Ricci | Iced Out By Ce

"I think you're a distraction," Quinton shot back, his voice raw.

"You think you're better than me?" Oakley spat, his fingers gripping Quinton’s jersey. Iced Out by CE Ricci

The silence that followed was heavy, vibrating with everything they hadn't said. It wasn't hatred that made Quinton’s heart hammer against his ribs—it was the terrifying realization that he didn’t want to let go. "I think you're a distraction," Quinton shot back,

When Oakley finally leaned in, the kiss was a collision. It was messy, desperate, and tasted like salt and cold air. In that moment, the ice under their feet didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore. It felt like the only solid thing in a world that was suddenly shifting beneath them. It wasn't hatred that made Quinton’s heart hammer

But the tension between them wasn't just about the scoreboard. It was a physical pull, a magnetic charge that sparked every time they breathed the same frozen air.

The winter air in Graystone didn’t just bite; it owned you. For Quinton Rossi, the ice was the only place where the world finally went quiet. No expectations, no legacy, just the rhythmic scrape of blades against the rink.