Black Ice: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Mickey Miller

  My dad slaving away in the mines every day so we could escape the life of poverty he lived in. Being ten years old, going down in the mines with him and realizing, holy hell, that is not as glorious a job as it seemed. That was a low.

  Being freaking thirteen years old and discovering that girls weren’t the same as boys. Having my first fucking crush on Natalie, the-fast-on-her-bike girl with the long legs and the long hair.

  ‘Race ya,’ I’d say to her on the way back from the creek.

  As long as I live I’d never get that image out of my mind: riding behind Natalie with her long hair flowing like crazy behind her, like a sail. I’d ride behind her just to watch, then pull ahead of her at the last second to win. The strategy drove her crazy.

  Now those sweet moments seemed like another person’s dreams. Not even my own. Natalie moved to Florida before she turned thirteen, and promised to write us. That lasted a full six months until she got so into her new life that she was too good to drop us a line.

  I finished my drink, sat down, and poured another. Hockey was on tonight. The Flames.

  I watched for a few minutes, saw a guy I knew from Michigan State who was drafted play a shift, then changed the channel to some sitcom.

  I pulled up my phone and stared at her name.

  Natalie.

  I thought about sending her a message. But what would I say? I’d already pissed her off so much that she was unlikely to respond.

  Why did she irk me so much? What was it about her that I couldn’t stop thinking about our run in today?

  Seeing her in the flesh was mind-boggling, for starters. She was flesh and bones when I last saw her when I was thirteen and she was twelve. Now she was a full-grown woman. I saw shades of the girl I used to know, the same little tics and mannerisms, but overall, she was a new person.

  A very sexy woman, I might add if I was being fully honest with myself. Seeing her traipse around in those little booty shorts had spiked my pulse, got my blood running warmer than it had in a long time. We didn’t get girls like her around here, all tan and sun-kissed, freckles activated even in the dead of winter. I could see her little nipples imprinting into her tank top today, too.

  And all the while, she made my blood boil with her silly innocence. Maybe that’s what it was about her that got under my skin. She seemed shocked when I told her about Louisa and my dad; like she didn’t even know the role the mines had played in their deaths.

  Her dad sure did a good job of keeping her protected from the realities of the world. I wished mine had done the same. He tried to; never complained one day about life in the mines.

  But he couldn’t hide the sickness he was developing down there once it got too bad. Although in the end, it wasn’t the sickness that did him in.

  My phone buzzed as I held it and a message came in from Jared.

  Jared: So how is little devil horns, anyway? And what are you up to tonight? Want to go to Midnight Owl?

  I tossed the phone aside.

  Jared and I knew each other since we were in kindergarten. A drinking buddy, through and through. When Louisa died, he was there and helped me not to go off the rails. When I lost my hockey scholarship and ended up back in Black Mountain, he helped me find a job. Always loyal. Always local.

  The antithesis of the people like Natalie. They moved out, generally to larger cities, where it was warmer. They used the money their daddy made exploiting the people here and left us cold in the dust, and didn’t even know that the tap water was contaminated. They didn’t care. They were drinking bottled stuff. They didn’t know what it was like to grow up in a household where ten extra dollars a month for bottled water meant you had ten less to spend on food.

  Still, I didn’t much feel like getting together with Jared tonight. He and Bob thought Natalie was the devil. And we both had valid reasons for hating her father. But after today, I didn’t know how I felt about putting that hate on her, too.

  My phone buzzed with a text from another friend, Cherry. I didn’t even open it.

  Times like these I wished phones weren’t invented, that I could just be all alone and fade into the depths and sit with my bleak thoughts.

  Another text came in, from a hockey scout who had been trying to track me down. I checked that one.

  Jeremy: Hello Shane! How are you these days? You still working out? I’d love to see you if you’re still in shape. Was looking at some of the footage from last year. You can’t teach that slapshot. An absolute killer.

  I sighed and mindlessly clicked onto my contacts, thumbing in alphabetical order to Natalie’s name.

  I stopped short of hers, though, and my heart thumped as I stared at Louisa’s. It had been six years since she passed, but it felt like yesterday. I still thought about her every day. I clicked onto her name and pulled up the last text she ever sent me.

  Louisa: Help me, brother

  That one always gutted me. I didn’t even know why I looked at it, it was such a sadistic thing to do. I got my hockey stick and went outside to my backyard rink. I wound up and took a few slap shots, launching them at the little goal I had set up.

  When that didn’t seem to make me feel better, I got the ax and split some wood for the fire, then came in and built a scorcher.

  I stared at the flames and they seemed to be the only things that felt soothing all night.

  While I watched the fire, my phone buzzed again on my couch.

  It was from Natalie, so I swiped it to see what she sent me.

  My blood curdled when I saw what she’d sent me.

  It was her. Had she taken the picture tonight?

  In one hand, she held a glass of red wine, and in the other, the camera.

  The cleavage of her pert little tits was prominent through the red lace bra she wore. The bottom she wore was equally lacey, and sexy as hell.

  There was no denying it: I was getting turned on staring at the picture of her. The more I tried to pry my eyes away from the photo, the more I seemed to stay glued to it. My heart fluttered with raw heat.

  I squinted at the photo for a minute, contemplating a response when a text came in from her

  Natalie: Oh, my bad. Wrong number.

  I grinned. It wasn’t lost on me that the photo was cut off at the chin, at almost the exact same spot I had sent her my selfie last night.

  So this was how she wanted to play it? Let’s do it.

  Shane: Yeah, you must have meant to send this to your boyfriend.

  Natalie: Definitely.

  Shane: Lucky me, I guess. I’ll now be mass texting this to my friends list.

  Natalie: Is that what you do? It’s a little pathetic, isn’t it?

  Shane: Not as pathetic as playing the exact same prank on a guy that he played on you. I expected more from you.

  Natalie: I thought it was pretty funny, personally. Go ahead, send it to your friends. It’ll be good for you all to visualize a real woman instead of all the porn you’ve been watching.

  Shane: Wow. Feisty tonight!

  Natalie: Probably has something to do with the heat.

  Shane: Shouldn’t you be used to the heat?

  Natalie: Why were you such a dick to me today? Seriously.

  My gut felt like she had stuck a knife into it. Or at least into the nice casual banter between us that I was enjoying.

  Shane: You’re clueless, aren’t you?

  Natalie: About what? The water? Not anymore, thanks to you!

  Shane: Helpful is my middle name.

  Natalie: . . .

  I saw the three dots moving, but she didn’t reply for a few moments.

  I typed up a text, but waited to hit send: You don’t know any of the horrible things your father did to this town, do you?

  Then I rubbed my face, pangs of guilt rose up inside me. What kind of man was I, throwing the deeds of her father in her face the week after the man died? How would I have felt if someone told me the same about Louisa, or my dad? I probably would have flipped out on them. But then I wa
s more volatile than most, after losing multiple family members in such a short span.

  I deleted the text without pressing send, and a new one came in from her.

  Natalie: Well here’s a helpful hint: don’t make a move on a girl who has a boyfriend.

  I squinted in disbelief. I didn’t know why she still felt the need to keep up this boyfriend charade.

  Shane: I was born on a day, but that day wasn’t yesterday. Don’t give me that.

  Natalie: I’m serious…

  Shane: So what does your boyfriend think about you sending sexy selfies to other men?

  Natalie: I told you, that was an accident…I meant to send that to my boyfriend.

  Shane: Right…Jameson. Great name for a boyfriend. How’s your sex life with “Jameson?”

  Natalie: Inappropriate question! And it’s terrific, thank you very much.

  I grinned. Might as well push her to the limit if she was going to keep going on this whole lie. I saw her look at the bottle of whiskey when she spat out that name, and I guaranteed she came up with it on the spot.

  Shane: It’s really too bad you’re not single. Because I would absolutely love to have some fun with you while you’re here.

  Natalie: This isn’t Tinder. And that would be weird, we used to ride bikes together.

  Shane: I won’t apologize for being attracted to you.

  Natalie: I hate to tell you it’s not going to happen for you.

  Shane: Only into those Florida tan bros, eh?

  Natalie: No, I’m only into non-assholes.

  Shane: Keep telling yourself that.

  Okay, that last text might have been over the line. I did have a tendency to get a little too cocky. But hey, it wasn’t cocky if you could back up your talk. She didn’t reply back, and I didn’t, either.

  Instead, I decided to call my mom. She always appreciated my calls. She’d been out of town with her boyfriend in Hawaii this week, a trip they’d been planning all year.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  So I headed to bed and tried to sleep. I couldn’t stop the thoughts about Natalie from clouding my mind as I drifted off.

  I was going to see her again, damn right.

  The devil woman was going to be mine.

  5

  Natalie

  “The fake boyfriend thing isn’t working. He sees right through it,” I said to my friend from Florida, Lizzie, who chatted with me on my wireless headphones. As we spoke, I multitasked and put my father’s clothes in a box that I was making for a donation. I’d made some headway this morning in terms of packing up.

  “Well, makes sense. You kind of botched it when you basically asked him on a date that first night. You’re sending him mixed signals.”

  “Well I had to get him back for that joke he played.”

  “By sending him a sexy selfie?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m just saying, even I’m confused. Do you, or do you not want to see the guy again?”

  I grabbed the clear box tape to shut the box.

  “I do and I don’t. I…don’t even feel bad about slapping him, he’s such a dick.”

  “He sounded like he was asking for it.”

  “If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t slap him. I just don’t see where he gets off, talking crap about my father right now.”

  “For better or worse, he’s stuck in your head.”

  “And I don’t like it. But if Shane was serious about what he said, if he really knew my father…I need to ask him what he meant by that. I mean, I’ll probably never come back here again after I’m done cleaning up my father’s things, and I feel like I should get to the bottom of this weird vibe I’ve been getting around town. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “You think something bad could happen?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged.

  “I mean I can envision doing some very bad things to those abs you sent me.”

  I blew out a loud breath. I knew Lizzie would get distracted if I sent her that picture of Shane. But I sent it anyway. I needed someone to live vicariously with me and the craziness I was experiencing.

  “You’re horrible. I’m being serious.”

  “Sorry! Just trying to lighten the mood. I still feel really bad I couldn’t make it up there to the U.P. for the funeral.”

  A beat passed, and I taped the box shut.

  “When’s the last time you spoke with your dad?” I asked Lizzie.

  “Now that he’s dating Tits McGhee and living out in San Diego, I don’t really even like talking to him. It’s like he pretends my mom and him weren’t even a thing, ever.”

  Chills washed over me when she said that. Half sympathy for her, and half a stone-cold realization that set in: that’s exactly how my mom liked to view my dad once we left. Like their relationship never happened. He was whitewashed from any pictures she put up in the house. We didn’t speak of him at the dinner table.

  The more I thought about it, the more I wondered, and the more I realized I didn’t really know how their relationship had gone south. It was certainly a taboo topic in our household. Whenever I broached the subject with my mom, she would simply rattle off a platitude, like ‘love isn’t always straightforward, honey,’ and change the subject.

  Just then, my doorbell rang. I looked outside and saw Shane’s car in the street out front.

  “Ugh. He’s here. My silly mom probably feels guilty she’s not here and sent him over here again.”

  “For what?”

  “To check on me.”

  “Alright. Well let me know if there’s something I can do. Love you, beau.”

  “Love you too.”

  I tossed the tape on the bed and headed to the door.

  As soon as I opened it, he blew past me.

  “Brought you some filtered water,” he said as I followed him into the kitchen. I noticed he was carrying four of the two-gallon jugs with ropes. He stopped and turned once he got to the kitchen. “Do you like your water room temperature? Or shall I put it in the fridge?”

  I crossed my arms. “What exactly is happening right now?”

  “You’ll have adverse affects if you keep drinking the tap water. That is 100% certain.” He took off his jacket and hung it up on the hook in the kitchen. Today he was wearing an athletic hoodie.

  “We drank two big glassfuls yesterday. I feel fine, do you?”

  “I’m serious, Dino. C’mon. This is me, attempting not to be an asshole.”

  I blew out a loud, annoyed breath.

  “Leave one just on the counter and the rest in the garage,” I said and pointed to the white door past the kitchen. “Not much room in the fridge or on the counter.”

  He picked up three of the jugs, then stopped in front of the door, staring at it.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. Just testing you.”

  “How?”

  “Seeing if you’re the type of girl who will get the door for a guy whose hands are full. You’re failing.”

  I opened my mouth to criticize him, then stopped short. He had a point.

  I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and turned on the light in the garage.

  He set the water jugs down, and his eyes caught something in the corner.

  “Well, there it is.”

  I stepped into the garage and folded my arms to keep warm. The garage wasn’t insulated as well as the rest of the house and thus, wasn’t a sauna.

  “C’mon, let’s head back in,” I nodded, but he walked to the corner and picked up my old bike.

  He lifted it up and stared at it, a relic from another era. It felt surreal to see Shane all grown up and able to hold my bike up with no problem. When I was little I must have thought the thing weighed a thousand pounds.

  The light shined on it, its silver color glistening.

  Rubbing my upper arms, I shivered, but stepped toward Shane nonetheless. His own intense curiosity drew me in.

  “Nice wheels,” Sh
ane said, staring at it.

  I smiled. “I told my dad I wanted a grey colored bike so I could fit in with the boys.”

  “And he got you exactly what you wanted.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Something about his tone seemed awry

  “Oh come on. When we were kids, Louisa and I had those twenty-five-dollar used Schwinn’s. They were so rusty we could barely ride them. And you had this nice, shiny…”

  Just then, the brand name written across the middle bar of the bike registered with me.

  “Oh. The bike brand was ‘Dyno.’ That’s where you got my nickname.”

  Finally it all made sense. Not D-I-N-O as I’d been thinking, but D-Y-N-O. He set the bike down and turned toward me, clenching his jaw.

  “Just when I’m underestimating you, you pull something like that out of your hat.”

  I bared my teeth. “Just when I think you might not be an asshole, you say something to remind me you are. Why, Shane?”

  “Nine-hundred dollars.”

  “Come again?”

  “That’s how much your bike cost.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Your dad was bragging to my dad. I overheard them.”

  I shook my head. “I was jealous of your bike, though. Why do you think I requested silver? Because you were the coolest friend I had and you had that silver Schwinn. He could have gotten me a used one-gear for all I knew and I would have been happy.”

  He strode toward me, pausing before he arrived to the door. “Yeah but let’s be honest, you reaped the benefits.”

  “You seem hell-bent on informing me about how spoiled I am, so why don’t you let me know?”

  “How much have you paid to go to college?”

  “I worked hard to go there. I got half a full ride.”

  “Yeah? And who’s paying the other half?”

  I reached out to, well, I don’t know what I thought would happen, exactly. But I ended up grabbing and squeezing his bicep.

  How did he know exactly what to say to get under my skin?

  “My dad is paying the other half,” I announced, slipping my hand off his arm and heading inside. “And I’m going to make him proud. He always wanted me to graduate from college. That was the number one thing he would tell me when I would visit. Do whatever you want with your life, but please graduate college like I never did.”