Fresh Ice

by Sarah J. Bradley

  A gladiator movie with lots of dead, bloody guys in it is perfect for me. If only I had a sword…something…to plunge deep into his heart. Make him feel the way I do.

  Her glass emptied, Izzy climbed out of the bed and headed to the kitchenette. One more glass and I’ll go to sleep and forget…everything.

  She stared at the screen again, in a moment when the bloodied gladiator somehow became a romantic hero. Nope, not perfect anymore. She pushed a button on the remote and the screen went dark.

  Draining her glass again, Izzy headed for the kitchen and a second bottle. She poured the wine with an unsteady hand, and an even weaker resolve. Quinn’s image, his beautiful eyes pleading, flashed through her mind. How can I possibly forget how much I love him?

  Izzy closed her eyes and heard, again, his last words, the words that explained Jason’s death once and for all, the words that broke her heart. She emptied her glass quickly in a vain attempt to drown out his words, the cold tone of his voice.

  How could I possibly love anyone so cruel and selfish?

  She filled her glass once more and took unsteady steps to her bed. It’s too quiet.

  She pawed through her small pile of CDs and found the one Collier gave her. Perfect. Sad sailing songs.

  She put the CD into the player, turned on the music, and floated on a river of heartbreak and pinot noir.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Sunlight burned through his eyelids. He eased one eye open, and closed it immediately. How the devil did I get home?

  Summoning every bit of strength, Quinn sat up. His head spun, he was dangerously close to a serious bout of the dry heaves. A strange grinding noise in the kitchen caught the attention of his percussive brain, and he got out of bed. Someone had no trouble stripping me naked.

  He grabbed his sweat pants and pulled them on. “Who’s there?”

  The noise stopped for a moment and Quinn thought he’d imagined it. Then the scraping and banging sound continued.

  He lurched into the kitchen. Serena. I should have known.

  “Good morning.” She waved a plate under his nose. “I made you another breakfast, in case you’re still hungry.”

  Bile bubbled in his throat. “Still hungry? I’m not hungry. How…how did…”

  Serena set two plates of eggs on the table. “Don’t you remember? Of course you don’t. You don’t remember anything when you’re drinking.”

  “I don’t remember you being anywhere near me.”

  “I suppose not. Your friend Chance called me while you were performing.”

  Performing what? Wait. I was singing. I got on stage and was singing.

  Wonder if I was any good.

  “I was really unhappy when he told me you’d been up to your old tricks again. But then I remembered you can be more fun when you’re partying than when you aren’t. Which is impressive, given how fun you can be sober.”

  Quinn’s stomach churned again. What did I think was going to happen? I had to protect Izzy. This is the trade off.

  “Oh, you sang quite the set, my dear. Brought down the house. And then you and I…well…” she nodded to the bedroom. “I’m not sure which I like better…sober Quinn who worships me, or dirty, nasty, drunk Quinn.” She pulled out a chair and pointed to it. “Now, let’s have breakfast. Actually, this is your second breakfast. You ate a mess of eggs and mushrooms a couple hours ago.”

  His stomach roiled at the smell of the eggs. “I’m not eating this.”

  “Suit yourself. You do have to be to the station in a couple hours, so you might want to at least drink some coffee.”

  Quinn rubbed his eyes. I don’t remember eating breakfast. “Fine, I’ll eat.” Quinn slammed himself into a chair and stared at the plate. This is what hell feels like.

  “Now, on today’s show I’d like you to be extra complimentary to the front office of the Titans.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s say I owe someone in that group a favor.”

  I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Quinn leaned back, his head pounding. “Where do I fit in your plans?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is this my next project? Say nice things on the radio so you can marry another rich old guy?”

  Serena blinked, as if hearing an idea for the first time. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Am I?” He poked a fork at the eggs. “Because a couple of days ago you attacked an innocent woman because she was spending time with me. Now I have to say nice things about a guy so you can land another ancient, impotent man? Am I supposed to just be shackled to you forever, while you amass a stack of dead husbands?”

  “First of all, anything that happened to your little friend is your fault and you know it.” Serena lifted a glass of orange juice, took a sip, and set it down carefully. “Second of all, you know you’re free to go any time you want to. This has never been a prison. It’s been an agreement, with a promise. You can leave me any time you’d like. I can release the pictures of you and Sally and that car accident.”

  “I can tell the world how you blackmailed Jason Masters to torment his wife.” The argument was weak, and he knew it. “Some might draw a line from that to his sudden death.”

  Serena smiled coldly. “No one can draw any lines that don’t lead right to you. Besides, the footage I have from last night would be enough to destroy your good standing with the fine charitable folks who think you’re so wonderful.”

  His heart sank. “Last night? What footage?”

  “You were magnificent.”

  How bad could anything I did last night be? I wound up here, with Serena. He closed his eyes and saw his future with Serena. A foul taste rose in his mouth.

  He sipped some coffee. Izzy is lost to me. There’s no point in protecting anything else. The black liquid was bitter in his mouth. “Serena, you win.”

  “Now what are you talking about?”

  Quinn stood, ignoring the pounding in his head. “I can’t live like this. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “That’s not what you said last night.”

  His body felt filthy. He held his hands out and stared at them. Everything is gone, except the last tiny shred of self respect. “You don’t need me anymore. Jason is dead. Izzy is...” he stopped.

  Serena tapped a fork against her lips. “Isabella is what, Quinn?”

  “She’s not Isabella Landry anymore, that’s the point. She’s a waitress. She’s living here because she has no place else to go, she has nothing. You ruined her completely. She’s just living here and working to be close to her daughter.”

  The ice cold glare on Serena’s face reminded Quinn he was an idiot to mention anything about Izzy and Jason’s child.

  “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? You’d like for me to say you and I are over, and then you can go running back to her and then what have I gained? Then she still wins because she gets you.”

  “I won’t be running back to her, believe me. She wants nothing to do with me. After what I told her, I’m lucky she hasn’t called the police.” He sighed. “You don’t want me. You don’t want a washed up hockey player with a terrible reputation. Did you like getting me from the bar? Was I charming and wonderful?”

  I may have been. I have no idea.

  “You were, until we got back here.” Serena’s voice was distant. “Then we got here and you opened a bottle of wine, which I thought was nice, but you kept trying to put ice in mine. Plus, you were sweating and stinking of bourbon. That wasn’t pleasant.”

  Oh yes, I’m the romantic hero. “Serena, I’m not what you want. I was tool, a tool you no longer need. You’ve won. I’ll leave Nashville. I won’t make trouble for you. Izzy’s no threat to you. She’s nobody. I’m nobody. You win.”

  Serena seemed not to hear his plea. “You know, our eggs are cold and I forgot the mushrooms again. You want more of those mushrooms right?”

  “Sure, I guess. Whatever.”

  “I have a few fresh ones l
eft; I picked them up yesterday, right before Chance called me. See, I do remember important things about you.” She took the plates away, reheated the eggs, and lightly sautéed some mushrooms. Returning, she set the plate in front of him. “Let’s have one more breakfast together, for old times.”

  “Are these morels?”

  “I know they’re your favorite,” she nodded. “Go ahead, eat. Then do your show.”

  “And then?”

  “You may be right. Other than being very pretty on my arm, you can’t do much for me socially. I have goals.” Her eyes lost their hard glitter, and she almost looked gentle. “Maybe I should free up my schedule to find my next husband.”

  Quinn stared at her as he ate. The cheerful expression on her face never wavered, never faded. It made him uncomfortable. “I’ve finished.” He held up the plate.

  “Good. Now, get some clothes on. You’re on the air in an hour.”

  Quinn dressed quickly, but not as quickly as Serena. She waited for him at the elevator. They rode downstairs in silence and walked to her car, parked in his space.

  “I’ll drop you off at the station.”

  “You’re not going to the office?”

  “No, not today.” She sounded wistful as she turned the key in the ignition. “I have business outside the office today. But you,” she faced him while the engine idled, “are on your own getting your car from Chance’s.”

  Quinn nodded, his throat tightening. “No problem.”

  “Quinn,” she said softly as she patted his cheek with cold fingers. “We’ll keep each other’s secrets, won’t we?”

  Quinn’s stomach tossed at the idea that he might actually be free. “Of course.”

  “I suppose then I could be gracious.”

  Relief washed over him. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious. Now go. Enjoy your life.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “What’s left of it,” she whispered so quietly, Quinn wasn’t certain he’d heard her.

  Quinn remained silent in his elation for the duration of the ride to the station. He left Serena’s car without a backward glance. Inside, Benny was waiting for him.

  “Geez Quinn, you look like hell. What did you and Boss Lady do last night?”

  How could I look bad? I’ve just been freed from prison. “I actually feel pretty awesome right now, Benny. Why, what’s going on?”

  Benny nodded to the TV monitor in the corner of the studio. “It’s all over the local gossip reports.”

  Quinn glared at the monitor. A cheerful female reporter chirped, “Has former NHL Bad Boy Quinn Murray returned to his partying ways? Last night, at a local club, Nashville’s favorite party animal, Murray treated club goers to an impromptu serenade.”

  Someone had a camera phone and Serena no doubt made sure the clip got to the television station. “Turn that off.”

  Benny reached up to turn off the screen when images of a car crash flashed on. “What the hell?” Quinn stared at the monitor, his heart sinking.

  Sally.

  “Murray has been a model citizen since this car crash more than three years ago, which he survived, but in which his assistant, Sally Meyers, and the unborn child Murray was expecting with Meyers, were killed. Returning to his partying ways last night, Murray had to be helped off the stage by current paramour, local businesswoman Serena Shipley-Chapmen.”

  “I should have known it would never be over.” Anger flared in Quinn’s chest.

  Benny turned off the TV. “Why would they mention that car crash?”

  “I was responsible. I was driving the car.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  There was something in Benny’s voice that broke through Quinn’s anger. “I know what the official police reports said, and I know what everyone believes. But the fact is I was driving. And I…” he swallowed hard, “I was responsible for what happened to Sally and our baby.”

  Benny looked puzzled. “Are we talking about the same crash, or were you in one I’m not aware of?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Benny stared at him. “You really don’t remember?”

  What was there to remember? “No, I was drinking that night.”

  “Geez, Dude.” Benny slumped in his chair. “You mean all this time you thought you were responsible for that crash? Quinn, you weren’t even in the car. You weren’t anywhere near her that night, not once you both left Chance’s.”

  Quinn’s head started spinning. He closed his eyes, trying to ward off the dizziness. “What?”

  “Normally Sally was your driver. Boss Lady hand-picked her for the job. But that night you called me to come get you. You and Sally had a huge fight at Chance’s.”

  We had a fight?

  “I came and took you home. Sally was alone in the car.”

  Sally was alone in the car. Nausea washed over Quinn.

  “And I don’t know why anyone thinks she was pregnant with your baby.” Benny shook his head. “That’s not even close to the truth.”

  “She wasn’t pregnant?”

  “Oh, she was pregnant, just not with your baby. Quinn, you never touched her.”

  “No, Benny, we had an affair.”

  “Quinn, you were drinking a lot back then. A lot. Do you even remember Sally?”

  Quinn closed his eyes and tried to recall what the girl looked like. No face came to mind. I can’t even remember her face? What kind of monster am I?

  “The day Boss Lady hired her you said, was that she was the spitting image of your sister. ‘Good, you said, at least I know I won’t be tempted to bang her.’ Don’t you remember any of that?”

  The room felt off balance. Everything he knew as truth shifted. The haze cleared. “I don’t…I don’t remember much from those days. I certainly don’t remember any of it that way.”

  “Sally’s boyfriend got her pregnant. She said Boss Lady told her to keep quiet about it. So why would anyone know about the baby, plus think it was yours?”

  Yes, Serena, why would they think that?

  And why I am sweating? I’m freezing. Quinn wiped his head with his forearm. The room spun around him. “Is it cold in here?”

  Benny shook his head. “Are you sick?”

  Quinn closed his eyes, the spinning stopped. “No, I’m okay. But Benny, we’ve worked together for years. How could you not say anything?”

  Benny shrugged. “Never came up. Right after that, you started having your thing with Boss Lady and no one even breathed Sally’s name. It was like she never exsisted.”

  “But I wasn’t in the car? And that baby wasn’t mine?”

  “I’d swear to it.”

  Quinn shivered, then stilled as his vision blurred. “Are you sure it’s not cold in here?”

  “No. Quinn? Quinn?”

  The room spun out of control, then went black.

  THIRTY

  Sunlight brushed across Izzy’s face. Gingerly, she eased her eyes open. An empty wine bottle stared at her from the nightstand. Her head pounded with a relentless beat. She struggled to sit and froze in place, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Slowly, gingerly, she turned and put her feet to the floor. Certain the floor was steady beneath her, Izzy stood and took tentative steps toward the bathroom. How much wine did I drink?

  The empty wine bottle on the kitchen table was her silent reminder. Oh, right.

  She searched the medicine cabinet. “How do I not have aspirin?” She rubbed her temples and tried to will away the shattering pain in her head.

  Cat has some downstairs. I’ll get some aspirin and maybe a roll.

  Her stomach protested the thought of food.

  Okay, just aspirin, and a quiet death.

  Once outside her door, each step on the creaking wood floors sent tremors of agony from her feet to her brain. Her vision blurred at the top of the stairs. Maybe I’ll skip the aspirin. I’ll just die here.

  Hushed voices floated on a sweet aura of coffee to her. That sounds like Collier.

 
Her curiosity was stronger than her hangover. Izzy crept down the steps to the doorway to eavesdrop.

  “I can’t believe what you’re telling me, Cat. Geez, I was gone for a week.”

  “Poor Iz. You’d think Quinn could have been a bit more sympathetic. I mean, she wouldn’t have been in that rink if he hadn’t asked her to skate for his charity thing. Then she gets beat up and he picks that moment to ditch her.”

  “You sure he didn’t beat her up?”

  “Don’t be stupid. He was in Canada. Besides, Izzy said it was some woman.”

  “Well, he got what he wanted out of her, so he was done with her anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She and Quinn did it. And then he threw her over. It’s what he does.”

  “For a poet, you sort of suck at words. They made love?”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “You’re taking it well. I figured you’d be one to storm around.”

  “I did my storming around earlier.” Collier cleared his throat. “I was stuck in some airport bar, waiting for my flight, and this woman comes up to me and starts talking to me. I sort of got to vent all over her.”

  “Ah, very Blanche Dubois of you, relying on the kindness of strangers.”

  “That’s a movie person isn’t it?”

  “Geez, Col. You’d be the perfect man for me if you had one shred of interest in movies, do you realize that? Then you and I could be having a very nice post whoopee conversation in my bed instead of licking our lonely wounds here at the crack of dawn.”

  “And you’d be the perfect woman for me…you know.”

  “You know it’s hopeless, right? She’s in love with Quinn.”

  “After what I saw last night, I’m not sure she will be.”

  “Why?”

  “Quinn was at Second Chance’s last night. Drinking.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very. He sat in the balcony while I did my set, then he sort of, I don’t know, raised a glass to me when I left the stage.”

  “Raised a glass?”