Break the Ice (Los Angeles Comets #2)

Prologue

FINLEY

The chorus of Make Me a Channel of Your Peace fills the church, rising toward the vaulted ceiling where gold beams catch the sun.

Pastor Sylkes stands behind the pulpit in his white robes, today trimmed with gold for the Summer Solstice feast. The Fellowship of Light celebrates the day with sermons and a meal that lasts from dawn to dusk—a show of gratitude, they call it, for the Lord’s everlasting light.

The children’s voices fade, the last note of the organ swallowed by the sudden clunk of the church door.

Everyone freezes.

Pastor Sylkes follows the latecomer’s steps with narrowed eyes, but I don’t need to look to know who it is.

Elijah Sylkes.

I’d know the rhythm of his stride anywhere. If not that, then the hush that follows him through any room.

Where Elijah goes, eyes follow. It’s not just his height or that wall of quiet confidence he carries like a second skin. He’s the pastor’s son. The Elder’s grandson. A Sylkes—direct descendant of Havenview’s founder. If this town had royalty, the crown would be theirs.

My pulse stutters when his tall frame slides into view and takes the empty seat beside his grandmother.

I lean forward, sliding my hymnal into the rack with unnecessary care, stealing a glimpse.

His dark-blonde hair has grown out since last time, falling in that too-casual way that makes me want to push it from his face.

The hard line of his jaw flexes as he sits under the weight of the congregation’s stares.

If the seating weren’t assigned, he’d have slipped into a back pew, out of sight. But in the Fellowship, even where you worship has rules.

“Sit up,” Mom hisses, breaking my stare.

I obey, clutching the hymnal, my heart beating like it wants to escape my ribs.

It’s then that I feel it—his gaze.

It crawls over my skin like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. The longer it lingers, the tighter my chest draws until the edges of the golden cross blur with the white wall behind it.

The sermon drones on, but I don’t hear a word. My mind is back at the countless rules, the countless no’s from the council. Like when they told him no after he asked permission to marry me.

By the time the final prayer ends, my lungs ache for fresh air.

Outside, the summer heat presses down as I cross the churchyard, past the lilies of the valley, past the cemetery and the Elders’ mausoleums, until I reach the clearing behind the shed.

Our shed.

We made memories here. First kisses. First touches. First promises whispered like prayers we had no right to say.

I pace the worn grass, waiting.

It feels like forever before his reflection joins mine in the small church window.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough from disuse, and when I turn, there he is—tall, sunlit, beautiful enough to steal breath from my lungs.

“Hi,” I manage, watching him twirl an iris between long fingers before he tucks it into my hair.

He steps back, hands in the pockets of his Henley-stretched jeans, studying me with that small, crooked grin that always undoes me.

“So…” I say, twisting my arms behind my back to keep from reaching for him. “You did come for the feast?”

Elijah shakes his head. “Not for the feast, Fin.”

“Oh.”

“I came for you.”

The words land heavy. I can’t breathe past them.

“The Wolves traded me to Los Angeles.” His voice stays even, like the words don’t change everything. “I signed with the Comets. Training camp starts Wednesday morning.”

“Oh.” It scrapes out of me. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to go tomorrow.”

I search his face for some sign that he’s teasing. Elijah doesn’t tease about this. About leaving.

“We talked about this,” he says softly. “It’s time, Fin. It’s—what’s wrong?”

“Presley just signed with the Wolves.” My voice cracks. “I thought… I thought I’d finally see you play. That we’d…”

He shakes his head. “And I signed with the Comets.”

There’s no hesitation in his tone. No regret.

“Why?”

“Because the Wolves traded me.”

I hear what he isn’t saying.

“You asked for it,” I whisper.

Elijah doesn’t answer.

The disappointment sinks like a stone in my chest. “Why?”

His jaw works as he tips his head back toward the trees. “Because I can’t be near him.”

Presley. My brother.

My stomach knots as Elijah’s eyes meet mine. “You think you know him, Fin, but you don’t. He’s a fucking monster.”

I slip my hand into his, the familiar heat of his palm anchoring me.

“Come with me,” Elijah murmurs.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? This is what we always talked about. Leaving. No rules. No expectations. Just us, Finley-James. Like the birds, remember?”

The birds. Free to fly where they want.

“My grandma’s sick,” I say, voice trembling. “She raised me, Elijah. She’s been good to us. I can’t leave her to them. They’ll just let her die and call it God’s will.”

I untie the leather braid from my wrist and knot it around his instead. “It’s not my time to leave.”

Elijah’s arm curves around my waist, half protest, half plea. “I can’t leave you here.”

“You can,” I whisper against his jaw. “If I tell you to.”

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to mine.

But it’s already decided. He has to go. I have to stay.

“Finley… please…” His arms crush me closer, his breath warm against my hair.

It feels like the first time in forever he’s really held me. That’s how it goes, though. You always hold on tightest right before you lose something.

Every dream I’ve ever had was with him in it. Every wish I ever made was for him.

Elijah Sylkes has always been the heart of me.

And today, as he walks away, he takes every shattered piece with him.