Ice Cold

Chapter 4

I was functioning on pure rage. I was not in control of my body as I jumped in my car and drove to the practice rink of the Minnesota Wilds which was a 45-minute drive. And I certainly was not in control when I walked right up to the door and marched past security. Granted, I may have sprinted past him and had him chase me down right to the front of the rink.

"Miss, you can't be in here right now," the security guard yelled after me.

I just ignored him and started making my way toward the ice.

"Is there a problem here?" the person, whom I'm assuming was the coach, given the clipboard and other coachly attire.

"There's been a breach in security, sir. I was trying to stop her, sir, but she is really fast and caught me off guard."

I put my hands up in the air. "Listen, I'm not here to cause any harm. I am just here to murder your goalie," I said loudly enough to get the attention of everyone in the rink.

All the players skated to a halt and looked over at the chaos I was ensuing.

"Eleanore?" Elliot questioned removing his helmet while walking over to us.

"Oh no, Ryan went a fucked a crazy," one of his teammates joked.

"We did not fuck, we barely even kissed," I fumed. "Now Elliot, if you could remove the padding so that when I murder you, you feel all the pain I'm inflicting, I would really appreciate."

"Ryan, what the hell is going on?" Coach asked, rubbing a hand through his balding hair.

"Oh, I'll tell you what's going on. This piece of shit is trying to ruin my life," I exclaimed, shoving the cover of the magazine into his hands.

I watched Elliot's face as he took in the picture in front of him. The picture of him leaving the Labor and Delivery Ward and a glimpse of me walking away. Now, no normal person should have been able to correlate this image of me, with the picture of Elliot and I together, but the tabloid people are on another level because they fucking did.

"Ryan, who is this?" his coach demanded.

"I'm his baby momma," I announced, throwing my hands out in some sort of dramatic gesture.

My confession was followed by a series of gasps and jaw drops which is when I realized the words that I just said and that people don't understand the context of my statement. "I'm not actually his baby momma," I recanted to the team before turning my attention back to the problem aka Elliot Ryan.

Elliot handed the article off to his coach who let out a sigh, "Again with the press Ryan. I told you you needed to be more careful. Your image here needs to be better than out in LA."

"I didn't know about the article," he tried to explain.

"Like hell you didn't," I argued.

"Hey Coach, can I take five to handle this?" Elliot asked as he grabbed my arm to lead me away. The coach nodded and muttered something under his breath before turning and trying to regain the focus of the remaining players.

We walked to the bleachers and it was then I realized that leggings and a tanktop were not appropriate clothing to wear to an ice rink. I wrapped my arms around myself as we sit down to try and keep what little warmth I had.

'Are you cold?" Elliot inquired. He went to put his arm around me, but I quickly shrugged it off.

"I'm perfectly fine, but no offense you smell like ass," I lied, trying to ignore my body's disappointment at the distance between us. Honestly, he smelled wonderful, but I would rather die a burning death in the flame of a thousand suns than tell him that... or let myself admit it out loud.