We didn't exactly keep to our promise.

The first couple of years were fairly rosy. I enrolled back into Trinity starting January and cheered on the Bears all the way from sunny Orlando. Dad allowed me to join him on a couple of business trips back to Silver Grove, and I took advantage of that as much as I could to see — and touch — Dean and hang out with the guys and Lena Lee. Things started to look up between Hunter and her, and I jokingly asked them to be their maid of honor in the future.

The Bears kept their promise to win the province games. They took a picture of the trophy next to the plaque that named me lifetime honorary member of the team. I printed it and framed it and showed it to everybody who cared to listen to the story, as though the accomplishment were mine. The team made it to Nationals, but halfway through was defeated by a team from Quebec that had a guy who rivaled Dean in talent. They'd been together in the Junior Canada team that had won gold the previous summer, and that had been the beginnings of a long term rivalry.

A big win Dean got over the guy was that he was the first pick for the NHL draft three years later. The catch was that he ended up going to one of the biggest rivals from the local team, and the other guy went to the local team. From what I heard from Lena Lee, everybody in town was torn between supporting their homegrown superstar in a rival team, or if to support the local one.

The funniest thing was that a couple of years later, I did end up becoming Hunter and Lena Lee's maid of honor, and Pace was the best man. I took some time off from my internship so that I could travel up to Silver Grove to help with the wedding planning. And the baby shower. Because it was a shotgun wedding.

That was about the time when Dean and I started to have trouble. My studies had sucked the life out of me, while at the same time he'd had to carve his way in the team and in the league. Between classes and later my internship, and his packed season schedule of travel, we barely had time to talk or see each other on FaceTime. When we did, we were too exhausted to have any semblance of a romantic chat.

The wedding was during the off season, so he and I were able to coincide in Silver Grove during that time, and it was wonderful. Like a small honeymoon of our own. But when we went back to our regular lives afterwards, things went back to what had become the usual silence between us.

Two more years later and I didn't even know where we stood. It hurt too much to think about him, or about letting him go, even though it was probably what was the best for me.

And then he did something wild. He moved to Tampa and joined the team there. As soon as he told me, I marched up into my mentor's office and asked her for a transfer to a Tampa hospital. But of course life had its own way of doing things, for reasons unknown, because when I asked there were no vacancies. I insisted for months, but nothing opened for my specialty. So I focused on my work with passion.

Some weekends I was able to travel to Tampa and see him, prolonging the sense of a honey moon for just a little longer. He tried to come to Orlando at least once per month, but that was harder, because his time off didn't necessarily coincide with mine. All I wanted was to be with him, but the lives that we chose — that suited us, were not leading us together.

So we went on a limbo again. Two more years later, his team was poised to win a Stanley Cup and I was poised to get an award for my ground breaking work on a new PTSD treatment by combining the traditional method of cognitive behavioral therapy with the study of the patient's ability to process the painful memories in their sleep. I was contacted by a journalist who wanted to find out about it, and I didn't hesitate to meet with her. It wasn't that I wanted people to know about me, since thanks to the revolution I started at St. Andrews I showed up in the Silver Grove Times for years. There was already far too much about me out there. For some reason they even mentioned me in the article where they talked about how Lena Lee O'Connor-Perry became the first female principal of St. Andrews.

Instead I really wanted everybody to know about my research. I sat with the journalist at noon on a Saturday and told her all about why this was so near and dear to me. And I didn't pull any punches. I even showed her my gunshot wound.

Her eyes shone while we were wrapping up. "Wow, this is one of the most intense interviews I've ever sat for, to be honest."

"Really?" I asked her. "I've read your interviews with famous athletes, politicians and even that huge band that came out from my boarding school."

"Casual Friday Funeral. Their interview was a riot, but yours is hardcore." She made a pause and smiled. "We do have some exceptional people here in town, huh?"

"No kidding, it's a small world."

We stood up and threw the cups of coffee we'd bought before leaving the cafe we'd chosen for the occasion.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me," she said as she put her recorder back in her purse and rummaged through it. She produced a card and handed it to me. "Please keep this, in case your also famous boyfriend agrees to meet me one day." She sighed. "It's ironic that he's the one who referred me to you and your incredible story, but he won't let me write an article on his story. It's also pretty wild, and not just because he's the first openly bisexual player in the NHL."

"You're telling me," I said with a snort that said a lot and little at the same time. "He's basically the one who got me shot."

This made her laugh and she shook her head. She asked if it was okay to give me a hug just before departing and I did. She was easy to talk to and genuine. I'd read her multiple articles on important personalities of our time, and I was honored that she'd chosen me for one piece. An article by Ellen Young about my research was going to help it spread far and wide, and I was thankful both to her and to my famous so called boyfriend.

Speaking of, I had a game to drive to.

Miguel picked me up at my apartment and we drove together to Tampa for the final game of the season. And not just any game. Tampa was up against Pittsburgh, competing for the Stanley Cup, and after a long, grueling series, tonight was game seven. The make or break.

I had butterflies in my stomach the entire drive, but my brother did a pretty good job at distracting me through the drive. It was all due to a few key words.

"So," he started, dragging out the word until his vocal fry grated on my nerves.

"Spit it out," I said.

He gave me a quick glance. "I'm seeing someone."

I snorted. "Why is this newsworthy? You're with a different girl every month, I swear."

He pursed his lips. Adjusted his sunglasses. Fiddled with his seatbelt.

Oh. He was nervous.

I switched around in my seat as far as my own seatbelt allowed. "Wait, is this serious?"

His head gave a jerky nod. "This might be the one."

"Who is it?" I all but shrieked. I didn't recall seeing him with a particular arm accessory of late. Who was this mystery girl?

"Well, I have to tell her that first before I tell you."

I shook my head, trying to wrap my head around that. "She doesn't know? Then how do you qualify it as seeing someone?"

That was when he gave me a shit eating grin. "Well, it's because I saw her a few years back and now I see her every day at work. She just doesn't know yet that I want to see her outside of work as well."

It took the entire drive to Tampa to get a name out of him, and I gasped as soon as he admitted it. I thought back to all the years they'd somehow been star-crossed, wasted because he hadn't really seen her, and I just started cackling. This was going to be good.

Boy, the Bernal Solis siblings were just screwed up when it came to romantic relationships.

I was still giving him heaps of crap about it by the time we found our seats in the arena, hot dog, chips and drinks in hand. He was starting to regret having told me anything at that point, but I was having too much fun.

The flashing lights around the stadium and the blaring music as the local team entered the ice, finally spared him from more of my teasing. My heart leapt in my throat as I made out Dean's number 13 emblazoned on his back as he skated laps around the ice. The crowd was going wild already, and the game hadn't even begun.

By the time it did, I regretted having already eaten all my food. My hands were vice grips on the armrests of my chair as I watched the action below me. My body jerked toward the plays, as if remembering what it had once felt like, and the contents in my stomach threatened to spill. Beyond that, adrenaline was pumping so hard in my veins that I was sure I'd be exhausted after the game. I just hoped it was a good kind of exhaustion, and not the one that came along with tears. There had been rumors in sports outlets online that either this was Dean Hyde's year to get a Stanley Cup for Tampa, or the GM would start considering a trade. Even though he was stellar every season, there was clear animosity between him and the Captain of the team, who as of last year had turned out to be no other than his rival from the Canadian World Junior team.

I was nervous as fuck. If they didn't win tonight and he got traded, in order to appease the big ego of that guy who most likely had a small dick, I was going to be pissed and heartbroken.

The first period went by with no goals from either side. Which sucked. But no injuries from either side either, which was good. In the middle of the second period, Dean got a nasty hit that had me on my feet, shaking my fists and screaming obscenities at the referees who pretended not to see it. I was vindicated in the fact that the whole arena supported me on my claim. I was also lucky that I was on an aisle seat and my flying fists hit nobody but my brother.

By the time the third period came and we were still tied for nothing, I started to lose my shit. My legs were bouncing with the tension. Miguel tried to calm me down, but there was no calming me down. I had to step out into the women's bathroom to redo my long hair up in a pony tail, hoping more access to fresh air would help me chill the fuck out. I wanted to throw up. But more than anything, I wanted Dean to win and dethrone his Captain.

And then he'd stay. And we'd make things work somehow.

The third period ended with no goals and I was having a panic attack.

"There, there," Miguel said as he rubbed circles on my back. "It's going to be fine."

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "Do you know what's at stake?"

His eyebrows went up. "You've told me about twenty times through the course of the game tonight, my dear porcupine. So, yes."

"Why are you so calm?" I screamed and he laughed. His green eyes twinkled in a way that made me want to punch him. So I did.

He rubbed his arm as the teams prepared for OT. I prayed to Diocito. I knew it was not the biggest problem to ask for His help with, but I really wanted my relationship with Dean to work. I loved him, and I was sure he loved me. We just needed to stay close.

Dean's team went on a PK in the middle of the freaking OT and I clasped my hands until my fingers dug painfully, and I prayed harder. I could see the people around me look at me weird, but I didn't care. I just kept on praying.

I leapt to my feet as Dean stole the puck, and I froze as I watched him zoom through the opposing players like they were just dummies. He handled the puck like I'd never seen anybody before, and I was sure this play was going to be in the highlight reels tonight. The entire arena stood up to attention and the volume went up, up. Dean braked fast against the opposing goalie, and I stopped breathing.

The flare went on and the entire arena burst into screams as the tattletale honk came out.

He had just scored. On a PK. During the Stanley Cup final.

And with that one goal only, his team won.

I think I might have fainted. One minute I was screaming and the next I found myself collapsed half on my chair and half on my brother. He was laughing as he rocked me back and forth.

"See? I told you it was going to be fine," he said as if he knew exactly the outcome of the night.

I cried through the entire celebrations as each of the Tampa guys lifted the cup, as they were interviewed and took picture after picture. I was so proud of them. Relieved. I took it as a sign that things would work out between Dean and I.

Suddenly there was a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and I cried out as I saw a sweaty, beaten, but very much smiling Dean. I wasn't the only one losing their shit in the audience at his sudden appearance there, but I was the only one the security guys allowed to throw her arms around his neck. He held me close to him and I gave him teary kisses versus his sweaty ones. I was so happy that I could burst into fireworks in his arms. I didn't even care that there were children watching as I deepened our kiss to levels that were almost pornographic.

He tore himself away with a laugh.

"Are you happy that I kept my promise?" he asked. I scrambled my brains to remember which one he was talking about. The last one he'd given me was to take me to a famous bakery in Orlando that supposedly made the best cookies in America, and he had delivered that one already.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

His blue eyes roamed around my face with a glint I recognized. It was the same glint in all the pictures his mom still had in her living room in Silver Grove. I knew this, because dad visited her a lot and told me that her home looked exactly the same as when we'd walked in it together all those years ago. Except she'd added a few pictures from Dean's professional career as well.

Dean stepped back onto the aisle, an arm's length from me.

He kneeled.

People around me gasped as he pulled out a small velvet box out of nowhere.

I felt hands around my shoulders and realized it was my brother, holding me up as my own legs had been about to give.

Dean, being Dean, couldn't help but give me his smartass smirk even as this was supposed to be a tender moment.

"Do you remember what I said just before you left Silver Grove all those years ago?" he asked, opening the box to show what unmistakably was a diamond ring. I couldn't even pretend to be cool anymore. I burst into ugly tears that made him smile. "The part where I promised you my heart."

With trembling lips I said, "I do. I remember."

"Well, Carlota Bernal Solis, you've always had it. For all these years."

I saw his hands tremble as he plucked the ring from the box and offered it to me.

"Will you finally take it, and keep it?" he asked. When I couldn't get a word in because my throat was acting up so much, he asked, "Will you be my wife? Or my husband, whichever you want to be, actually."

I laughed then. Despite my tears, despite the blood pumping in my ears as though I was down on the ice fighting for the cup myself, he made me laugh. He made me cry. He made me strive to be better. He made me work hard. He kept me sane. He kept me hoping for a future.

With him.

I jumped into his arms and because my cables were too jumbled, I just said it in Spanish.

"Sí. Sí!"

The End

that's it, you guys. it's over *cries*

tell me, was the ending satisfying to you? i find it a little bittersweet, but then we had to know from the beginning that this wasn't going to go entirely smooth. but yes, this is exactly how it was supposed to end (and no, there won't be a sequel).

one of my favorite things about this story was the journey of the characters. for Charlie, she started out pretty aimless and goes on to find her way in life precisely because of the most traumatic experience in her life. she goes from being broken by the trauma and acting out, to overcoming it and wanting to find ways to help other people with PTSD.

meanwhile Dean starts out with a clear direction, and his life does take him there--but in the process he discovers one important truth about himself. he's bisexual and that's okay. it doesn't matter if he ultimately gets into a relationship with a woman, he is who he is: not his dad's son or who the town wants him to be.

hilarious riot as this story was, we had some pretty heavy themes. there was a lot about girls' roles in society, examples of boys being good boys, sexuality, and that's not to mention the glimpses of real violence people live in Venezuela. i don't want to sound too preachy, but i hope you took away some valuable lessons from HOT LIKE ICE. one lesson i learned is that apparently i have to do a lot more research about Canada 😂

and of course, i also hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. idk what is it about this one that had me in tears laughing. maybe i just went and finally lost my marbles *shrug*

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!! i'm overwhelmed at all the love you guys showed for Darlie (and me, if i dare say)!

and fiiiiiinally, a couple of things: if you like my writing tell me!! my soul feeds on your comments. hype me up. tell everybody you know about the cool stories i write. help me conquer the world ✨