Page 44 of Breaking the Ice

“Why not?”

“Things people born after 2001 will never understand.” She handwaves her comment away. “Your feelings are valid, honey, and I’m sorry. Is there anything we can do to make it feel more like a traditional holiday at home?”

I pause and think about it, because I do appreciate the sentiment. But nothing about a Vegas buffet will be like a home-cooked meal. A hotel room will not feel like relaxing on our comfy couch in the living room. True, we normally would go watch my dad’s hockey game if it’s in town, or on TV if it’s not, but not for the whole break. We’d do a puzzle, wear sweatpants, and have leftovers for breakfast.

I sigh. My mom is trying to make me feel better, and I’m being selfish. Get over yourself, Isabella.

It would be easier if this little trip was thanks to anything other than hockey, but I shrug, trying not to sound like a whiney baby. “I don’t think so, but thanks. I was just looking forward to relaxing at home.”

“Ooh what if we find a spa somewhere and do a facial or a massage? A little girl time for us?” Her eyes light up, and while it’s not vegging out in front of a movie, it doesn’t sound terrible.

“I’d love that.”

The flight attendant comes around, offering us drinks and little bags of pretzels.

After we get settled with Diet Coke and snacks, my mom turns to me. A sly smile plays around her lips. “Are you sure spending a weekend on vacation with the hockey team is such a hardship?”

The hair stands up on my nape. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Evan Young. The boy you tutor.” She pins me in her gaze. “He came to see you in a play, Isabella. He’s handsome, kind, and smitten with you.”

“He’s not smitten.” Sweat breaks out along my hairline, and my cheeks heat.

“He brought you flowers.”

I scoff. “Everyone does that after a play.”

“And he took the time to do something thoughtful for you.” My mom raises a brow. “You don’t think that’s significant?”

I stare at my hands, clasped in my lap. My knuckles are white. “We’re friends. I watch him play hockey. It’s no different.”

“Didn’t you go out to dinner with him? And to a hockey party?”

My mom knows entirely too much about my life. Why did I tell her where I was going when I left the house those nights?

“Those are all things you can do with a friend,” I tell her, an edge to my voice.

“You could, but Evan doesn’t look at you the way someone who likes you just as a friend does.” Mom wiggles in her seat with a smug air, like this is the trump card she’s been waiting to play.

I don’t know how to argue with that. My insides flutter with longing, but I tamp it down. This is not the time to mention the kisses we’ve shared, the attraction between us. That we’d probably be dating if it weren’t for Dad and the whole hockey thing.

My dad has made it clear he’s opposed to the whole thing. But would my mom go to bat for me? This could be a good way to float the idea and gauge her reaction.

I clear my throat, carefully not addressing her comment. “Mom, you wanted me to tutor him to repair my relationship with Dad. What would you think if Evan and I…” I trail off, letting her fill in the blanks.

“Oh.” My mom stares straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of her as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “Well, perhaps when hockey season is over? He’s a senior, right? So after graduation…”

My heart sinks. Because secretly, I want her to tell me that she’ll convince my dad it’s not a big deal that Evan’s one of his hockey players. That maybe he’s more than an irresponsible playboy and it’s worth taking a chance on him. I want her to give me hope.

But she’s just confirmed that there isn’t any.

“I’m glad you’re friends. He seems like a very nice person.” She pats my hand and turns back to her book. She’s quiet after that. Friends. Yeah, that’s what I thought. The knot in my belly grows, and it has nothing to do with turbulence.

Thanksgiving in Vegas with the hockey team—and my crush who’s totally off limits? This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.

Chapter

Twenty