Page 91 of Breaking the Ice

Forty-Three

ISABELLA

Evan settles back into the passenger seat of my car, his muscles taut.

“Well?” I ask, then wince. That wasn’t really the nicest thing I could have said, but I’m having a hard time keeping my stress in check. The steering wheel is hard beneath my palms, and my fingers hurt from gripping it so tightly.

Evan slumps in the seat. “I have no idea what’s wrong with the car. I’m sorry, I’m clueless about that stuff. I called Mateo, but he can’t do anything from there.” He runs a hand over his face. “I’ve gotta get to that game.”

My stomach sinks. It’s Regionals, and I know how important it is. More than that, I want this for him. “I really thought it was in Toledo. How did I miss that it’s in North Dakota?”

“Like I said, the location doesn’t make sense.” He checks his watch. “If it were within driving distance, it would be one thing. But I have to make that flight. We should have driven my car. Or not come at all.”

His regret makes me want to cry. “I’m sure there’s something we can do.”

Evan gestures at the ignition. “Try starting it again.”

Hopelessness fills my chest, but I try to turn the key anyway. Nothing happens, and panic goes from simmering in my belly to a full-blown boil.

“Listen, I know it’s bad, but there’s still a chance. I’ll just call my dad and⁠—”

“Absolutely not.” His eyes flash a warning, and his mouth tightens into a frown. “He already thinks I’m the most irresponsible player on the team. This would make things ten times worse. Whatever you do, don’t call him.”

“Fine.” It’s not fine. Fine is a million miles in the other direction. I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “What do you suggest, then?”

But he ignores my question and glances at his watch, talking to himself. “I’m not sure… if I ask Jonas to come get me, we won’t make it back in time…”

He snaps his fingers. “But I could fly out of Nashville and meet them in Fargo.”

My mouth drops open as he fiddles on his phone. “But what about me? You’re just going to leave me here?”

How did a great birthday trip to celebrate my love for him—which I did not confess—turn so ugly so quickly?

Evan shrugs. “Bella, I’ve gotta make it to this game. I’m a hockey player. You of all people know what that means.”

Numbness settles in my heart. My limbs turn wooden.

Because I do know. It means that hockey always comes first. It’s more important than birthdays and anniversaries. More important than school plays and piano recitals. Holiday plans must revolve around it, and it’s the chief topic of conversation.

I’ve lived the reality of that every day of my life. Why did I think Evan would be any different? I vowed that I’d never be with a man like this, and here I am, just like my mom—married to one. How could I have been so stupid?

“I hate hockey,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his gaze holds so much pain, for a second, I almost believe him. Then he nods, resolute. “But you’ll be fine. Mateo texted me the name of a good mechanic. Call a tow-truck and have the car sent there. Maybe a friend can come pick you up, or you can fly home, too. I’ll pay to have the car sent back to Lafayette, and we’ll get everything else figured out later. But this game is so important. I’ve gotta be there or else I’m out for the season. I’m sure you understand.”

The worst part is, I do. I understand that a silly game with sticks and a rubber disk will always come first.

Then he opens the car door. “My Uber is here. I’m heading to the airport. Text me and keep me updated on where you are or if you need anything.”

“But Evan!” My heart races and I war between anger and panic.

Pain shines in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. But if I don’t go right now, I won’t get to Fargo on time. I’ll see you when I get back.”

I want to yell and scream, but he’s already slammed the door shut. Instead, I put my head down on the steering wheel.

He’s left me, stranded in Tennessee, to go play hockey. I can’t believe it.

But I guess I should have seen it coming all along. He’s no different from my dad, or any other hockey player. I’m the fool for not realizing it sooner. I’m glad the moment was never right to tell him how I feel, because he clearly doesn’t love me back. Is it even possible for him to love something more than hockey?