Shattered Ice

When he hurts

*Caleb*

“Come on bud,” I call, padding my thigh to lure him away from the surf. We are walking over to Ginnie’s little house to have a more relaxed talk about the charity beach volley.

I am honestly not even sure why I suggested it, it just kinda popped up in my head. I have never been one to shy away from such things, but I have never been one to plan it either. After having thought about it I am rather happy I suggested it though.

“Butterscotch, leave the crab alone,” I call. He has a thing with crabs, I am not sure if he likes them or they scare him.

It is the first time I see her house up close, and as I walk up on her tiny front porch I decide that I quite like it. It is cozy, and cute… a bit like a doll's house. Somehow it seems to fit her.

When I lift my hand to knock I hear her talk and I stop. It sounds like She is on the phone… should I wait not to interrupt? I am honestly so bad at these things… like knowing how to behave correctly around fancy people like her.

“Oh, he is one of the hockey player’s right? I have heard about him. He is quite… charming looking isn’t he?” I hear a feminine voice say, it is not Ginnie, but it catches my interest.

“Exactly.” Ginnie says. “He’s definitely charming, but he’s also a bit of a distraction. I mean, how am I supposed to focus on organizing a beach volleyball tournament when he keeps flashing that grin of his? Not to mention the non stop flirting.”

Oh! She is talking about me to someone, this I have to hear. Yeah, I know eavesdropping is definitely bad, but my curiosity wins.

“I can’t believe you’re working with him. You’re like a real-life romantic comedy,” the other girl laughs. “Is there any chemistry there? Are you gonna bring him as your plus one for the wedding? Come on, spill!”

I stop breathing. Why would she do that? It’s not like we are dating. Also I do not do weddings, ever.

“f**k,” I hiss, almost screaming as Butterscotch dumps something wet and squishy on my foot. I quickly kick the punch of seaweed away, my dog chasing it like it is a ball.

I turn my attention back to the conversation inside and instantly hear Ginnie’s voice say; “No sane woman are bringing a savage like that to a wedding… we need class, we deserve class, right Caylee?”

“Oh class and good breeding is all that counts,” The other voice says.

“A daughter of Charles Harrington would not be caught dead in the company of a hockey player with no pedigree.” Ginnie muses.

I blink and quickly step back, trying to ignore the pain coiling in my chest… What do I care what some stuck up, pearl clutching southern belle thinks of me? And she is not wrong, I come from a bad background in all ways, and I am a f**k up. I do not have a fancy education, all I am good at is hockey… Well and f*****g, I am pretty handy there too, at least I have been lead to believe that… but everything else not so much.

Backing away I signal for Butterscotch to follow. I can’t go in there right now, I can’t talk to her… I need to get away. So I quickly stride back towards my large house. It might seem dumb to buy a huge expensive house when I risk being traded again at any moment, but I need somewhere that feels like home… somewhere I feel safe.

As I walk away, I can’t help but think of Ginnie’s words again, each one like a stone dropped into my gut. Butterscotch trots happily beside me, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within me. I reach down and scratch him behind the ears, forcing a smile as I do. “We are not savages, are we, buddy? No, you are just a good boy.” He barks in response, his tail wagging furiously, and I can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

But the laughter doesn’t last. The ocean’s roar fills the silence, and I can’t shake the feeling of inadequacy that seems to cling to me like saltwater on my skin. I’ve faced tougher opponents on the ice, but this… the judgement of someone like Ginnie… feels different. It feels personal.

I push my hands into my pockets as I walk along the beach, the late afternoon breeze tugging at my shirt, trying to distract me. But I can’t stop thinking about her voice, how it sounded both teasing and serious, as if she was laying out the truth of my life for everyone to see. A hockey player with no pedigree. It’s a label I know too well, one I’ve worn like a badge of dishonor for years.

As I reach the edge of the water, I stop and gaze out at the horizon. The waves crash rhythmically, each one pulling the sand back with it, as if trying to erase footprints that had barely settled. I close my eyes, letting the sound wash over me. “This isn’t who I am,” I mutter to myself, but I can’t shake the feeling that maybe it is.

Butterscotch nudges my leg with his wet nose, breaking me from my reverie. I bend down and give him a quick scratch on the head. “What do you think, boy? Should I just forget about it?” He tilts his head, as if contemplating my question, and I can’t help but laugh again. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not like I was planning to date her… just like I had no choice in where I came from.”

After a moment, I straighten up and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty air. I can’t let this get to me. And hey Ginnie deserves better than a guy who’s still figuring out how to be a person, let alone a partner. I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts swirling in my mind.

“Okay, Butterscotch, let’s hit the house. Maybe I’ll whip up something for dinner,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. But even as I start walking back, I can feel the heaviness in my chest again, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

As I approach my house, I glance back at Ginnie’s little cottage, the quaintness of it contrasting sharply with my own sprawling abode. I can’t help but feel a sense of longing. I want to be the kind of guy who fits into a place like that, who doesn’t feel like an imposter in a world that feels so foreign.

Once inside, I grab a cold beer from the fridge. I c***k it open, the sound sharp against the quiet of the house. I sit down on the couch, Butterscotch curling up at my feet, and I let out a long sigh.

Maybe I should just forget about the dumb tournament and focus on my game. That’s what I know. That’s what I’m good at. But even as I think it, a part of me rebels. I can’t help but picture Ginnie’s smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks about the charity event, and I feel a pang of regret. She’s passionate and driven, and I admire that about her.

I grab my phone, staring at the screen for a moment. Should I text her? Apologize for eavesdropping? Maybe just ask if she wants to talk? My thumb hovers over the screen, but before I can type a single letter, I hesitate. What if she just brushes me off?

“Damn it,” I curse under my breath. I take a deep breath, then a message ticks in… well if she thinks I am a savage I might as well act the part.