Fresh Ice

by Sarah J. Bradley

  “Burkes couldn’t give me a gold medal.” Serena hissed. The venom dripped off her words. “Burkes couldn’t stop people from using my name as punch line when the topic of comical Olympic mishaps came up. Marrying Burkes couldn’t give me the revenge I wanted. It only gave me the tools.”

  Her smile was more frightening than her words.

  “So why send me to get the money? Jason could have wired it.”

  Serena continued to smile. The longer she did so, the more unsteady Quinn’s stomach felt. “You know, Burkes taught me something very important.”

  “What was that?” Quinn’s mouth was dry, as if he were sucking on cotton.

  “He taught me never to do anything that didn’t have a reason. ‘In business Darlin’, he’d say, ‘in business, if you don’t have a purpose for someone, cut ‘em loose.’ He must’ve said that a hundred times. ‘With you by my side Darlin’ I’m the most attractive man in Nashville.’ I served his purpose. In return, he gave me everything. So he served my purposes, too.” Serena sat down and poured herself another glass of orange juice. “You don’t look so good, Quinn. Are you sick?”

  “No, not really.” His voice sounded strained.

  “Well I’m sure you haven’t had breakfast yet. Please, sit down and have something.”

  “I’m not hungry, Serena. So what kind of purpose did I serve for you?”

  Serena sipped the juice and again the eerie smile crossed her face. “I had my reasons.”

  “Other than keeping me as a sex slave, what purpose could you possibly have?”

  A shadow darkened her expression. “Don’t be unpleasant Quinn.”

  “What was my purpose, Serena?”

  “You served so much more than just my physical needs.” She took a sip of juice, as if trying to rinse the sickly sweet tone from her voice. “They ruled Jason’s death a suicide. His widow insists it was an accident, right?” The eerie smiled returned.

  “I don’t see how…” and like lightning, a thought left him breathless.

  “Do you know who the last person was to see Jason Marks alive? Well, the last person anyone witnessed seeing him?” She licked a drop of orange juice from her lips. “I imagine it was someone very striking looking. Someone tall, handsome, perhaps. Someone who visightd Jason at his place of business a couple times a year, but someone no one else knew. Someone Jason never talked about. A man of mystery.”

  She’s trying to pin Jason’s death on me?

  “Someone stupid enough to show up at Jason’s funeral. ‘Who’s that man?’ the wives whisper to their husbands. ‘Don’t know, but he looks familiar,’ the husbands whisper back. Then maybe there’s a connection. Maybe one of the Admirals players has a quiet chat with one of the employees. The employee says, ‘who was that guy, the tall one?’ And, completely innocently, your name comes up. Later, the employee says, ‘Wait, that’s the guy that came to Jason’s office. They met behind closed doors. And when he left, Jason didn’t say a word. The night before he died, you talked to him, didn’t you, Quinn? Probably waited for the shop to close, but someone was there. Someone saw you.” She licked her lips. “And when he came to work the next morning…well, we know what happened then, don’t we? Sure, you and I know Jason’s death was simply the most exquisightly timed accident ever. But, to others, it might look different.”

  And she’d be successful. Quinn’s stomach churned with the full realization of exactly how trapped he was.

  “All you have to do is keep our arrangement as it is, and I’ll protect you, as I always have.”

  Yeah, you’ve protected me from you. “Why are you doing this?”

  Serena dabbed a napkin delicately to her mouth and set it down. “I have always hated losing. I lost everything because of Isabella Landry. It’s her turn to lose.” The cold light in her eyes froze Quinn’s soul. “You want to save her life? You want to be her hero? Get her out of our lives.”

  Everything was very, very clear. “You won’t get away with this.” He stood.

  “Shhh, Quinn.” Serena stood and put a finger to his lips. “Of course I will. Of course, you’ll keep your all access pass to hockey, and your status as a sports icon in this town. Nothing will change.”

  She can pin a murder on me. Not just an accident, a murder. All I have to do is cut Izzy completely out of my life, and I’ll be safe. Quinn frowned. Safe from what? From conviction in a murder I didn’t commit. From public ridicule? None of that matters to me anymore. Izzy’s all that matters.

  “You can go to hell with your threats, Serena. I’m done.” Quinn took two quick steps to the door.

  “That’s your choice, of course.” She paused. “Oh, one more thing, Quinn, dear.”

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t kill her. Yet.”

  He straightened and swallowed his fear. “No, and you won’t get the chance. That make up isn’t covering the bit of skin you managed to leave in the locker room.”

  Serena laughed. “You think a little scratch is going to save your precious Izzy from me? Oh, Quinn, that’s rich. I bet you think you’re the only person I ever sent to harass Jason. I bet you think if you’re no longer doing my dirty work for me, then no one will.” She set her glass down and laughed again. “No, there’s only one way you’re going to be able to save Isabella Landry’s life.”

  Her words and their sinister import hung between them like a storm cloud. Quinn swallowed back the fear that rose in him. He jerked open the door and fled the apartment.

  Whatever it costs me, I will keep Izzy safe.

  It will be the last act of a damned man.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  He returned to his apartment and sat, unaware of the passage of time. So he was surprised when his elevator doors slid open and Izzy walked in.

  “I thought you were coming right back? That was two days ago. What happened?”

  Her tone was gentle. Her eyes were kind.

  I don’t have the strength to do this.

  “Quinn? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He hated his gruff, angry tone.

  “They let me leave without a sling.” She took a couple steps closer. “I thought…I thought…”

  “You thought what?” Quinn clenched his jaw and glared at her, trying to maintain a furious visage. Trying, and failing.

  “Why do you look like that?”

  Quinn ran his hands through his hair. I’m doing this to save her life. “You need to stay away from me. I mean it. I’m no good for you or anyone else.”

  She put a hand on his arm. He brushed it away. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re good for me. You’re good for a lot of people, so many people.” She put her hand on his arm again, her gentle, innocent touch burning his skin. Quinn brushed her hand away again, this time with far more anger than he’d ever touched any woman.

  “I’m warning you, Izzy, stay away from me.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. He stepped into the kitchen, the island stood as a solid barrier between them. “It’s for your own good.” The anger waned, leaving nothing but the echo of loss in his tone. His rage at Serena faded, and ceased to support him. He leaned on the island.

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Of course. You are a very good person.” She smiled. “Look how many kids, how many families you’ve touched in such a wonderful, positive way. Look at this event we’re working on.” She took a step closer.

  I have to do this. Until I figure out a better way to keep Serena from killing her, I have to do this. “You think I’m a good person.”

  “Yes, Quinn, yes. What it wrong with you?”

  Quinn glared at her, his rage at his own impotence giving him the will to break the bond between them. “How good could I possibly be? I’m the reason you were left penniless when Jason died.”

  She blinked, then smiled, as if he’d just told her a joke she didn’t quite understand. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’m th
e reason Jason cleaned out his bank accounts.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “I’m not the hero you think I am. I’ve done horrible things to those close to me. I’m the one who came to Jason’s shop and I took his money.”

  Her eyes darkened, but she still looked unconvinced. “But...why? Why would you...how could you?”

  Serena’s words flashed in his mind. “I was in Milwaukee a lot. I found out where Jason was. I told him...” the lie choked Quinn, “I told him that if he didn’t pay up, I’d start making noise about the fact that he raped a minor, got her pregnant, and took her, against her parents’ consent, across state lines. I told him I wouldn’t stop there, that I’d start using words like ‘steroids’ and ‘narcotics’ in my sports casts when talking about skating greats of the past. I promised him I would destroy his past, present, and future if he didn’t give me cash. I’m a very popular sports personality, Izzy. It would have been easy.”

  Izzy put a hand on the table, as if unable to keep herself steady. Her eyes were black, dead. “Why would you even care about Jason or about me?”

  Quinn shrugged, attempted to be casual as, again, Serena’s words came out of his mouth. “He had you. He had you and I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman.”

  Her face flushed. “This was all about sex?”

  Quinn’s stomach churned, and he ached to stop the charade and take her in his arms. “This was about destroying what stood in my way. This was about ownership.” He closed his eyes, hating himself. It’s Sally all over again. “This was about making very certain I got what I wanted. Once I found you again, I didn’t let anything stand in my way. Nothing.” He released this final word and he went cold.

  Silence hung like a heavy curtain. Quinn leaned against the counter and stared at his shoes. Please don’t make me say one more word.

  “So what, you were at his funeral to do a victory lap? Pick up your trophy?”

  He didn’t respond. Just curse me and leave. Go and be safe far away from me.

  “And the cash, the lottery ticket. That was what, to buy me?”

  Damn you, Serena.

  “We lost the house, we lost everything.” Her voice grew stronger, her anger heated her words. “I moved here on a prayer and a lottery ticket. Then I met you that night after I told off Adele.”

  Quinn squeezed his eyes tighter shut, willing the tears in. The most beautiful coincidence in my life and it’s become part of a twisted, revisionist memory.

  “I thought you were my friend. I fell for it all.” Her laugh was a short, sharp bark. “Is this your idea of some sort of joke? Wait, are you drunk?”

  Damn you, Serena!

  “Baby, if I were drunk, you’d be a whole lot more naked and I’d be way less charming.” The words stung as they left his mouth.

  Her hand connected with his face so sharply, he thought she’d hit him with a tire iron. He locked eyes with her. He struggled not to wither beneath the fury in her gaze.

  “I trusted you. I gave myself to you.” Her voice was low. “Worse, my daughter, who loved her father, trusted you. No matter what you took from me, you took Jenna’s father away from her.” Izzy stormed to the elevator and punched the button. “Go to hell, Quinn Murray.” She was gone.

  I very well might.

  ***

  It was quiet at Chance’s. What’s the use in trying to be good anymore? The only thing that mattered was Izzy, and she’s out of my life for good.

  Quinn sat at the bar and stared blankly at the TV over Chance’s head.

  “Hey, Quinn, haven’t seen you here in a while.” Chance wiped the bar in front of Quinn and set a glass in front of him. “So, the usual?”

  “Quiet night here, Chance.”

  Chance nodded and looked over the railing to the smattering of people downstairs. “It’s early. I’ve got a band coming on at ten.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Chance followed Quinn’s gaze. “Oh, Collier? He called me this afternoon. Said he was back from a terrible week in New York. Some Middle Ages themed restaurant or some such bull. Probably wanted to get discovered. Don’t know why those indie guys do that. This right here is Music City. This is where you come to get discovered.”

  “He wasn’t in New York for that.”

  “Oh, you know him now? I wasn’t aware you were friends.”

  “Not friends. He’s my competition.” For a prize I’ve given up.

  Quinn dragged his gaze away from the stage and nodded toward the rows of bottles. “Make it the old usual, Chance. I’ll get this party started the right way.”

  “Quinn, no.”

  Quinn glared at him. “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

  Chance reached for one of the bottles and set a shot glass in front of Quinn. He paused, the bottle hovering over the glass. “Are you sure about this?”

  Quinn stubbed an angry finger into the scarred wood of the bar. “Set them up, Chance. It’s been way too long.”

  Chance reluctantly poured a double bourbon. Quinn drained it with a single swallow. “Another.”

  Below them, Collier began to play a song on the piano. Funny, I didn’t realize he played the piano. Talented cuss.

  Quinn emptied the second glass as quickly as the first and pushed the glass toward Chance. “Another.” He then turned his attention to Collier whose low, graveled voice was just loud enough to reach the upper level.

  “Good evening, y’all.” Collier didn’t look at the audience. “My name is Collier James. I’m one third of the Terrible Troubadours.”

  Quinn felt a perverse pleasure that no one applauded. The third drink woke a corner of his brain long dormant. He found supreme humor in someone else’s discomfort. Chance handed him a fourth, and this one Quinn carried to the balcony rail, the same spot where he’d seen Izzy that first night.

  The irony was not lost on him.

  “Anyway, I just got back from New York City.”

  Here a few of the sparse audience booed.

  Collier raised a hand. “I know. I don’t like that town any more than y’all do. It’s dirty and it’s cold. It’s not like Nashville, which is home.”

  He’s good. There are about nine people down there and he’s taken them from boos to cheers.

  “Anyway, while I was there, I wrote a song, and I wanted to see what the very discerning music listeners here in Nashville thought of it. My friend Chance was good enough to give me some time this evening.” Collier stopped playing random chords on the piano and looked beyond the stage lights. “I hope you like it.”

  Quinn drank slowly, the bourbon started to melt into the corners of his brain. The lyrics of the song, framed by Collier’s deep throated growl, spoke of love lost, loneliness, and the ache of longing. Damn, he’s good.

  Quinn waved his empty glass at a waitress, who wasted no time getting it filled. Sipping the drink, Quinn lost himself in the amber liquid and the song. Good job, Collier, you nailed it right on the head. That’s exactly how I feel at this precise moment. Like beautiful melodic shit.

  You, however, get to go to the coffee shop tonight where an unattached Izzy will finally be yours.

  The song finished. Collier acknowledged the small audience. As he stood to leave the stage, he looked up and his gaze met Quinn’s. Quinn raised his glass to Collier and nodded. You’ve won by default, but you still won.

  ***

  Izzy stormed up the stairs and slammed her door. She fell on the bed and buried her face in the pillows. Quinn, how could you have done this?

  How could you have been such a good liar?

  Her tears burned as they wet the linen pillowcases. Her arm and shoulder ached, reminding her too much of the woman who attacked her. I need a drink.

  She sat up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and stared out the window. “The one time in my life I want a drink. I don’t have a drop in this place.”

  She didn’t want one drink; she wanted to blot out the last two days completely.


  Wait. I have the bottles of wine from Quinn’s place.

  She slipped off the bed and went to the cabinet where she found the three bottles of pinot noir. She pulled out the first bottle and stared at it, remembering the night they shared his bed, feeling his hands on her, his lips.

  I was a fool again. I was blinded by a nice smile and good hands. Again.

  She poured herself a glass. Ice. Her freezer held two things: a bag of pizza rolls and a large chunk of ice that had once been a bag of cubes, but, thanks to a power outage one afternoon, was now one very large cube.

  Izzy grabbed a butter knife and chiseled off a handful of chips. She dropped them in the wine and drank deeply. Here’s to forgetting everything; Jason, Quinn, skating, everything, once and for all.

  ***

  How he got on stage, Quinn had no idea. Why is it I can never remember anything when I’m drinking?

  Doesn’t matter. This band sucks and I’m going to get them off the stage so everyone will feel like partying again. That’ll make Chance happy, and since he’s made me happy, I should return the favor.

  The minute he stepped on stage, the crowd recognized him. The cheers were genuine. Quinn shot a bleary glance at Chance, who stared at him from the balcony with a mixture of concern and avarice.

  Dance, Monkey, dance. Give the crowd what they want. Sing a song, party all night, slam that guy into the boards.

  Ruin some guy’s life. Help get him murdered. Screw the Boss on demand.

  Give up any chance of happiness.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the band you paid to see sucks.” He gave the lead singer a shove. The crowd roared in approval as the band left the stage.

  Quinn stared into the blinding spotlight. “Excellent. Now we can really party.”

  Again the crowd roared. “Okay, now, remember, I’m not a singer, but I can do better than those jokers. Ladies, if you’re very, very good, I might even take off my shirt. And guys? You’re welcome.”

  Dance Monkey, dance.

  Everything faded to black.

  ***

  Izzy sat on her bed, staring blankly at the movie she’d stuck in the DVD player. She poured herself a third glass of wine and drank it more slowly than the first two.