Page 1 of Expose on the Ice

ACT 1

CHAPTER 1

LILY

My hands hang suspended above the keys as I digest the message I’ve just received. It seems surreal, and the text burns into my retinas as I read it for the umpteenth time.

“Lily, we’d like you to complete a year-long feature series about Carter Knox of the Omaha Frost Giants,” the message reads.

Good. Gracious. Heavens.

Frank, my gruff but well-meaning editor with salt-and-pepper hair, has finally given me the break I’ve been waiting for.

Or has he?

Glad I’m working from home, so my colleagues can’t see myslightlyunhinged reaction, I close my eyes, certain the assignment will morph into something more ordinary when I look again.

Perhaps a piece on a leading pickle-ball squad or a report on the annual hot dog-eating contest – you know, the riveting stories I am usually saddled with, the kind that make me question my career choice as a sports reporter. But opening my eyes, I see the email is still there, complete with its life-altering potential.

A year with Carter Knox.

TheCarter Knox.

He’s the star forward for the Omaha Frost Giants and the subject of more than a few of my,ahem,personal daydreams. Not that I’d ever confess that aloud. I’m a professional, for crying out loud. A professional who certainly hasn’t devoted hours to studying his… physical abilities.

I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and recline in my chair, combing my fingers through my disheveled ponytail. This is it – my shot – a far cry from the high school soccer games and amateur bowling tournaments I’ve been covering for the past year.

Sure, I’ve paid my dues – late nights at the office, trying to write something interesting about sports that aren’t. But this… this is different. The idea sends a shiver of thrill through me, promptly followed by a surge of anxiety.

Am I really prepared for this?

I launch a new browser window and enter Knox’s name. Might as well begin my investigation now, right? Pure work-related curiosity, of course. I’m not some awestruck groupie – I’m a serious reporter, about to embark on the most significant story of my career.

The search results appear instantly, and pictures bombard me. Knox in his Frost Giants gear, arms raised triumphantly after a win, his expression a mask of resolve. Knox at a charity function, with that brooding glare that is his trademark. Knox bare-chested on a beach… oh my.

That physique should be outlawed.

I clear my throat, sensing a flush creep up my neck and spread across my face. I try to will myself to concentrate, but it’s no good. As I peruse story after story, and devour picture after picture, I can’t help but experience a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Knox is known for being exceptionally guarded and for giving journalists the cold shoulder. So how on earth am I supposed to tackle a year-long series on someone who’d prefer taking a puck to the face rather than opening up to the media?

I scribble some notes, attempting to piece together the enigma that is Carter Knox. Superstar player: Check. Brooding rebel: Check. Shuns the limelight like it’s poison: Check. Rumored to have a short fuse, both on and off the ice: Check.

There has to be more to him than that. Some complexity beneath the surface that I can unearth. I just need to figure out how to penetrate that frosty exterior. Perhaps I can be the one to finally get him to let his guard down, to reveal the authentic Carter Knox to the world.

I’m so absorbed in my investigation, jotting down ideas and crafting interview questions, that I practically leap out of my chair when I hear the door slam some time later. I’ve lost track of time, but the familiar creak of the front door tells me Jess Time is about to begin. And that always means chaos.

My housemate’s voice rings out, “Lil? You around? I’ve got us some wine if you’re interested. And, really, why wouldn’t you be?”

“In here, Jess!” I call back, hastily minimizing the utterly professional, not-at-all-swoon-worthy image of Knox I’d been… professionally researching.

Jessica appears in the entryway of my bedroom-turned-workspace. Her gaze flits from my unkempt hair to the computer screen, and a knowing grin spreads across her features.

“Spill it,” Jess says. “You look like you’ve finally been given an assignment reporting on something other than competitive paint-drying?”

I chuckle, raking my fingers through my hair again. “You can’t even imagine. You know I’ve been waiting for my shot.”

Jessica nods, her expression growing increasingly curious.

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