Icebreaker

  ICEBREAKER

  THE UCMH SERIES

  BOOK 1

  HANNAH GRACE

  CONTENTS

  Playlist

  One | Anastasia

  Two | Nathan

  Three | Anastasia

  Four | Nathan

  Five | Anastasia

  Six | Nathan

  Seven | Anastasia

  Eight | Nathan

  Nine | Anastasia

  Ten | Nathan

  Eleven | Anastasia

  Twelve | Nathan

  Thirteen | Anastasia

  Fourteen | Nathan

  Fifteen | Anastasia

  Sixteen | Nathan

  Seventeen | Anastasia

  Eighteen | Nathan

  Nineteen | Anastasia

  Twenty | Nathan

  Twenty-One | Anastasia

  Twenty-Two | Nathan

  Twenty-Three | Anastasia

  Twenty-Four | Nathan

  Twenty-Five | Anastasia

  Twenty-Six | Nathan

  Twenty-Seven | Anastasia

  Twenty-Eight | Nathan

  Twenty-Nine | Anastasia

  Thirty | Nathan

  Thirty-One | Anastasia

  Thirty-Two | Nathan

  Thirty-Three | Anastasia

  Thirty-Four | Nathan

  Thirty-Five | Anastasia

  Thirty-Six | Nathan

  Thirty-Seven | Anastasia

  Thirty-Eight | Nathan

  Thirty-Nine | Anastasia

  Forty | Nathan

  Forty-One | Anastasia

  Forty-Two | Nathan

  Forty-Three | Anastasia

  Forty-Four | Nathan

  Forty-Five | Anastasia

  Forty-Six | Nathan

  Forty-Seven | Anastasia

  Forty-Eight | Nathan

  Forty-Nine | Anastasia

  Fifty | Nathan

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2022 by Hannah Grace.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Pig & Bear Publishing.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations for book review purposes.

  The book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Leni Kauffman, www.lenikauffman.com

  Editor: Paisley McNab, www.perfectlywrite.ca

  ISBN: 978-1-915593-00-9 (Paperback)

  This book is intended for an 18+ audience.

  For a content warning guide, please check out: www.hannahgrace.co.uk

  For Erin, Kiley, and Rebecca

  Thank you for believing in me.

  This book is for you guys.

  PLAYLIST

  CRUEL SUMMER | TAYLOR SWIFT

  KISS ME MORE (FEAT. SZA) | DOJA CAT

  TALKING BODY | TOVE LO

  SHUT UP | ARIANA GRANDE

  IDGAF | DUA LIPA

  ENERGY | TYLA JANE

  MOTIVATION | NORMANI

  ONE KISS (WITH DUA LIPA) | CALVIN HARRIS

  DANCE FOR YOU | BEYONCÉ

  NEEDY | ARIANA GRANDE

  WHO’S | JACQUEES

  LOSE YOU TO LOVE ME | SELENA GOMEZ

  KISS ME | SIXPENCE NONE THE RICHER

  BOYFRIEND (WITH SOCIAL HOUSE) | ARIANA GRANDE

  RUMORS (FEAT. ZAYN) | SABRINA CLAUDIO

  MORE THAN ENOUGH | ALINA BARAZ

  YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWN | BILLIE EILISH

  I’M FAKING | SABRINA CARPENTER

  MAKE ME FEEL | JANELLE MONÁE

  CAN I | KEHLANI

  “Skating was the vessel into which I could pour my heart and soul.”

  —Peggy Flemming

  ONE | ANASTASIA

  “Again, Anastasia!”

  If I hear the words again and Anastasia together in a sentence one more time, it might be the thing that finally tips me over the edge.

  I’ve been on the edge since I woke up this morning with a hangover sent directly from the pits of hell, so the last thing I need right now is more grief from Coach Aubrey Brady.

  I focus on suppressing my annoyance, like I do every training session when she makes it her mission to push me to my limits. Rationalizing it’s her dedication that makes her such a successful coach, I decide throwing my ice skates at her is something that should stay in my imagination.

  “You’re being sloppy, Stas!” she yells as we fly straight past her. “Sloppy girls don’t get medals!”

  What did I say about not throwing skates at her?

  “Come on, Anastasia. Put in some effort for once.” Aaron snickers, poking his tongue out at me when I shoot him a cold glare.

  Aaron Carlisle is the best male figure skater the University of California, Maple Hills has to offer. When I was offered a spot at UCMH and my skating partner wasn’t, Aaron was luckily in the same position, and we became pairs. This is our third year of skating together and our third year of getting our asses kicked.

  I have a theory that Aubrey is a Soviet spy. I don’t have any evidence, and my theory isn’t well developed. Developed at all, actually. But sometimes, when she’s screaming at me to straighten my spine or lift my chin, I swear a slight Russian accent slips out.

  Which is peculiar for a woman from Philipsburg, Montana.

  Comrade Brady was a figure skating superstar in her heyday. Even now, her movements are delicate and controlled, and she moves with such grace it’s hard to believe she can shout as loud as she does.

  Her graying hair is always pulled back into a tight bun, which accentuates her high cheekbones, and she’s always wrapped tight in her signature faux-fur black coat, which Aaron jokes is where she hides all her secrets.

  The rumor is she was supposed to go to the Olympics with her partner, Wyatt. However, Wyatt and Aubrey were practicing those lifts a little too often, and she ended up holding a baby instead of a gold medal.

  That’s why she’s been in a bad mood since she started coaching twenty-five years ago.

  “Clair de Lune” fades as Aaron and I finish our routine nose to nose, our chests heaving against each other as we try to catch our breath. When we finally hear a single clap, we move apart and skate toward what will undoubtedly be the source of my next headache.

  I haven’t even stopped moving when her green eyes lock on me and narrow. “When are you going to land your Lutz? If you’re not going to deliver, it needs to come out of your long program.”

  Aside from Brady, successfully doing a quadruple Lutz and not landing on my ass is the current bane of my existence. I’ve been practicing for God knows how long, but I can’t quite manage to nail it. Aaron can execute it flawlessly, which is why I convinced the choreographer to put it into our routine in the first place.

  Pride is a foolish thing. It’s incredibly foolish when it comes to figure skating, since when you get it wrong, you bounce your face off solid ice. I’d take face-planting over the annoying, fake disappointed face Aaron pulls any time it’s suggested we take it out.

  “It’s coming, Coach,” I say with as much fake enthusiasm as possible. “I’m getting there; it’s not perfect yet, but I’ll keep practicing.”

  It’s a minor lie, a harmless one. I am getting there. What I’ve failed to mention is I’m only getting there off the ice, specifically when I’m attached to equipment that helps me get there.

  “She’s getting there,” Aaron lies, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Just a bit longer, AB.”

&nb
sp; It’s nice for Aaron to be on my side and show a united front to KGB Aubrey. What he says in private is that the only way I’m going to pull it off is if I start doping and build a time machine to get my prepuberty body back.

  She mutters something inaudible and waves us off flippantly. “I’ll see you two back here tomorrow, and if you could both not be hungover, that would be great. I’m fairly certain eating In-N-Out before training isn’t going to get either of you onto the Olympic team. Understood?”

  Shit. “Yes, Coach,” we say in harmony.

  Aaron is staring at his phone, waiting for me in the lobby when I finally exit the women’s locker room.

  “I fucking told you she’d know.” I groan, swinging my bag toward him as soon as I’m close enough to hit him in the stomach with it. “I didn’t even have anything!”

  He grunts at the impact, tugging the bag from my hands and flinging it over his shoulder. “The woman has the nose of a bloodhound.”

  Like most things in life, skating is far easier when you’re a man because nobody is picking you up and launching you across the room twice a day.

  Freshman year, I gained the freshman fifteen. Well, it was more like the freshman five, but Aaron said I was getting too heavy to lift, so I haven’t put on an ounce since.

  I try to stick to my meal plan religiously, with the odd party here and there to keep me lucid. My best friend’s twenty-first birthday yesterday was the perfect opportunity to let loose a little, even if it did mean braving Brady with a hangover.

  We climb into Aaron’s new G-Wagon, the latest guilt gift from his adulterous but wealthy father, and head home. Aaron and I decided it would be cool to live together, with my best friend, Sabrina, at

  the end of freshman year. Our schedules are similar, and our lives revolve around skating, so it made sense.

  Aaron takes the turn onto Maple Avenue and looks over at me while I rummage through my purse for my most prized possession. “What does the planner say you’re doing tonight?”

  I roll my eyes, ignoring his teasing tone. “Getting laid.”

  “Ew,” he says, the tip of his nose wrinkling as he grimaces. “It’s bad enough you plan what time you sleep and eat, but do you need to plan having sex?”

  He’s not lying about the sleeping and eating thing, every minute of my life is meticulously scheduled in my trusty planner, which my friends find equal parts hilarious and ridiculous. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m a control freak, but I’m a woman who needs to be in control.

  There’s definitely a difference.

  I shrug, suppressing the urge to point out that at least I’m getting some, unlike him. “Ryan is a busy guy and I’m a busy girl. I want to see him as much as I can before basketball season.”

  Ryan Rothwell is six foot, six inches of pure, athletic perfection. UCMH point guard and team captain, he’s as serious about his sport as I am, which makes for a perfect no-strings-attached situation. The added benefit is Ry is the sweetest guy, so we’ve become great friends through our mutually beneficial arrangement.

  “I can’t believe you’re still fucking around with him. He’s like double your size, how does he not crush you? No, wait. I don’t want to know.”

  “I know he is.” I giggle, pinching his cheeks until he bats me away. “Sorta the whole point.”

  Most people assume Aaron and I are more than partners, but we’re more like siblings. It’s not that he isn’t good looking, we’ve just never had any romantic interest in each other.

  Aaron is much taller than me and lean like a dancer with his sculpted, muscular body. His black hair is kept short, and I swear he wears mascara because his sky-blue eyes are framed with the darkest, jealousy-inducing lashes, contrasting prominently against his pale skin.

  “I officially know too much about your sex life, Anastasia.”

  Aaron can’t decide if he likes Ryan or not. Sometimes he’s cool with him and Ryan gets to see the Aaron I see—the one who’s fun to be around. You’d assume Ryan had personally ruined Aaron’s life or something the rest of the time. Aaron can be so abrupt and harsh that it’s embarrassing. It’s unpredictable, but Ryan brushes it off and tells me not to worry about it.

  “I promise to not talk about it for the rest of the drive home if you promise to give me a ride to Ryan’s later.”

  He contemplates for a minute or so. “Okay, deal.”

  Sabrina looks up from the salad she’s stabbing aggressively with her fork and huffs. “I’m just saying, who’s dick is Olivia Abbott sucking to get the lead role for the third year in a row?”

  I can’t help but cringe at her harsh words, but I know she doesn’t mean it. She was already feeling delicate this morning after the copious amounts of alcohol we consumed last night for her birthday, so today wasn’t the best day to find out she didn’t get the part she wanted.

  I’ve watched every show for the past two years, and Brin knows as well as I do, Olivia is an exceptionally talented actor.

  “Can she not just be very talented? And not be sucking someone’s dick?”

  “Anastasia, will you please let me be petty for five minutes and pretend I don’t know she’s better than me?”

  Aaron throws himself into the chair beside me and reaches over to pick a carrot stick from my plate. “What’re we being petty about?”

  “Olivia Abbott,” Brin and I respond in unison, the distaste in her tone evident as hell.

  “She’s hot. Might be the hottest girl on campus,” he says nonchalantly, clearly not paying attention to how Sabrina’s jaw drops. “Is she single?”

  “Ya Allah. How am I supposed to freaking know? She doesn’t talk to anyone. She swans in, gets the role I want, and carries on being an anomaly.”

  Sabrina studies performing arts, and it must be an unwritten rule that you have to have a larger-than-life personality, because everyone I’ve met on her course is like her. It’s usually an exhausting battle for attention, even as a spectator, but Olivia keeps to herself, and for some reason, it seems to bother people.

  “I’m sorry, Brinny. There’s always next time,” I offer. We both know it doesn’t mean anything, but she blows me a kiss anyway. “If it makes you feel any better—I still can’t land my Lutz. Aubrey is going to work it out soon and banish me to Siberia.”

  “Oh no. You’re officially a failure, how can you ever step foot on the ice again?” She grins, her honey-brown eyes shining as I scowl at her. “You’ll get there, babe. You’re working hard.” Her eyes move to Aaron, tapping away on his phone, totally uninterested in our conversation. “Hey, Ice Princess! You gonna help me out here?”

  “Huh? Sorry, yeah, you’re hot, too, Brinny.”

  I’m surprised I don’t see the steam leave Sabrina’s ears as she yells at him, about what I assume is him not listening to her, in a mixture of Arabic and English.

  I slowly retreat to my bedroom, eager to not draw attention to myself and get caught in the crossfire of my roommates’ argument. Living with Aaron and Sabrina is like living with siblings who always wanted to be only children.

  Aaron, like me, is an actual only child. The miracle baby to his two aging, midwestern parents desperate to keep their marriage together. Living with other people after being his parents’ pride and joy for eighteen years was a big transition for him, and for us, who are the ones who have to live with him and his mood swings.

  Now he’s not in Chicago, things between his parents aren’t great, and we always know when they’re extra bad because Aaron gets an obnoxiously expensive and unnecessary gift.

  Like a G-Wagon.

  In contrast to the two of us, Sabrina is from a huge family. Being the youngest and the only girl with seven older brothers guaranteed her the number one spot in her house. After being constantly showered with attention, she traveled so far from her native Brooklyn for some peace.

  When we met for the first time, she said she’d considered going to college in Algeria, where her parents are from, but she changed her mind quickl
y when a few of her brothers suggested moving with her.

  She also realized there wouldn’t be frat parties.

  I’m still hiding out in my room when my phone buzzes, and Ryan’s name flashes on my screen.

  RYAN

  RYAN: The boys wanna throw a party tonight. Your place instead?

  RYAN: They were supposed to be going to a pep rally or some shit, but now they’re staying home.

  RYAN: Just wanna be alone w you.

  STASSIE: Sure, roommates are in though.

  STASSIE: Will have to be quiet.

  RYAN: Ha

  RYAN: Should probably give yourself that instruction in a mirror.

  RYAN: You free now?

  STASSIE: Yeah, come over.

  RYAN: Omw. Bringing snacks.

  “Everyone friends again?” I call out cautiously as I make my way from my bedroom to the living room. They’re both fixated on the Criminal Minds rerun on the TV, but I get a faint “Yeah” in response, letting me know it’s safe to approach.

  I lean over the couch for a handful of popcorn from the bowl resting between them, making a mental note to add it to my food tracker when I get back to my room. “So, the basketball team is having a party. I was wondering—”