Page 28 of Expose on the Ice

“They were inseparable,” Isla sighs. “He was never the same after she died, and it broke us up as well.”

I nod, processing this information. “So, he’s been supporting you and your son for a while?”

“Not supporting,” Isla corrects firmly. “Helping. There’s a difference. I work hard to provide for Liam, but sometimes… it’s not enough. Carter steps in when we really need it, and I love him for how much he’s helped me, while asking fornothingin return. He’s got a good heart, even if he doesn’t always show it. But he’s also carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders. Weight that shouldn’t be his to bear.”

I lean in, hanging on her every word. “What do you mean?”

Isla shakes her head, a sad smile playing at her lips. “That’s not my story to tell. But I will say this: Carter is a far better man than he lets anyone see. He’s been there for me and my son when no one else was, expecting nothing in return. Whatever image he projects to the world, that’s the Carter Knox I’ve always known.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat. This glimpse into Knox’s hidden depths is more than I’d hoped for, but it also leaves me with a thousand new questions. Before I can ask anything else,Isla’s phone buzzes. She glances at it, her expression softening into a mother’s worried smile.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, already backing away. “Just… be kind to Carter, okay? He doesn’t deserve to have his life ripped apart.”

With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me standing there with my head spinning and my heart racing. I’d come looking for a scoop and instead found myself questioning everything I thought I knew about Knox, his role on the team, his family life, and his complex past.

“Well, great,” I say, shaking my head.

CHAPTER 11

CARTER

The sight of the familiar two-story colonial hits me like a sucker punch to the gut as I pull up to. How many times have I driven up this tree-lined street, my heart light and carefree?

Now, the weight in my chest threatens to crush me.

I kill the engine of my hire car, but don’t move. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing here. The rational part of my brain knows why. We’ve just won a game not twenty miles from my hometown, now I have to make an appearance here.

I’m the local boy made good,

The prodigal son returning in triumph.

It’s what’s expected.

It’s what will keep up appearances.

Keep my cover – my dirty secret – intact.

I close my eyes, trying to center myself. But all I can see is Lily’s face, those green eyes of hers, sharp with curiosity as she watches me from the stands. She’s digging and digging deep, and I know that eventually she’ll find treasure.

And then there’s Isla. Christ. Talking to her always leaves me feeling raw, exposed. Seeing her today, hearing about Liam…it brings everything rushing back. The guilt, the shame, the overwhelming sense of responsibility.

I’d never wanted to leave her. The press of her body against mine brings back memories every time I see her. Of her warmth, her kindness… her body. But being with her after Sarah had died and the events that followed hadn’t been an option.

The stakes are too high, and I won’t let her go down with me if I’m exposed.

I rub a hand over my face, feeling the scratch of stubble against my palm. I’m tired. Of the lies and of pretending to be this unbreakable force on the ice when inside I feel like I’m constantly teetering on the edge of shattering.

A light flickers on in an upstairs window of the house. Mom knows I’m here. No more stalling. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Time to be Carter Knox, dutiful son. Time to pay the tribute that the cover-up done on my behalf demands.

I exit the car, cross the street, and make my way to the front door. I don’t bother to knock, because I know it won’t be locked. I push open the front door, the familiar creak sending a shiver down my spine.

“Carter?” Mom’s voice drifts from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow, even to my ears.

I find her standing at the kitchen island, a glass of white wine in hand. Her eyes light up when she sees me. We embrace, a wooden and awkward hug, undertaken because duty demands it. As we do, I can’t help but notice how frail she feels in my arms. When had she gotten so thin?

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” I lie, pulling back from her. “You look wonderful.”

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