Page 10 of Icy Pucking Play

"Whatever you're about to say," I warn, "the answer is no."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"You want to talk about the feature."

"Okay, fine." He helps me gather the pucks, because he's a good kid despite his currently questionable judgment. "But come on, Uncle Evan. It's Sophie. You know her. You trust her."

"Trusted," I correct. "Past tense. She works for them now."

"'Them' being legitimate sports journalists? Not exactly the devil incarnate."

I straighten up, fixing him with my best stare. "You're too young to remember what the media did to this family."

"Actually, I do remember." His voice hardens. "I remember because I was there, watching my favorite uncle go through hell. But Sophie isn't those reporters. She's not looking for scandal or drama. She just wants to tell my story."

"There's no such thing as 'just' telling a story in journalism." The words come out bitter, waking up old wounds. "Everything gets twisted. Everything gets used."

"Maybe." He shrugs. "Or maybe you're so busy protecting everyone else, you can't see when something might actually be good for us."

Sometimes I forget he's not a kid anymore. When he says something like that, I see glimpses of the man he's becoming. Doesn't mean he's right, though.

"I'm picking up Natalia from your mom's," I say instead of arguing further. "We'll discuss this later."

"Sure." He starts skating backward toward the exit, grinning. "Fair warning: Sophie's probably already talked to Mom about it."

I freeze. "What?"

"Oh yeah, she mentioned stopping by there after practice. Something about wanting to be transparent with the whole family." His grin widens. "Good luck with that!"

Son of a…

I'm off the ice and through the locker room in record time, not even bothering to shower.

Julia is the weak link in all this. Always has been where Ryland's concerned.

If Sophie gets her on board...

The drive to my sister's house is a blur of Chicago traffic and muttered curses.

I try calling twice, but it goes straight to voicemail. Typical Julia. She almost always has her ringer off.

Finally, I pull into her driveway, noticing with growing dread the unfamiliar Honda parked out front.

Please don't be...

The front door opens before I can even knock, revealing Julia's amused face. "Well, well. If it isn't my favorite grumpy brother."

"Where is she?"

"Who?" Julia blinks innocently. "Natalia? She's doing homework with…"

"You know who."

"Oh, you mean Sophie?" Her smile widens. "The lovely young reporter who brought cookies and actually listened to my thoughts about Ryland's career? That Sophie?"

"Jules..."

"She's in the kitchen," my traitor of a sister says cheerfully. "Helping Natalia with her math homework. Because apparently, she minored in math along with getting a major in journalism. Did you know that?"

---