Breaking the Ice

nineteen*

"What was that?"

Beau looked exhausted. On the curb in front of his house, he was watching me with white knuckles around the bottom of his helmet and eyes that drooped with sleep. His motorcycle was parked on the driveway, cold and alone.

"Can we just not talk about it right now?" I asked, exasperated.

"No, we can-fucking-not," Beau replied, crossing his arms deftly over his chest. "Are you kidding me? I just pulled up to you and your teammate beating the shit out of each other! His nose looked fucking broken!"

I reached up to wipe a swipe of blood from my lip. "I can explain—"

"You fucking better," Beau hissed. I had never seen him like this, acting like he had crawled from Hell. It didn't suit him. His teeth were like clenched fangs, his hair a fiery mess from his helmet, his eyes burning with unadulterated rage. My chest tightened.

"Calm down," I snipped.

Beau's eyes danced with anger, hot as burning coals, as bags weighed them open and wide. "I just drove a man—who I watched punch the shit out of some random ass friend of his—back to my house. Forgive me for not being calm."

"Tom was being an ass," I hurried.

"Is that really what you're worried about right now? So, what if he was being a little bit of a dick? You punched him! I don't punch the assholes who—"

"He knocked Jason over on the ice, banged him up really bad, and Tom didn't even apologize. He was so... you know what, I don't need this shit from you right now. I don't need to explain myself, you're being fucking dramatic." I took a step back, away from the heat of his breath and into the cold hands of the night.

"What the Hell, Luke?" he shouted, lurching forward to keep up with me. There was a silver cross around his neck today, swinging wildly with his movement and catching the moonlight like a tiny star. I stumbled back, away from him. "I'm the one being dramatic? It's hockey, people get hurt. You punched your teammate—as Captain—over hurting someone on the ice!"

"Get the fuck out of my face," I snapped back. My heart was beating nearly out of my chest. A warm core of exhaustion took place between my ribs, squeezing my breaths to be shorter, harder. "Why should you care what I do with my friends? My teammates? You're—"

"I'm what," Beau hissed. "A quick fuck? Is that it?"

I narrowed my eyes. My hands were shaking and I felt dizzy, so dizzy. "What... what makes you think you're anything else? Especially when you talk to me like this, telling me to talk when you never tell me shit."

Beau's eyes burned brighter, hotter. "At least I'm not punching random people in a fucking parking lot." He tipped his chin up. "This makes me wonder if you're any better than the other boys I slept with, with their big egos and pathetic-ass anger issues."

This time, I took a step forward. "You're such a fucking hypocrite! Why are you—!"

"Are you gonna' punch me now, too?" Beau gripped his necklace with his free hand. A thin, wet film laid light over his eyes. "Huh? Well?"

I gasped a breath, my chest squeezing, my eyesight blurring. Vertigo took over and everything was sent spiraling around me, meshing into a nebulous smear. Suddenly, I couldn't make out anything besides the racing of my heart, the shrinking of my ribs. My helmet, previously in my hand, hit the pavement and rolled somewhere. I vaguely heard Beau's voice buzzing somewhere, vaguely felt myself being lowered to sit on the curb.

"...breathe, Luke. Come on, with me..."

Another breath. It rattled in, but I couldn't quite push it out. It wheezed like a broken train past my lips, slowly, too slowly. I thought I might pass out.