Page 31 of Expose on the Ice

Fuck.

I wrench open my hire car door, practically diving inside. The engine roars to life, and I pull out. My hands grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. How much has she heard? How much has she seen? Her first story had been surprisingly… decent. Nothing too probing, nothing that could hurt me.

But this? This is different.

The thought of Lily uncovering my family’s secrets, of her digging into the carefully constructed lie we’d built around Sarah’s death, sends a jolt of panic through me. I’ve worked so goddamn hard to keep it all buried, to focus on hockey, to be the star my father had always wanted me to be.

And now, because of one nosy reporter, it could all come crashing down.

Lily is sniffing around, asking questions, observing things she has no right to see, threatening to inflict untold damage on a dozen people who’d helped me stay free. A wave of anger washes over me, hot and familiar. It’s easier than the guilt, easier than the grief. I latch onto it, let it fuel me.

Whatrightdoes she have to dig like this?

To make mefeellike this?

CHAPTER 12

CARTER

Hours later, I can’t sleep. The walls of my hotel room feel like they’re closing in on me, memories of my mom’s pleading eyes and Lily’s curious gaze outside our house suffocating me. I’d tried to find Lily earlier, pounding on her door until a bleary-eyed teammate yelled at me to keep it down.

But she wasn’t there. Probably off digging through my trash can.

I need to get out. To move. To feel the familiar bite of ice beneath my skates. I grab my gear bag and a bottle of whiskey I’d stashed away in my kit, then sneak out of the hotel. I could have gone to the practice facility we had access to when we played in Minnesota, but not with the booze, so I need another solution.

The night air is crisp. It reminds me of countless late-night practices when I was a kid, when hockey was still just a dream and not the cage it sometimes feels like now. The local rink where I’d spent most of those practices is dark, but I know how to get in. The rink manager always left a key hidden.

Some things never changed.

Even though I had.

As I lace up my skates, I take a long pull from the whiskey bottle. The burn in my throat is a welcome distraction fromthe ache in my chest. I’d been so careful for so long, keeping everyone at arm’s length, burying the truth beneath layers of ice and anger.

And now, because of one reporter, it all threatens to come crashing down.

I step onto the ice, relishing the familiar scrape of my blades. The rink is silent except for the hum of the cooling system and my breathing. I start to skate, slow at first, then faster, pushing myself until my lungs burn and sweat drips down my back.

Between laps, I take swigs from the bottle, feeling the alcohol warm my insides and dull the sharp edges of my thoughts. But it can’t erase the image of my mom’s face, or the weight of my dad’s sacrifice, or the memory of Sarah’s laugh – forever silenced because of me.

I skate harder and harder, but soon it isn’t enough. I get a stick and a puck and get to work. Soon, the familiar rhythm echoes through the empty rink, a steady beat that matches the pounding of my heart. With each lap, each shot, I try to outrun the memories that threaten to overwhelm me.

Thwack. The puck slams into the boards.

Sarah’s laugh, silenced forever.

Thwack. Another shot, harder this time.

Mom’s eyes, filled with a pain I couldn’t erase.

Thwack. The net rattles as the puck finds its mark.

Dad’s face, grim and determined as he took the fall for me.

I skate faster, my blades carving angry lines into the ice. I’d spent years building walls, keeping everyone at arm’s length, burying the truth beneath layers of ice and anger. And now, because of one nosy reporter, it all threatens to come crashing down.

Lily’s face flashes in my mind, her green eyes wide with curiosity as she stood outside my family’s house. The memory sends a fresh wave of panic through me, and I channel it into mynext shot. The puck ricochets off the crossbar with a satisfying clang.

I reach for the whiskey bottle I’d left by the boards, taking a long pull. But the relief is fleeting. As I skate back to center ice, puck on my stick, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change. Lily is digging, and I know she won’t stop until she uncovers the truth.

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