist and former pairs' skater - and all I could think about was how far Toronto and Calgary could possibly be from each other. I googled it. Turns out the answer is far.
Four months after that, Chloe and I got to compete at two ISU Challenger Series, placing first three on both, and Eli was till the first person I wanted to tell.
I never got a reply on that either.
Fast-forward to just a few weeks ago, and Chloe and I won gold at the Grand Prix Final. It's the literal dream coming true. Still, that night I tried to get drunk on hotel mini-bar vodka, accepted the fact that plain vodka is disgusting, tried it with hotel tea, nearly vomited, then called him anyway.
"I won," I told him as soon as he picked up.
"Congratulations." His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"You alone?"
"Just got home," he said.
"Game night?"
"Yeah."
I took a deep breath in and, as I let it out, the words came out of their own accord. "I miss you."
Silence.
I thought he wouldn't answer, prepared for yet another silent rejection. And then, "I miss you too," he whispered.
A dry, humorless laugh came out of me. "Liar."
"What?"
"If you missed me you'd want to see me," I said. In my memory, I can't tell if I sounded whiny, bitter, or a bit of both.
"I can't do this again, Liam."
"I can't not do this," I said. "I've been having the best skating year of my fucking life and all I can think about is Beijing. And you. And all the stuff that came before. And when I'm asleep I think of things we've never even done. And then I wake up, and you're gone. Ignoring me. All year long."
"I can't give you what you want."
"Liar again." I sighed. "I'm not asking for anything more than what you already gave me."
"We live miles apart. It'd be so hard to meet up."
"That's why it's perfect. We're in different worlds. No one will know. No one knew until now."
"It's late. I'm tired. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Liar. If I hang up, you'll never call. You'll never text me back again. And I'll never hear from you ever."
"You will. Okay? I'll call. I promise. Not tomorrow, I'm flying out to a game. But after that."
"The day after tomorrow."
"Deal."
He never called. All I got was one last text.
I close the texting app.
If I weren't a sadist, I'd put the phone away, get drunk and join everyone else in their night of distraction. Instead, I open Instagram.
Eli's Instagram.
His latest post is a selfie of him, Dean Miller and Owen Holmes at a New Year's party. The caption reads 'always together'. The comments were a lesson on Online Thirst 101.
I scroll past that to a photo of Eli in full Calgary Flames gear, on the ice, playing. Something someone from the team's PR probably had him post. The caption was a simple bicep emoji, no words. The comments were equal parts praise to his hockey skills and thirsty fans. Some people could do both in one.
Below that was a selfie of him and Dean looking like they were mid-hike, captioned with 'day off' and a nature emoji. More comment thirst.
A picture of a Boston skyline at night from a high hotel window. Boston. That's where he went after he told me he'd call.
I scroll to the next picture. Eli in gear, but no helmet. He's not playing but he looks like he's just came off a game, or practice. He's laughing too. His hair is messy, face flushed, but his eyes are alight with honest laughter. He doesn't show many people that light. Someone else took this picture - maybe Dean.
I zoom in on his face. He's shown me this open, honest smile before. When I worked to earn it.
"Nice view, right?"
I startle, the phone slipping from my hands and onto my lap.
"What?"
Olivia Holmes smiles knowingly at me.
She came with Trey Coleman for the party after the countdown. I thought they were dating, but that was before I saw her flirt with a Swedish tourist at the resort's front desk. Coleman was there when it happened. And he looked unbothered.
She sits next to me on the black leather couch. "I still get shit today for my crush on that boy, which is honestly so unfair. He is fine."
"I was just..."
What, genius? How are you going to finish that sentence?
Olivia cocks an eyebrow at me. "Stalking his account because you're bored and everyone here's too drunk already to be fun company?" She offers. "Yeah. No judgement. I stalked yours last week at work. Stalked your sister the day before that."
"Leah?"
"No, Logan. She gives some serious head bitch in charge energy. I'm obsessed with her fancy New York food stories."
I smile. Logan does take good food pictures. It's really annoying when you're eating out with her, but it looks really good.
"So. Why aren't you drunk?"
I arch my eyebrows. "Why aren't you?"
She rolls her eyes. "Do you know how hard it is to get drunk around Trey? He's like a sponge. Everything with a molecule of alcohol that comes in his vicinity gets aspirated."
I laugh, glancing at my blocked phone screen, down on my lap.
"What'd you find?"
"Mh?"
She gestures to my phone. "On Eli's Instagram. Anything interesting?"
I unlock the screen. "No, same as usual."
"Oh."
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
"Same as usual? Is this usual then? The stalking?"
My eyes widen. Shit.
"No judgement," she says quickly. "As far as usual stalking victims go, Eli's a fine choice."
I just stare at her, feeling like I need more before I incriminate myself.
"Because he's hot as fuck," she clarifies.
"Oh. Right. Sure. You mentioned."
Olivia smiles. I bite back my own smile, glancing away from her. My eyes betray me, though, and set on Eli's photo again. Fuck, why does he have to look so good?
Olivia leans into me. "I won't tell," she muses.
"Tell what?"
"That you may or may not have a tiny crush on Eli."
"Who says I do?"
It's actually a monstrously sized crush. Verging on full-on obsession. I should be admitted into a mental facility, to be completely honest.
"I can just tell." She shrugs.
"Can you now?"
"I used to be you." She waggled her eyebrows.
"Used to?"
"Oh, I got over Eli easy enough."
"How?"
Seriously. Share some tips with the community.
"The brother's best friend thing is hot for like a minute, until you think the logistics through," she says.
"So you went from totally smitten to over him in a minute?" I call bullshit. Can't be done. Eli Blake breaks through your best, sturdiest barriers and lodges himself right at the center of your brain. Even Natalie took months to get over him, when they broke up in high school junior year.
"I was not totally smitten. I was dazed stupid for a moment because Eli is, as we have established, one of the sexiest people alive."
I roll my eyes. She laughs.
"Honestly," she continues. "I think it's the way he doesn't realize how hot he is. Like, he knows he looks good, but he doesn't really know he's hot. There's just something about the unassuming hot jock."
I laugh.
"The shoulders help too, of course," she adds.
"His arms."
"What?"
I smile. "His arms are out of this world. I didn't even know it was possible to have a thing for arms until I saw him in a t-shirt."
Her grin looks just a little too victorious. "I know. It's only getting worse with the whole pro hockey thing."
I groan. "He has muscle definition in muscles I didn't even know were muscles."
"The veins, right here." She points a the inside of her own forearms.
"And his hands."
Her eyes widen. "Oh my God, I used to dream about those hands on me."
I still do. I keep that to myself, though. Instead I say, "His eyes."
"The eyes, yes! I actually got him a beanie to match his eyes. I could write fanfiction just off of those eyes," she says.
I shift in my seat to face her completely. "You got him the grey beanie?"
"Yeah."
"Ma'am, thank you for your service. You're a hero of your community."
Olivia laughs.
"Jesus." I let my head fall to the side on the back of the couch. "The beanies. What's up with that? It should be awful and tacky, but I love it. Why?"
"He's just hot enough to get away with it," she says. "Hot people privilege. You wouldn't imagine what they get away with."
I smirk. "I don't need to imagine."
She grins. "I guess you don't."
"You know, you don't look like you're unfamiliar with hot people privilege either," I say. "Any guy who turns you down, Eli or not, would be an idiot." Or gay, I add only in my head.
"Why, thank you. I know."
I laugh.
"I get why you and Eli got along so well," she says.
I sit up straighter. "Yeah?"
She smiles, nodding. "Yeah. You're fun. If anyone needs fun in their life, it's Eli."
"Yeah. I get why he'd like you too," I say.
"Because everyone likes me."
"Exactly what I was thinking."
She smiles.
There's a crash and a bang. They're two distinct sounds, I mean. First a crash, then a drier and louder bang. Drunk people come pouring out from the little room where we keep the drinks.
"We should go to the lake," Connor Wong shouts, flushed and shiny-eyed.
"I got my skates in my bag," Trey Coleman says.
"Is that a good idea?" James Lowell asks behind them.
"It's a great idea," Chloe chimes in, looking surprisingly tipsy herself. "Liam, come with us!"
"I'm not sure if I want to go to the lake with a bunch of drunk people. My sober brain can't take it," I say.
"Then drink," Chloe exclaims.
"She's got a point," Olivia says.
I shrug. "Alright. We'll catch up with you guys." I look at Olivia. "You got skates?"
"I'm a shit skater," she says.
"There are studies that show that being drunk can increase your ability at things you can't do sober," I point out.
Olivia tilts her head, suspicious. "That sounds wrong."
"It's half-wrong. It's only for languages and it doesn't work if you're, like, stupid drunk." Chloe slurs a little as she finishes that sentence.
"Then just get fun drunk," I say.
"Will that make me skate better?" Olivia asks.
"No, but it will make you have fun while you're shit at it," I say.
She smiles. "Sold."
We get hold of a gin bottle before heading to the lake. Natalie says we can't drive drunk, so we walk. The gin hasn't fully kicked in yet when I feel my phone buzz.
It's a text from Eli.
I stop walking and Connor Wong bumps into me. He seems too drunk to care and just taps my shoulder and walks around as I type back a reply.
I type in another message then let my thumb hover over the send button.
I miss you.
Would it be too pathetic to say it again? What possible end could this conversation have that would be different from all the other times I've tried?
At some point, I'll have to move on. He said he can't do this. I need to get over him. Somehow. No matter how long it takes.
Just as I make the decision to delete, a new text comes in.