Breaking The Ice Between Us のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

The ringing wouldn’t stop. It buzzed against my nightstand like it was personally offended I hadn’t picked up fast enough.“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, snatching the phone up and squinting at the screen.The name flashing there made my stomach drop straight through the floor.Shit.It was him.The guy I owed money to.“Fuck,” I whispered to no one, wiping a clammy hand down my face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”I almost didn’t answer, like that would magically erase the debt, but the phone buzzed again and I knew if I ignored it, it’d just get worse. So I swiped to accept and pressed the phone to my ear with a shaky hand.“Hello?”“Where the fuck is my money?”My chest went tight. “I… listen, I know I’m behind, but…”“No buts, James,” the voice snapped. “You said you’d have it two weeks ago. Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? You think I’m running a goddamn charity out here?”“I don’t,” I said quickly. My mouth was dry, words scraping out like sandpaper. “I swear I don’t. I’m just—things have be

It wasn’t the debt collector. Not my sister. Not anyone I owed money or apologies to. Instead, it was a cluster of familiar faces I hadn’t seen in days—some of my college hockey teammates. I actually hissed out loud, jerking back from the door like I’d seen a ghost. “What the fuck…” I muttered under my breath, exhaling hard. My heart was still racing like a jackhammer, so I pressed my back to the wall for a second, dragging in a long breath to steady myself. I couldn’t let them see me like this. Couldn’t let them smell the panic on me. So I pasted on my best fake grin, the one that had fooled professors, strangers, and even girlfriends in the past, and yanked open the door. “What the fuck are you assholes doing at my apartment!” I said, voice booming with fake cheer. One of them—Evan, I think—raised a brow. “Took you long enough to open the door. I thought you were dead.” “Wow, thanks for the concern,” I let out, still grinning too wide. Another one, Marcus, leaned agains

The knock came again, louder this time. I didn’t move at first. Just stared at the door, breath locked in my chest, ears ringing. Then I forced myself forward, each step like dragging my feet through wet cement, and leaned into the peephole. The moment I saw who it was, all the blood in my body drained straight to the floor. “Fuck,” I whispered, stumbling back from the door. They were here. The men I’d been praying I’d have just a little more time to avoid. “Open up the door, James,” a voice called. “Don’t make me break the door down.” My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. My lungs seized up. I looked around the apartment like it had answers hidden in the walls. Like maybe there was a trapdoor or a secret exit I’d missed before. “James.” I squeezed my eyes shut, chest heaving. “One…” The voice started counting, and I knew they meant it. “Two…” If they hit three, that door was coming off the hinges. I rushed forward and unlocked it with shaky hands bef

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror one more time, trying to figure out how to hide the damage. My face looked even worse now that the swelling had fully set in. My left eye was nearly closed, a deep purple bruise blooming out from the corner like an ugly flower. My lip was still split and swollen, and there was a faint print of a boot near my jaw where the bald man had kicked me. Yeah. No amount of “I walked into a door” excuses would fix this. I reached for the black face mask hanging from the hook near the mirror. It was one of those cheap, disposable ones I’d been using during flu season. I pulled it on, adjusting it until it covered most of my mouth and nose. It didn’t do much to hide my eye, but at least it made me look less like a cautionary tale. I grabbed a hoodie from the closet—the thickest one I owned—and pulled the hood up over my head. It hurt to lift my arms, my ribs screaming in protest, but I gritted my teeth and did it anyway. The duffel bag I’d packed and

CAPTAIN ~ The car ride back was quiet. Not the peaceful kind, like when you're driving through open roads with your windows down and music humming low in the background. No, this was the stiff, heavy kind of silence thick enough for you to fucking chew through if you tried. Andrew sat in the passenger seat, head tilted slightly toward the window, arms crossed, his reflection dull in the dark glass. The hospital parking lot faded behind us, swallowed by the glow of streetlamps, and the weight of that hospital room still clung to both of us like something wet and heavy. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but I already knew he’d just brush it off. Or worse—ask me what I was thinking. And hell if I could answer that without spiraling. So I just drove, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. The soft hum of the engine and the occasional swish of tires on damp asphalt were the only sounds between us. “She really got under his skin,” Andrew muttered s