Melting the ice between.., p.1
Melting the Ice Between us, page 1
Melting the Ice Between Us
J.M. Jackie
Disclaimer
This work of fiction is a product of the author’s imagination and is not based on real events, individuals, or organizations. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
The views and opinions expressed within this book are those of the fictional characters and do not reflect the beliefs or values of the author. The author does not endorse or condone any of the actions, behaviors, or ideologies depicted in this work.
Readers are encouraged to approach this book with an open mind and a critical perspective. It is important to remember that the events portrayed are entirely fictional and should not be taken as representative of reality.
This book may contain mature themes, including but not limited to violence, adult language, and explicit content. Reader discretion is advised, and this book is intended for adult audiences.
The author is committed to respecting the rights and privacy of all individuals and organizations. Any unintentional use of copyrighted material is purely coincidental and will be rectified upon notification.
Thank you for choosing to read this work of fiction. Your support is greatly appreciated, and the author hopes you enjoy the story.
Copyright © Septemeber 20th, 2023 J.M. Jackie All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: J.M. Jackie
Printed in Toronto Ontario
Contents
1. Frozen Flames of Memory
2. Thawing Walls, Rising Heat
3. Embers of Change Ignite
4. Cracks in the Façade
5. Forged in Flames
Epilogue
Other Works
Author’s Note
1
Frozen Flames of Memory
I have a gift, you see. A real knack for seeing homophobic assholes through a telescopic lens. Don’t ask me how I got this gift. It was one of those strange quirks life decided to bestow upon me. Maybe it was the universe’s way of compensating for the trauma. It’s quite handy, though, when you can spot prejudice and bigotry from a mile away. It’s almost like a sixth sense.
I stand by the window of my penthouse apartment, the city’s twinkling lights stretching out before me like stars fallen to Earth. In my hand, I hold a crystal tumbler, the golden liquid inside catching the warm glow of the cityscape. It’s the good stuff, the kind that burns just right. My phone incessantly buzzes on the coffee table. Rachel is probably going Hulk-smash over her keyboard.
The invitation to the high school reunion lies there too, a pristine envelope that contrasts starkly with the rustic surface of my coffee table. Willowdale Senior High. Just the name sends shivers down my spine. It was a nightmare factory, a place where adolescent cruelties were perfected. Yet, there’s a strange allure this time around. A curiosity, a need to confront the demons I thought I had left behind.
“Good riddance too,” I mutter, then I take a sip of the whisky, the liquid’s warmth spreading through my chest. The reunion invite is adorned with names, and there it is as if taunting me from the page—Blake Bryan. The memories rush back, a whirlwind of emotions I’ve carefully locked away. Blake, the love of my life, or so I thought. Until he decided to rip my heart out and parade it in front of his jock asshat friends. The locker room incident is etched into my mind like a scar. A reminder of betrayal and humiliation.
I’ve changed since those days. At least the alcohol makes me think so.
The scars have healed, but they’ve left behind a different kind of strength. As I gaze at Blake’s name on the list, I can feel a storm brewing within me. It’s not just the past that’s calling; it’s the need to set things right. To face him, to show him that I’m not the same person he could walk all over back then.
I take another sip, the whisky’s warmth mingling with the fire of determination in my chest. This time, things will be different. This time, I won’t be the one who’s left wounded. The invitation is a silent challenge. And as the city’s lights continue to dance outside my window, I make a decision. The nightmare won’t haunt me forever. Now is the time to step back into the fray and rewrite the ending I never got. Blake Bryan, you’re in for a surprise.
My walking wet dream, and the source of my greatest heartache. Blake was my first for everything. But he was also the leader of the hockey team, stuck in his image and what people expected from him. He couldn’t tell his parents about himself, so he let go of me. It’s honestly sad how fear and the need to fit in can squash love.
I take another gulp of my drink, the amber liquid doing a delightful tango on my taste buds, while I casually ogle my chic penthouse apartment. It’s perched on the ninth floor, like a bird’s nest for the elite, boasting enough chrome, ceramic, and steel to make any minimalist’s heart flutter. The walls remain bare, a deliberate choice to keep memories at bay. There are only a few pictures of close friends—those who stuck around when the world turned its back on me.
My phone buzzes again, and I pick it up to see Rachel Swan’s name flashing on the display.
“Sup, ho?”
Her rich laughter is like a comfort that transcends time. “You heartless bitch, I called like ten times.”
Checking my screen, I realized she had. “Oops, I meant to block you. My mistake.”
“Shut up, Drama Queen,” Rachel retorts, her voice teeming with playful sarcasm. “Ignoring my calls and texts? Did you finally get caught up in a torrid affair with a celebrity chef?"
“If you ever mention that show again, I’ll slap you,” I chuckle, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me.
“Then why, pray tell, were you ignoring me? Got some hot guy in your apartment?”
“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t be talking to you,” I quip. “No. It’s just me and my right hand tonight. Sorry to disappoint you, but my love life is about as exciting as a potato exploding in the microwave."
Rachel’s laugh fills my ear again. “True that. So, what’s with the radio silence? I thought you’d be thrilled about the reunion, considering all the juicy drama it promises.”
I sigh, leaning against the window frame. “Oh, I’m thrilled, all right. About as thrilled as I’d be to wrestle an alligator in a swamp. You know how much I loved Willowdale Senior High.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and I can practically picture Rachel rolling her eyes. “Kieran, you can’t hide from your past forever. Plus, I’ve heard they’re providing free therapy sessions this time. So, you’re pretty much hitting the jackpot.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Well, that’s definitely tempting. But I swear, if I see one person from my past doing yoga and talking about ‘finding their inner peace,’ I might just lose it.”
“Fair enough. But come on, Kieran. This might be your chance for closure. Or at least a chance to flash your impressive pet food taster credentials.”
I can’t help but laugh this time. “Oh, you know it. I’m thinking of walking in there with a tiara made of kibble.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rachel replies with a chuckle. “Now, promise me you’ll at least consider going. I’ll be your wing woman, and we can make fun of everyone together.”
I pause, looking out at the city lights once more. Well…insulting people is my area of expertise. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. But only because you promised to be my partner in crime. And if someone starts spouting New Age nonsense at me, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal, Drama Queen. Now, hurry up and pack your tiara. We’ve got a reunion to conquer.”
As we say our goodbyes, I can’t help but smile. Rachel has a way of making even the most dreaded events sound like a grand adventure. With her by my side, facing the past doesn’t seem so daunting after all. I am struggling to shake the feeling that this reunion might just be the chance to rewrite my story—one hilarious, sarcastic comment at a time.
***
The flight is awful, to say the least. Screaming children dressed like adults; battling over overhead compartments and personal space. The baggage claim carousel spins like a twisted merry-go-round of chaos. The whole experience is enough to give me PTSD. As I step off the plane in Willowdale, Michigan, I can’t help but wish I was anywhere else in the universe.
Rachel is waiting for me at the airport, bundled up in a coat that seems ready to wage war against the biting December winds. Her long dreads dance in the gusts, and her big, soulful brown eyes lock onto mine as if she’s been counting the seconds until my arrival.
“Kieran! Oh my God, you’re here! Did the flight suck as much as expected? Why do I even ask? It’s always a circus. You look thinner. Have you been eating enough? Wait, don’t answer that. We’re going to the bakery first. I baked your favorites, and you can stuff your face while I fill you in on everything you missed in this godforsaken town.”
I laugh as she drags me into a hug. Rachel’s dreadlocks are meticulously styled into a crown, some locks falling just below her shoulders, causing several people to turn and stare. She’s stunning and her voluptuous figure is enough to give Beyonce a run for her money. “I’m fine
“It’s a gift.”
Rachel has always been a whirlwind of energy, and it seems like she’s only grown more enthusiastic over the years. I step forward, embracing her in a warm hug. “Rach, you’re going to give me whiplash with that rapid-fire interrogation. And yes, the flight was a special kind of torture. But I’m here, alive and slightly traumatized.”
“Alive is the important part. Traumatized is optional. But hey, let’s turn that trauma into some sugar-infused joy. You remember my bakery, right?”
“How could I forget?” I reply with a smirk. “I’d recognize the scent of your cinnamon rolls anywhere.”
She playfully swats my arm. “Oh, stop buttering me up, Drama Queen. Now let’s get going. You need some serious comfort food, and I’ve got a pastry display that’ll make your heart sing.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
We make our way to her bakery, the familiar scent of freshly baked goods enveloping us as we step inside. The warm ambiance is a stark contrast to the frosty chill outside. Rachel leads me to a cozy corner table, laden with a mouthwatering assortment of pastries and treats. The air is heavy with the rich scent of brewed coffee and macaroons. The sleek pink interior is adorned with an array of confections, from pumpkin spice cupcakes to muffins that Rachel swears are “cream cheese orgasm-inducing.” It’s a sensory overload in the best way possible.
We settle into a corner, the comfortable atmosphere enveloping us like a warm embrace. As I take a bite of a decadent blueberry scone, she finally takes a moment to catch her breath. “Okay, now that your mouth is too full to fire off sarcastic remarks, let’s get you up to speed. Remember Mark, the guy who used to have a crush on you back in high school?”
I nod, my cheeks puffy with a muffin, trying to suppress a grin as I savor the explosion of flavors. Rachel’s dark skin glows like the sun-kissed earth, with a few dreads framing her heart-shaped face. “Girl, you won’t believe what happened!”
“Tell me, don’t make me beat it out of you.”
She laughs. “Oh, you’re gonna love this.” Rachel leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, you know Mark, right? The one with that crazy obsession for artisanal cheese and rollerblading in his underwear?"
“That is disgusting,” I say deadpan. “Please continue.”
“He’s at the farmer’s market, doing his usual cheese-sampling routine, when he spots this huge wheel of Camembert. Like, it’s practically the size of his head!”
My laughter erupts, and I cover my mouth with my hand, imagining the absurdity of the situation. “No way!”
“Oh, yes way.” Rachel nods, her eyes dancing. “So, he decides he must conquer this Camembert mountain, right? He’s determined to finish the whole thing, like a cheese gladiator. Fucking creep.”
I can barely breathe through my laughter, envisioning Mark in a cheese-eating battle of epic proportions.
“But here’s the kicker.” Rachel leans in. “Turns out that Camembert was like... super potent. The stinkiest cheese known to humankind and I mean rancid.”
Fuck, this is too funny. I burst into another fit of laughter, imagining poor Mark unwittingly subjecting himself to the cheese equivalent of a taste bud assault.
“And there he is,” Rachel continues, “cheeks flushed, eyes watering, as he tries to conquer this cheese monster. People are giving him a wide berth like he’s a ticking time bomb of cheese-induced aroma.”
“This story is sick, Rach, and I bet you watched it all, you bastard!” I’m laughing so hard, my stomach hurts.
“Damn right, I did. Long story short,” Rachel concludes, “he didn’t conquer the Camembert. The Camembert conquered him. He ended up running away, defeated by dairy.”
“I think I just threw up in my mouth.”
“Me too!”
We both dissolve into giggles, our sides aching and tears streaming down our faces. This crazy bitch! It’s moments like these when Rachel’s storytelling prowess meets my penchant for ridiculous scenarios that remind me why her friendship is worth more than all the cheese wheels in the world. Our laughter dies down, and I sigh through my nose, taking her hand in mine. “How are you, really? You never visit me here in Willowdale. How are your parents?”
The smile on my face fades. “They’re around…” Fuck if I know where. “I haven’t spoken to them in almost a year.”
Rachel knows better than anyone how hard Shane’s suicide was on my family. My mother closed herself off completely and my father retreated deeper into his work. It got to the point where we barely spoke, and I was spending more time at Rachel’s and Blake’s houses than my own.
“Are you going to be okay seeing him?” Rachel asks, with a melancholic stare.
Fuck. She always knows what to say to make my eyes burn. I nod, but don’t respond to that. It’s in the past. Blake and I are different people, though. Since high school, I’ve had several relationships and it’s been five years since we broke up. I’m sure he’s moved on. “Besides, I’m almost positive he’s fat and bald by now anyway, with nine kids, jerking off to gay porn every night.”
She gives me a pitying smile and squeezes my hand.
And as I sit there, surrounded by the sweet scent of baked goods and the warmth of Rachel’s friendship, I realize that maybe, just maybe, this reunion won’t be the nightmare I anticipated. With Rachel by my side, even the darkest corners of my past seem a little less daunting.
She brushes a few stray strands of my thick, brown, curly hair away from my eyes, her touch soothing in its familiarity. My gaze drifts to the TV mounted in the corner where a hockey game is playing. My face lights up immediately, drawn to the sight of the sport I’ve always loved.
“Speaking of him…guess who’s making waves in the NHL?”
I blink at her. “Who?”
“Blake Bryan."
I frown, my excitement faltering for a moment. “So, he’s not fat and bald?”
“He’s not fat and bald, Kieran,” she replies, chuckling. “He’s actually the best defenseman for the Detroit Red Wings. Can you believe it?”
My jaw drops, and I nearly choke on the bite of the muffin I was about to take. Shit. I feel my face flushing as thoughts of Blake resurface like a ghost from the past. Damn. I thought I’d get revenge on him by turning up looking smoking hot, but I can’t do that if he’s also a stud. Would he remember me? Does it matter? I remind myself that I’m not that same vulnerable teenager anymore. I’m a successful, confident, capable, independent man, dammit!
I snort, pretending nonchalance even as my heart races. “Well, well, look at him go. From closeted jock to NHL superstar closeted jock. Good for him.”
Rachel, the villain, laughs at my theatrics. “Oh, Kieran, your act could win you an Oscar. Just admit it, the thought of him stirs something in you.”
“Yeah, my indigestion,” I mutter.
“Bitch please, I can practically see your hard-on underneath the table.”
I narrow my eyes at her, half-tempted to stick my tongue out like a child. “Frankly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Blake Bryan is ancient history. I’ve got better things to do than think about him.”
She leans back in her chair. “Sure, Kieran. Whatever you say.”
“Say that again and I’ll beat you to death with my blueberry muffin.”
***
“Seriously?” Rachel clings to my arms like an octopus as I struggle to hail a cab. “Just stay at my place. Why are you making things so complicated?”
“Your entire family from Michigan is descending upon you,” I chuckle. “And as much as I adore your parents, you know how those ‘are you sure you’re not gay’ comments tend to pile up during the holidays. I don’t think I have enough patience for the interrogation this year.”
“Kieran,” she whines, pouting her lips. “Please. I need you with me.”
“For God’s sake, pull yourself together, woman!” I say, pinching her cheek. “You’ll be fine without me.”
Rachel’s earnest eyes plead with me to stay at her place, a plea she’s delivered countless times before. But the solitude of my own space calls to me. I offer her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Rach. I’ll be okay at the cabin. You know how much I value my alone time.”
