Ruined on Ice

ChapterThree

~Taylor~

I slammed the door to my childhood bedroom hard, the framed photos on the wall rattling as a result. One of them, a picture of me and Rory at last year’s winter formal, crashed to the floor, glass shattering across the hardwood. Good. I hoped it cut him the way he had cut me.

“Taylor?” Lila’s voice came from the hallway, hesitant. She had driven me home after I had stumbled out of the arena like a ghost. She hadn’t asked questions then, she just wrapped her coat around my shoulders and guided me to her car while I sobbed into my sleeve. Now she stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock.

I didn’t stop. I grabbed the hoodie Rory had left here two weeks ago, the one that still smelled like his cologne, and hurled it across the room. Then came the stupid signed puck he had given me for our six-month anniversary. It bounced off the wall and rolled under my bed. I didn’t care. I kept going, tears streaming down my face, chest heaving with ugly sobs.

“f**k you, Rory,” I choked out, voice cracking. “f**k you, f**k you, f**k you.”

Lila stepped inside slowly, like she was approaching a wounded animal. “Sis… what happened?”

I sank onto the edge of my bed, surrounded by the wreckage of eight months. His sweatshirt. His notes. A stupid stuffed wolf he’d won for me at the fair. All of it mocked me now. I was a complete mess, mascara streaked down my cheeks, hair wild from the wind, eyes swollen. I hurriedly tore of his sweater, flinging it aside like it stung to touch. I was supposed to be out there cheering for him right now. Instead, I was here, falling apart in the house I had grown up in.

“I’m a Communications major,” I whispered randomly, like saying it out loud would ground me. “Cheerleader. Honors student. The girl who had her s**t together.” A bitter laugh escaped me, turning into another sob. “And I was so f*****g stupid.”

Lila sat beside me, silent for a long moment. She was only two years younger but had always felt like the steadier one. Maybe because she didn’t carry the weight of remembering Mom.

Our father appeared in the doorway then, his flannel shirt rumpled from whatever he had been doing in the garage. His face softened the second he saw me. “Baby girl…”

I broke all over again. Dad crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into his chest. He smelled like sawdust and coffee, the same comforting scent I had known my whole life. Mom had died giving birth to Lila, complications no one saw coming. I was four years old at the time, old enough to remember her voice but not much else. Dad had raised us both alone, working double shifts at the mill so we could have this house on the edge of town, close enough to Linden for me to commute when I wanted.

“I loved him, Dad,” I cried into his shirt. “He was my first……everything. And he—” My voice broke. I couldn’t even say it out loud. The video kept replaying in my head on a sick loop. Maeve’s moans. Rory’s face. The pure lust on it.

Dad rubbed slow circles on my back, the way he used to when I was little and had nightmares. “I’m so sorry, Tay. The bastard doesn’t deserve your tears. But you go ahead and let them out anyway. I’ve got you.”

I sobbed harder. For the trust I had given so freely. For the future I had stupidly imagined, us after graduation, maybe staying close to Linden, building something real. For the girl I had been this morning, happy and oblivious in his jersey.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then again. And again.

I reached for it with shaky hands.

Becky: Hey girl……we saw the video. What the actual f**k. Are you okay??

Sam: We can come over right now. Just say the word. Bring ice cream and tequila.

Becky: Seriously Tay, we’re worried. You ran out so fast.

I typed back slowly, fingers trembling.

Me: I’m home. With Dad and Lila. Thank you……but I need some time. Please. I can’t right now.

Sam: It's okay baby. We love you. Rory’s a f*****g i***t. We’re here when you’re ready.

I set the phone down and curled into Dad’s side. He didn’t push for details. He never did. He just held me while I cried myself empty. Lila stayed on my other side, quietly picking up pieces of broken glass from the floor so I wouldn’t step on them later.

After what felt like hours, the tears slowed. My head throbbed. My eyes felt like f*****g walrus fat. I was exhausted down to my bones, and I was contemplating jumping down from the roof and perhaps entering a coma.

Dramatic much.

Dad kissed the top of my head. “You’re going to get through this, Taylor. You’re stronger than you know. Always have been.” He stood up, giving me one last squeeze. “I’ll make some tea. Or hot chocolate. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He left the room, and Lila scooted closer. She had been unusually quiet through all of it, just rubbing my arm every few minutes. I appreciated it more than I could say.

We sat in silence for a while, the distant sound of the TV drifting up from downstairs. Probably the end of the game. I didn’t want to know the score. I didn’t want to think about Rory at all.

Then Lila’s phone lit up. She glanced at it, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yo, sis,” she said, voice cautious.

“What?” I mumbled, wiping my face with the sleeve of a dirty shirt I had picked up from my bed.

She hesitated, then turned the screen toward me. “You need to see this.”

It was a video. Someone had recorded it from the stands, shaky but clear enough. The ice. The crowd roaring. Maverick Stone, broad and terrifying in his Northwood Hawks gear, driving Rory into the boards like he wanted to put him through the glass. Then the gloves came off. Fists flying. One brutal punch landed square on Rory’s face.

Blood. So much blood.

The camera zoomed in as Rory crumpled, clutching his nose. Maverick stood over him for a second, chest heaving, before the refs dragged him away.

“What the f**k…” I whispered, my eyes unable to believe what it was seeing.

Lila paused the clip. “They’re saying he got a game misconduct. Might be suspended. But people are losing their minds online. Some are calling it karma.”

I stared at the frozen image, Maverick’s hazel eyes dark with fury, his jaw tight, blood on his knuckles. The same guy I had crashed into earlier tonight. The one who had somehow recognized me instantly. The one I had told to mind his f*****g business before running away like a coward.

My stomach twisted. Why did he do that?

I handed Lila her phone back, heart racing again for a completely different reason now.

The boy who used to live three houses down had just broken my ex-boyfriend’s nose in front of thousands of people.