Ice Got Novels & Stories

he was hesitant and wished he was wrong. "No, I'm not eighteen, Benjamin," she answered. "Miss Ice, what's your house look like? You forgot to describe it; it's been an hour since we were walking," Benjamin saw her stunned by his question. Maybe she forgot about the description of her house. "It's a big house, not a house; it's a mansion. We have a gate and the letter imprint on it. The gate color is black, and the color of the letter is gold," she describes. Benjamin was shocked. He knows that house.

He said and he let go of my hand. “What’s your name, miss?” He asked. “It’s a secret.” Why would he like to know my name? “Ah, your name is secret.” I heard him chuckle. “My name is not secret, it's Eunice.” I calmly said to him and I saw him smirk. “Hmm, I don’t think I need to introduce myself because you already know who I am, right?” I raised my eyebrows. “M-Maybe...?” “Wait, you don’t know me? I think I saw you in the cafeteria early...”

Lena looked away and glanced up, only for her eyes to catch on someone. She froze. Who the hell was she looking at? Damn it. It was Ethan, her fucking ex. The bloody cheater. And that wasn't all; on his right-hand side was Sophie. His arm was wrapped around her waist. Her stomach twisted at the sight of him. And that wasn't the worst of it. The worst thing was that they were walking towards her, with knowing smiles on their faces. Shit! She needed to act fucking fast. But how could she? Not with all these fucking eyes on her. Fuck! They were getting close to her.

“I came here to understand it.” “And now you understand.” “Yes.” “Then find it.” I held his gaze. “You don’t need me.” “You already know where it is.” That landed hard. Victor didn’t move at first. Then moments later, he finally did. His foot slammed into the ice. Once. Twice. The crack sounded different this time, deeper. Violent. Intentional. A sharp fracture spread outward, thin lines racing across the surface like lightning trapped beneath glass. The sound echoed louder. Then again.

she shakily said. "Have you played Ice Hockey before?" I casually asked. Bee shook her head. "No. I'm not good at any sports." "Well, you were pretty good for a first-timer," I complimented. "You were better than me, that's what I'll say." A smile emerged on her face. "Bee, right?" I asked as I didn't want to get her name wrong. "Yeah," Bee answered and smiled. "You were cool, Bee," I briefly commended.

The morning news cycle brought an entirely new vocabulary to the front pages, and the world refused to let the icy staircase image die. On SportsCenter, the analysts weren't dissecting Adrian Hayes’s defensive stats or his icetime percentage; they were zooming in on the pixelated edges of the viral photograph.

Eric drove the car into a big entertainment company and parked the car. He turned off the engine and looked at Isabella through the rearview mirror, she had her earphones on and was pressing her iPad. He stared at her for a while before clearing his throat. "Miss Isabella?" He called but received no response. "Excuse me, Miss Isabella." He repeated but she was simply carried away. So Eric had to touch her knee which got her attention. She frowned when their eyes locked and removed the earphones.

They were literally spitting images of him. "So you kids want something to eat?" He asked them. I don't know but a part of me felt betrayed as I watched them run over to his side. Yeah, I know he's their father, but damn! He didn't even try. "Yes!, yes....I want ice cream!" Kayla demanded as she raised her hand in the air, almost as if she was trying to take permission from a teacher in a class. "And I want a hotdog" Mateo said while his brother simply nodded in agreement, as he always does regardless.

Yet it is the very jump that once came close to destroying everything. I glide into the setup, heart hammering, breath tight, legs trembling. I bend my knee. I push off the ice. And....

"He's right. It's off." "Wow. Thanks." "You're dropping your elbow on the follow-through. That's why it's sailing wide." I step onto the ice without really deciding to, grab a stick from the rack by the boards. "Here." I don't know what I'm doing. I have homework. I have a curfew, technically, though nobody enforces it for me. I have a girlfriend who isn't really my girlfriend and a father who measures my worth in goals and a whole life waiting for me that I'm supposed to want, and instead I'm standing on the ice at ten at night showing a scholarship kid how to fix his wrist shot because some part of me wanted an excuse to be near him and didn't want to admit it.