Icebound (Boundless Players)

“Nina,” Gwen shouts from down the hall. “Are you almost ready for the game?”

“Five minutes, Gwendolyn!”

“Well, hurry up, Philomena!”

It’s been over a week since I’ve seen Rhode, and there’s been zero communication since he left me in my bedroom. The distance between us isn’t melting away nearly as fast as the icicles in the March air.

The way he reacted at the event meant more to me than he’ll ever know. There was no fixing, just the acknowledgment and acceptance of a friend, which is exactly how he looks at me.

There’s no longer heat in his eyes. He might have said I looked breathtaking, but last week, I saw a photo posted of Rhode at some club with his arm draped around a woman, so I’m not going to overanalyze his compliment no matter how much it fills my heart.

There aren’t a lot of men like Rhode Tremblay on this planet. In fact, there’s only one, and every time I picture him at night with my hand dipping beneath the sheets, I try to remind myself that I don’t want to date someone when I’m leaving for Argentina.

Digging through my cabinet, I pull out an orange pill bottle. Twisting open the cap, I pop one into my mouth because I don’t want what happened at the event to happen during the game.

Sometimes I need them, sometimes I don’t, and today’s just one of those days.

I slip into Micah’s blue and white Guardians jersey, gathering my hair into a high ponytail. I thought about wearing Rhode’s number, but based on how he’s cut off all communication other than one text to make sure I was feeling okay after the event, I opted for Micah’s.

It’s a big departure from my usual overalls, but the jersey makes me feel like a part of their inner circle, and I’ve never felt that way before. I keep my group of friends small so I can give more to the people who matter the most.

With a bounce in my step, I pull out my phone and snap a picture before sending it to Micah—who changed his name to Your Favorite in my phone.

ME

What do we think? How’s the jersey?

YOUR FAVORITE

HOT DAMN PHIL

YOUR FAVORITE

Fuqing hell you look good in my number

YOUR FAVORITE

Hold on

There are dots, and then a text comes through. Except, this time, Rhode’s on the chain. Micah resends my picture to the group, so Rhode sees the image. My heart rate kicks up as I stare at the screen.

YOUR FAVORITE

What do you think old man? She looks good with my number on her back, right? *angel face*

RHODE

*thumbs up*

My shoulders slump toward the screen as I read his lackluster response. I have no idea what Micah’s trying to accomplish, but based on the way Rhode rarely looked at my dress during the event, he doesn’t give a shit about my clothing, which is fine by me. I don’t want to distract them before a game, so I shove my phone in my leggings pocket.

“Come on, Nina!” Gwen shouts. “Let’s go.”

We slide into her sleek Audi, and the engine purrs to life as we navigate the downtown streets toward the stadium. She drives while I scroll through sports articles on my phone, excitement heating my veins.

The buzz around the Guardians’ winning streak has been electric. Their game nights have turned into my own little ritual that’s slowly stitching Gwen’s and my relationship back together.

As we approach the hockey stadium, the energy rippling through the crowd is palpable, but I’m feeling calmer than a serene lake as we scan our tickets and navigate to our seats.

Relief washes over me when I notice we’re right on the aisle and a few steps from the bathroom. Gwen times it perfectly, so we sit down right as the Guardians skate onto the ice in their blue and white jerseys for the pregame warm-up.

The air is thick with the unmistakable scent of nacho cheese that’s sticky enough to glue two foam fingers together.

Gwen looks at the people a few seats over. “Why’s no one sitting around us, or behind us, for that matter?”

“Maybe they’re still coming since they’re just warming up? I don’t know. I hope no one shows, though. It’d be nice to have some extra space.”

I straighten when I remember what I said to Rhode, wondering if he had something to do with the seats. Warmth kindles in my chest.

Colorful lights blink in the stadium as music blasts, and Micah’s doing this goofy little dance that makes me laugh, but then, he says something to Rhode, and they start shouting in each other’s faces until Wyatt breaks them apart.

Gwen leans over. “Why are they yelling at each other?”

I peer through the glass wall. “I have no idea, but knowing Micah, he probably said something to piss off Rhode.”

My eyes instantly lock onto Rhode in all his gear, and I clench my legs together. I’ve caught glimpses of him on screen but seeing him live in action is completely different.

He’s not just a professional athlete—he’s the embodiment of a guardian, dominating the rink. The way he glides effortlessly across the ice has my mind drifting to that moment in the kitchen.

As I watch him move, all I can think about is having him inside me, pinning me down as his hands grip my hips, but the only way that’s happening is in my dirty daydreams, so I fling away the thought.

Rhode’s focus shifts to me, and his gaze feels hot enough to melt the glass wall. His head tilts down to my jersey. I can’t see his expression through his mask, but he rips his head away and then never turns my way again. He seems to skate around the rink with a fury that wasn’t there before.

Meanwhile, Micah keeps tossing playfully platonic winks in my direction, but once he lines up for the opening face-off, he morphs into a stoic warrior. It’s honestly a little intimidating to witness the transformation.

“Go, Guardians!” I scream, pumping my fist in the air along with the crowd.

The cheers crescendo, and then, they’re off.

Fans scream in excitement, but as I watch them skate, all I feel is this overwhelming admiration mixed with deep-seated apprehension. It’s a little awful witnessing a hockey game now that I know the timbre of all their laughter.

My attention is drawn to Rhode wherever he goes like his skates are tied to a thread unraveling in my chest. When someone almost slams into him, I wince. Every time he drops down to block a shot, I gasp.

My heart pounds a frantic rhythm throughout the game, but this time, I know it has nothing to do with my anxiety. While I’m impressed by Rhode’s talent, there’s also this fiber of worry throbbing beneath my skin.

In the second period, one of the opposing players slams into him with enough force to shake the plexiglass. The stadium roars in anger, but all I see is a red haze across my vision despite the sparkling lights.

“That was a penalty, ref!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Open your eyes!”

“That looked painful.” Gwen grimaces. “Is there always this much fighting in hockey?”

“More so in the minors, and it looked more than painful.” I flinch, watching Rhode shake it off on the ice. “That was brutal. Goalies rarely get bodychecked like that. What the hell was Eighteen thinking? Asshole!”

She gives me a quizzical look that’s all eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That goalies don’t get bodychecked?”

I turn back to the blue crease. “Because I’ve been spending way too much time watching hockey when I can’t sleep at night. I’ve picked up on a few things.”

I shift my focus to where Micah’s shouting in Rhode’s face. “Why are they yelling at each other? They should be fighting the other team.”

“Things are heating up on the ice, folks!” the announcer’s voice blasts through the stadium’s speakers, blending with the crowd’s roar. “It seems we’ve got ourselves some friendly fire here between two teammates.”

“What’s happening?” Gwen waves a foam finger in my face. “Why’s Rhode arguing with him? Aren’t they on the same side?”

“Yeah, they’re being ridiculous. Watch the puck!” I shout over the screaming hockey fans. “The ref’s making some bad calls, so I bet he’s pissed about that. I mean, come on, Thirty-Nine clearly hit his stick above Micah’s shoulders, and the ref didn’t even give him a high-sticking penalty.”

I cup my hands around my mouth, shouting, “Dick!”

Gwen stares at me like I started speaking Spanish, which reminds me I need to start learning more than just the curse words for my fellowship. “Since when do you know penalty calls in hockey?”

“I’ve been watching every game. I was bound to pick up on something.” Rhode blocks another goal, and the stadium’s roar turns deafening. “Woo! Go Thirty!”

I know he can’t hear me, but it looks like he tilts his ear as if he feels me watching. Gwen stares at him with a twinkle in her eyes, but every woman in this crowd is looking at Rhode that way. My stomach knots.

“And Forty-Nine makes a breakaway!” the announcer shouts.

The stadium sucks in a collective gasp of air, but I feel like mine’s the loudest.

The puck shoots across the ice, and Rhode drops to his knees, blocking the shot. I jump from my chair, cheering along with everyone.

“Trem-blay! Trem-blay! Trem-blay!”

As I chant, I can’t stop my eyes from drifting over Rhode’s tall frame. There are no blood or injuries in sight, and even though he’s fine, my shoulders still remain rigid with worry.

Gwen leans over to me, clapping her hands. “Okay, be honest, have you slept with him, and if you have, how good is he in bed? I don’t know if it’s all the gear, but he looks like he’d be amazing. I hear goalies have really good stamina.”

I snap my lips together so an insult doesn’t fly out of my mouth. I don’t think Gwen would do anything with him, but I can’t be sure after everything that happened with Isaac.

I’d never forgive her if she did anything with Rhode. “Stop lusting after my… Never mind, I’m not talking about this with you.”

“I’m not lusting, I’m commenting, and I have Isaac, anyway, but you better get used to everyone wanting him. He’s Rhode Tremblay. The girls in the concession line couldn’t stop talking about his underwear commercial.”

Irritation bursts through me at the thought of all those women flocking to him, but I tamp it down with a forced breath. “They should talk about how he donated to charities last year instead of whether he’s a boxers or briefs guy.”

“You know, it’s cute how you always stand up for him.” Gwen keeps her eyes on the rink, squinting. “Look. They’re fighting again.”

I swing my gaze to the ice. Rhode’s in a full-on shouting match with Micah, who’s waving his arms faster than the ref. Wyatt rushes over and breaks them apart again, holding them both back by the shoulders as they scream in each other’s faces.

Well, Micah looks like he’s yelling while Rhode seems to be trying really hard not to lose control. I swear I can see the veins straining in his neck from here.

Micah keeps pointing in my direction, but Rhode refuses to look my way. I can’t see much behind his mask, but it seems like he’s fuming.

It’s a good thing they’re in the middle of a stoppage because Wyatt starts ranting like he’s giving an angry motivational speech, and points straight at us.

Micah shoves Rhode, and then he pushes him right back, getting in his face before Wyatt forces Rhode back toward the net. I see why they call him the Golden Giant. Wyatt’s a teddy bear, but on the ice, he turns into a grizzly.

I’m imagining Wyatt in full-out Patty-Daddy mode, shouting something like, “You better get back to the net, young man!”

Rhode skates across the rink, never once looking in my direction. Micah waits until Rhode is in the crease before he takes a roundabout way to get into position. Then, he skates past me and Gwen.

He looks like a sweaty warrior in all his gear, but it’s nothing compared to Rhode. Micah stops in front of me, and I quirk my head.

“Um. Hi?” I shout over the glass. “What the hell are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a smirk, then taps the glass with his glove. Before he can open his mouth, Rhode skates over, swoops in like some avenger, and furiously drags Micah away from the plexiglass with so much force that they slam into an opposing player.

The guy tries to punch them, and that turns into a jumble of bodies, resembling a dog pile on the ice. Micah and Rhode roll around, and I can’t believe they’re actually fighting.

Every eye in the stadium is immediately drawn to the collision. The gasps and cheers of the crowd become a thunderous roar, and even the announcer on the Jumbotron can’t help but highlight the fight breaking out.

These men are acting like boys. I cup my hands over my mouth. “Stop fighting and get back on the ice!”

Gwen sips her Diet Coke. “I guess they really do like fighting in hockey.”