Breaking The Ice Between Us (Harper) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Logan POV

Cold air slices through my jacket the second we’re outside, sharp enough to sting. My blood’s still buzzing with anger and something worse-something I refuse to name.

Cole walks beside me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind but his eyes pinned on me like I’m a lit fuse he’s trying to keep away from gasoline.

Neither of us talks at first.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to breathe. I feel like swallowed a live wire and now everything inside me is sparking and burning and trying to short-circuit.

I don’t get rattled. I don’t shake. I don’t… come undone.

Yet here I am. Coming undone in real time.

Cole finally breaks the silence. “You done pretending you’re cal?”

My jaw grinds. “I just need air.”

“Congrats,” he mutters. “We’re outside. Still look like you want to punch God.”

I keep walking. Faster. If I stop, I might explode. The night is too quiet, campus too peaceful, and it makes the chaos in my chest louder.

Cole kicks a pebble across the sidewalk. “You could’ve run after her. You didn’t.”

“I tried,” I snap. “You stopped me.”

“Yeah. Because what you were gonna do wasn’t chasing.” His tone stays steady. “It was detonating.”

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever.” His voice is level but hard. “Whatever is for guys who don’t care. You care.”

I cut him a look sharp enough to slice. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t,” I bite out again, louder this time, like volume can make it true. “I don’t… feel that way. She’s not-”

My throat closes around the last part, but it barrels out anyway, ugly and defensive.

“She’s not my type.”

The instant it leaves my mouth, I want to grab the words and shove them back down. They taste bitter-cowardice and pride tangled together.

Cole stops walking. I take two more steps before I realize and tuh back.

He’s staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

“Wow,” he says. Soft. Almost disappointed, “Really”

I grit my teeth. “It’s true.”

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Chapter 23

“No. It’s pathetic.”

My muscles tense. “Watch it.”

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“No, you watch it.” He stalks up to me, jaw set. “You embarrassed to like her? Huh? That what this is? You too full of your own bullshit hockey-god image to admit the one girl who actually touches your brain is the one you pretend you don’t see?”

“Shut up.”

“Why?” he fires back. “Because I’m right? Because she’s not some campus puck-bunny begging to wear your jersey and you don’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t worship the ground you skate on?”

My hands ball into fists in my pockets, nails digging into my palms.

“She believed in you,” he says, voice cutting but not cruel. “More than anyone. Even before you deserved it.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. “And I didn’t ask her to.”

“No,” Cole says quietly. “You just liked it. Until it meant something. Then you panicked.”

The truth hits hard enough I have to look away. My breath clouds in the cold, sharp and uneven.

Cole watches me like he’s waiting to see if I crack or run.

What he doesn’t realize is I’m already cracked.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I mutter. Weak defense. It sounds weak even to me.

“No,” he agrees. “You were doing what you always do. Choosing easy.”

Something in my chest twists, ugly and tight. I keep walking before I say something I can’t take back..

Cole doesn’t follow right away. When he does, his voice is calme. “Logan… you hurt her.”

“I didn’t touch her,” I snap.

“That’s not the kind of hurt I mean and you damn well know it.”

We walk in silence for three blocks. My thoughts spin so fast the make me feel dizzy. Every step feels like trying to outrun my own pulse.

Eventually Cole nudges me. “You headed to Frosty’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m coming. Last thing we need is you getting blackout and showing up at Alpha Chi like a feral raccoon scratching at

the windows.”

“Shut up.”

He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “Lead the way, Captain.”

Frosty’s smells like spilled beer and fried food, the usual Fridayight mix. The lights are low, the bar half-full, a hun of voices and glasses clinking filling the air.

I slam the first whiskey like it owes me money. The burn hits hat, spreading heat that does nothing to thaw the ice in my

chest.

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Chapter 23

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Cole doesn’t drink at first. He just sits there, elbows resting on the table, watching me slowly destroy myself like it’s a sport.

“You gonna talk?” he asks after a minute.

“No.”

“You gonna pretend this doesn’t matter?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “You amaze me. Seriously. The mental gymnastics.”

“Drop it, Cole,”

“You don’t like her.” He says it flat, testing me.

“I don’t.”

“You didn’t want her to see you with Sophia.”

“I” My throat tightens. “It was bad timing. That’s it.”

He laughs once. Bitter. “Yeah, sure. Bad timing. That’s all.”

I glare. “What are you trying to get out of me?”

“Honesty.”

“Try again. I’m not built for that shit.”

“Bullshit.” Cole leans forward, voice low. “You’re built for everything. Except this. One girl, one real feeling, and you fold like wet cardboard.”

My hands curl again. “You done?”

“Not even close. You think saying she’s not your type makes you look strong? It makes you look scared.”

I hate how the words land. How they hook under my ribs and pull.

“She isn’t,” I say again, quieter, like repetition can rewrite truth.” always go for-”

“Latinas,” he finishes. “Yeah, we know. Your whole ‘only one flavor thing. Real impressive. Real deep.”

I swallow hard. “It’s preference.”

“It’s avoidance.”

I shove back from the bar so fast the stool jerks, “I’m going.”

Cole stands too. “Fine. But I’m not letting you go brood on campus like a rejected vampire. Where to?”

I don’t answer. I don’t know. I’m running on instinct and adrenaline and something close to panic.

I just walk. He follows.

Campus is quiet when we hit Greek Row again. Lights spill from windows, warm and golden. A group of girls laugh near a porch. A couple is making out under a lamppost.

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Life’s moving. Breathing. Not suffocating itself with pride and fer like I am.

I don’t know how we end up near her house. I tell myself it’s coincidence. Cole doesn’t believe me.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Do not go up there.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re staring like you want to climb onto the porch and howl her window.”

“I’m not.”

“You sure? Because your face says wolf-at-the-door, and it’s disturbing.”

I drag a hand down my face. “Shut up.”

He studies me. Quiet again. “Text her.”

“No.”

“Then don’t torture yourself like this.”

I take out my phone anyway. My thumb hovers over her name.

I could say anything.

I could say nothing

Both feel dangerous.

The first message forms before I know what I’m doing:

I didn’t-

Backspace.

It wasn’t-

Backspace.

She means nothing-

that one shatters me as I delete it

because it isn’t true and we both know it

Finally, I type: