Page 94 of Expose on the Ice

I sink onto the bench, overwhelmed by the depth of understanding in her words. She writes about my dedication to the sport, my loyalty to my teammates, and the walls I’ve built to protect myself. But she also highlights the moments of vulnerability, the times I’d let her in, the wonderful times we’d shared, however briefly.

As I read, I realize she isn’t just telling my story. She’s telling ours. The gradual building of trust, the stolen moments of connection, the passion that had flared between us. She holds nothing back, laying bare her feelings and mistakes alongside mine.

And then I read about Frank’s threat.

The thing that had kept her away.

And my heart sinks.

I reach the end of the article, my heart pounding.

The last paragraph hits me like a punch to the gut:

"Carter Knox is more than just a hockey player with a troubled past. He’s a man of depth, courage, and untappedpotential. In learning and telling his story, I’ve come to understand not just the athlete, but the person behind the headlines. And in doing so, I’ve realized something profound about myself as well. This journey has changed us both, for better or worse. Where we go from here is uncertain, but one thing is clear: the real story of Carter Knox is far from over. And if he’ll have me, I’d like to be there to see how it unfolds. That’s the full expose, like it or not."

I stare at those last words, reading them over and over.

If he’ll have me.

The vulnerability in that simple phrase knocks the wind out of me more than a hard check against the boards. After everything that has happened, after she’d pushed me away, after I’d given up on her and the idea of us, she’s reaching out.

The question now is: what am I going to do about it?

CHAPTER 38

LILY

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I near the end of my run. The familiar rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement usually helps sort out the chaos in my mind, but today it feels like I’m running in circles, both literally and figuratively.

The cool morning air nips at my cheeks as I jog. I’ve barely slept since hitting ‘publish’ on that story. My phone has been buzzing non-stop. Everyone seems to have an opinion on what I’ve written. Everyone except the one person whose opinion matters most.

Carter’s silence is deafening.

I push myself even harder, my legs aching in protest as I increase my pace, pushing myself one last time. The physical exertion is a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

Had I made the right choice in publishing those stories?

The response has been largely positive, with many praising the honesty and depth of the piece. But there are critics too, accusing me of betraying journalistic ethics or sensationalizing Carter’s story for my gain.

And then there’s Frank.

I’ve received a scathing email from him, threatening legal action and promising I’ll never work in journalism again. But his threats feel hollow. In telling the whole truth, I’ve taken away his power.

I slow my pace, trying to focus on my surroundings – the early morning joggers, the ducks paddling lazily in the river, the city skyline in the distance. Yet my mind keeps drifting back to Carter.

What is he thinking?

Has he even read the articles?

Is he angry? Hurt? Relieved?

The uncertainty is killing me.

I’ve laid my heart bare in those paragraphs, admitting to the world – and to Carter – how I see him, and how I feel about him. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. But his silence makes me second-guess everything.

I fear I’ve pushed him away for good.

I round a corner of the running track, my legs burning and my breath heaving. My mind is so preoccupied with thoughts of Carter and the fallout from my article that I almost don’t notice the figure standing directly in my path.

---