Frostbitten Hearts

Chapter 1: Cold Hearts, Hot Tempers

Marisol

It was a chilly night in Wilmington, Wisconsin, the week before winter break. The streets, lined with snow-covered lampposts, glistened under the pale glow of the moonlight. The scent of pine trees mingled with the crisp air, and the distant sound of children’s laughter echoed faintly through the neighborhood.

“Carmine!” Marisol called, running after the tall, dark-haired boy while fumbling with her coat. The snow crunched under her boots, and the icy wind bit at her cheeks, turning them pink. “Why didn’t you wait for me after the game?”

He didn’t answer. Frustrated, she grabbed the sleeve of his letterman jacket, still damp from the snow. He flinched slightly and finally looked at her. “I didn’t want to stay in the gym,” he muttered.

Carmine was the star player on the basketball team, and tonight’s loss against their rivals weighed heavily on him. His usually bright hazel eyes were clouded with disappointment. Marisol knew how much the game meant to him, but that didn’t make his coldness any easier to handle.

“I thought we were supposed to spend the night together,” she said, her voice softening.

“I’m not really up to it.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Can you at least drive me home? I didn’t bring my car.”

He sighed and nodded.

The car ride was quiet, filled only by the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle from the heater. Marisol stared out the window, snowflakes drifting through the glow of the headlights. She was tired of pretending everything was okay.

“What is your problem?” she finally asked, the tension cracking.

“I told you. I’m upset about the game.”

“You’ve been acting like this since Wednesday.”

He didn’t reply.

When he pulled into her driveway, she got out without another word and slammed the door. The cold hit her harder than before, and she stormed up the steps, not bothering to look back.

Inside, the warm scent of cinnamon and fresh laundry welcomed her home. She kicked off her boots and had barely taken a step when Mateo’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“You finally home?”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered.

Mateo leaned against the counter with an apple in hand. He had just come home from the University of South Carolina for winter break, bringing his usual chaotic energy. It had been just her and their mom since Daniela moved out the year before.

“Mom working late?” she asked.

“Yeah. Said not to wait up.”

She dropped her keys, dragged herself upstairs, and collapsed onto her bed. The soft glow of fairy lights did little to comfort her. She grabbed her phone and called Roxie, needing a distraction.

“Frank’s party,” Roxie answered over the thump of bass. “Get dressed—I’m coming to get you.”

Marisol hesitated, but agreed. When Roxie pulled up, Marisol slid into the passenger seat, grateful for the escape. “Is Kai coming?” she asked. “Call her,” Roxie said.

Kai picked up right away and agreed to join them.

Fifteen minutes later, the trio was reunited. They sang along to throwback songs as they sped through the snowy streets, excitement buzzing between them.

The second they arrived, Marisol spotted Carmine’s truck. Her stomach sank. He told her he wanted to be alone tonight.

Inside, music blared, the scent of pizza and cologne thick in the air. Marisol tried to focus on her friends. But then she saw him.

Carmine. Near the fridge. Kissing Ali Taylor.

“Are you kidding me?” she shouted, storming over.

Without thinking, she stormed over and punched Ali. Gasps echoed. Someone spilled a drink. Carmine grabbed her arm.

“Marisol, stop!”

“What were you doing kissing her?” she snapped.

“You didn’t have to punch her!”

“How are you going to take her side?” Roxie growled.

“Mind your business, Roxie!”

“Yeah, how are you defending her?” Marisol yelled.

“I don’t—”

Roxie slapped him. “Don’t waste your breath. It’s over.”

“I’m not even dating you!”

“I didn’t say you were,” Roxie spat.

“Tell him you’re done,” she added.

Marisol didn’t hesitate. She turned and walked out.

Carmine started after her, but Kai and Roxie stepped in his path.

“No,” Kai said, calm and clear. “Marisol isn’t your problem anymore.”

“You’re not getting any closer,” Roxie added, eyes like fire.

He stopped. He knew they meant it.

The air felt colder as the girls climbed into Roxie’s car, slamming the doors shut behind them. The engine roared to life, the tires screeching slightly as they pulled away from the curb. As they drove down the street, the night seemed to press in, the streetlights flickering past in a blur of yellow and white.

Once they were safely in the car, the tension that had been building inside Marisol’s chest seemed to c***k. She stared straight ahead, hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t say anything, but the ache still throbbed under her ribs, fueled by flashes of betrayal and humiliation. As Roxie and Kai began tossing out plans of petty revenge, she didn’t join in—just listened. And somehow, that helped.

Roxie

Roxie Johnson, the wild and daring one in their trio, was everything Marisol wasn’t. With her short blond hair streaked with dark pink highlights and her piercing blue eyes, Roxie’s presence was magnetic. Her style was bold, often showing off her toned frame with fitted outfits that were a balance of edgy and chic. She was the life of every party, never shying away from a challenge.

She hadn’t hesitated when Marisol called—she’d left the party and picked her up immediately. As she drove, her fingers tapped nervously against the steering wheel. She knew something was off the second Marisol’s voice cracked on the phone.

The party had looked fun when she left—full of music, lights, and people she didn’t mind flirting with—but none of it mattered if her best friend needed her.

By the time they pulled into the party again, Roxie was on edge. She clocked Carmine’s truck the same moment Marisol did. Her stomach twisted, but she masked it with her usual smirk. She wouldn’t let him ruin the night.

She tried to keep Marisol distracted as they walked in, but everything spiraled too quickly. One look. One kiss. And suddenly it was chaos.

When Marisol’s fist flew, Roxie was already moving. She didn’t hesitate to step in—didn’t think twice before slapping Carmine either. The guy had always had a way of weaseling out of things, and she wasn’t about to let him do it again.

Afterward, she sat in the car, jaw tight, heart pounding. Her hand hovered over the gearshift like she was still deciding if they should drive away—or turn back and finish what they started. “We should turn around,” she muttered, voice sharp with anger. “Ali thinks she can just waltz in and take him from you, but she’s got another thing coming.”

They sped through the quiet streets, the city lights flickering through the windows. Roxie let the anger keep her warm. When Kai gently shifted the mood and started tossing out ridiculous plans—ways to humiliate Carmine or get back at Ali—Roxie joined in. Not because she meant it, but because the sound of Marisol laughing again made it worth it.

By the time they pulled into her driveway, the fire inside her had cooled just enough to let exhaustion creep in. Without a word, she led them inside, switched off her phone, and tossed blankets onto the living room floor.

Kai

Kai Bailey’s personality was a unique blend of her two friends—somewhere between Marisol’s warmth and Roxie’s edge. Of Black and Samoan descent, she carried herself with quiet grace. Her dark brown curls framed her radiant skin, and her gray-blue eyes always seemed to be observing.

She’d been studying for physics when Marisol called, already in comfy socks and a hoodie. But the second she heard the tension in her friend’s voice, she was in.

When Roxie picked her up, the car felt charged with unspoken things. Marisol was quiet, her arms crossed, her eyes distant. Roxie was talkative but sharp-edged, throwing glances toward the rearview mirror.

Kai kept the balance, humming along to the music and keeping her thoughts to herself.

At the party, she saw it unfold like slow motion. Marisol freezing. The kiss. The explosion.

Kai had started to move, but it was already happening. Punches. Screams. The crowd parting.

When Carmine tried to follow Marisol out, Kai didn’t hesitate. She stepped in with Roxie, planting herself firmly between them.

“No,” she said. “Marisol isn’t your problem anymore.”

She’d never raised her voice, but her words had hit with full weight.

Back in the car, she felt the tension thick in the air. The streetlights flickered past in blurry streaks. She glanced at Marisol, who hadn’t said a word since they’d left.

Kai spoke gently. “It’s not your fault. You did what anyone would’ve done.”

Her words hung there, offering calm in the chaos. As the drive continued, she saw the anger boiling in Roxie’s eyes and knew what was coming. So when the revenge talk started, Kai leaned in—not to encourage chaos, but to shift it toward something light.

The ideas got more absurd as the drive wore on, and laughter slowly returned. Not healing, not really—but something close.

At Roxie’s house, they kicked off their shoes and fell into the safe, chaotic comfort of the living room. Blankets, snacks, and wild what-if stories carried them late into the night.

They weren’t going to follow through on any of it. But the laughter, the shared fire, the sheer release of being together—that was real. And that was enough.