Page 93 of Expose on the Ice

He has to come to the story on his own.

And decide how he wants to react.

Over the next few hours, my phone explodes with notifications. Emails, texts, social media alerts – all reacting to my article. I see Frank’s name pop up and quickly dismiss it. Whatever vitriol he has for me can wait.

In publishing the truth, all of it, I’ve defanged him and his threat.

I take a deep breath and start reading the responses. Some are supportive, praising the honesty and depth of the piece. Others are critical, accusing me of betraying journalistic ethics or sensationalizing Carter’s story.

But the one response I’m desperate for, the only one that really matters, is nowhere to be found. I refresh my email, then check my socials, then check my phone for the hundredth time, hoping to see his name.

Nothing.

The silence is deafening.

What if I’ve made a terrible mistake?

What if, instead of re-uniting us, I’ve pushed him away for good?

I stand up, needing to move, to do something. I walk over to the window, looking out at the city lights. It brings back a flash of a memory, to looking out the window of his apartment at the city lights, in his arms…

Moments before we’d screwed like rabbits.

God,I miss him, I think.

Somewhere out there is Carter.

Is he reading the article right now? What’s going through his mind?

CARTER

Another loss.

I step out of the shower, my muscles aching from the brutal game we’ve just lost. Another one. Coach Carson had reamed us out in the locker room, his face purple with rage. I can’t blame him. We’re playing like shit, and I’m the worst offender.

As I wrap a towel around my waist, I finally go to my locker and check my phone. Lately, I’ve made a habit of leaving it alone for large chunks of the day, the volume of attention on me – emails, messages, social media, calls – utterly overwhelming.

When I turn it on, I realize there’s even more than usual.

"What now?" I sigh.

Frowning, I pick it up, expecting more bad news. Instead, I’m hit with a barrage of supportive messages from other players around the league, a few reporters I’ve come to know over the years. There are messages from family members.

What the hell?

I check social media. Even the fans are all over me. But, unlike most of the last few weeks, where many of the messages had been terrible and distressing, now they’re mostly positive. I scroll through the notifications, my confusion growing.

Then I see it.

A link to an article,

I click on it, and Lily’s name jumps out at me from the byline.

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

What has she done?

I start reading, my hands shaking. As I delve deeper into the article, I feel like I’m being stripped bare, all my defenses crumbling. Lily has laid out everything – the accident, Sarah’s death, the cover-up, the guilt I’ve carried for years. But it isn’t just a recitation of facts. She’s captured the essence of who I am, the struggles I’ve faced, and the person I’m trying to become.

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