Page 90 of Icy Pucking Play

And I stand there, frozen, watching Evan live up to his reputation in the worst possible way.

"Evan," I manage, reaching for him. "Stop!"

But he's already backing away, chest heaving, eyes wild.

"I trusted you," he says, and the betrayal in his voice breaks something in my chest. "I let you in, and you...you went to him?"

"It's not what you think…"

"It never is." He looks around at the chaos—the overturned table, the gathering crowd, Clark groaning on the floor. "Congratulations, Sophie. You just got your story."

He walks out before I can explain, leaving me standing in the wreckage of everything we could have been.

Clark laughs heartily from the floor, blood staining his perfect tie.

"See?" He wipes his mouth. "Always has to be the hero. The protector. Never allowing anyone to make their own choices."

I look at him—really look at him—and see what Evan must have seen years ago: a man who destroys things just because he can.

"You're wrong," I say quietly, watching the chaos unfold around us.

The maître d' is rushing over, phone in hand. Other diners have their phones out too, capturing the aftermath. Tomorrow's headlines practically write themselves: ICE MAN LOSES COOL. HOCKEY STAR DECKS AGENT.

Clark pushes himself to his feet, using a nearby chair for support. His perfect suit is stained with wine, his jaw already showing signs of bruising. But his eyes—his eyes are triumphant.

"Am I?" He straightens his ruined tie. "Because from where I'm standing—or was standing—he just proved everything I said about him. Hot-headed. Controlling. Unable to let anyone make their own choices."

"No." I step closer, anger replacing my shock. "He proved he'll do anything to protect his family from people like you. People who use them. Who twist things to suit their own agenda."

"People like me?" His laugh is ugly. "You mean people like you? The reporter who got too close? Who made him trust her just to…"

"I never used him."

"No? Then why are you here?" He gestures at the destruction around us. "Why meet with me if not to get the real story? The one he won't tell you?"

Because I was hurt. Because I was scared. Because I thought understanding his past might help me fix his future.

Our future.

But looking at the mess around us—the total wreckage and the shocked faces of other diners—I realize something: some stories aren't worth the price. Even if they could make my career. Even if they could explain everything.

Even if they might help me understand why Evan builds walls so high.

"Well," Clark adjusts his jacket, wincing, "I'd say dinner was a success. Got exactly what I wanted."

I stare at him. "What?"

"Proof that the Ice Man hasn't changed." He flashes a wicked smile despite his swollen jaw. "That he's still the same hothead who couldn't keep his wife. Who can't trust anyone. Who…"

"Who loves his family enough to risk everything protecting them." I gather my things. "Even his reputation."

"Is that what you think this was? Love?" He laughs. "This was possession. Control. The same things that drove Chelsea away."

"No." I drop enough cash on the table to cover my untouched wine. "This was you. Again. Destroying something good just because you can."

I walk out, leaving him to explain the mess to the approaching manager.

Because some stories aren't worth telling. Even if they could make my career. Even if they could explain everything. Even if they might help me understand why Evan builds walls so high.

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