Page 115 of On Thin Ice

“And the Lacey thing,” he continued, his voice tightening. “That’s a hard no for me. I can’t sit back and watch you parade around with someone else while I’m supposed to pretend like it doesn’t kill me.”

I dragged a hand through my hair and blew out a breath. Even as my agent had suggested I reach out to Lacey, I’d known it was a bad idea. But I’d been spiraling, desperate for something—anything—I could control.

“I just thought it would buy us time.”

Bell gave a dry, almost bitter laugh. “Time for what, E? How do you see this all playing out?”

The question hit harder than it should have, but we both knew I didn’t have a good answer.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice faltering under the weight of everything I couldn’t give him. “I don’t know how to get from where I am now to where you need me to be.”

Bell’s expression softened, and he shifted his weight, the dining table creaking under him. For several long seconds, his fingers tapped out a rhythm against the polished wood.

“I just want to be sure here,” he said, his voice softer but no less firm. “Where is it you think I need you to be, Ethan?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as gravel. “Out. Proud. Like you. My shit figured out.”

The hard lines around his mouth eased. “That’s not what I’m asking for, Ethan. I don’t need you to march with me in a Pride parade or even pose naked with me for a magazine, though we would have looked so fucking good in that spread, out on the ice with nothing but our sticks to cover us.” He shook his head, a rueful grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he lamented the loss of his opportunity to appear in theWorld of Sportsspecial issue.

I loved this man, but he was right—I was never going to be comfortable with taking my clothes off for the camera. Even if we hadn’t been together—even if we were only teammates who just happened to have once-in-a-generation chemistry on the ice—there was no way I would have the guts to strip down to my birthday suit for a photoshoot. It just wasn’t how I was wired.

“Seems cold,” I said, a hint of playfulness breaking through my voice for the first time all morning. The familiar rhythm of our banter felt like finding solid ground in the middle of a storm.

“Smartass.” He shot me a smirk in return, a dimple appearing in his left cheek, the one that always made my heart skip.

“Seriously, though, E.” His expression sobered, though his eyes remained warm. “I don’t need you to have all the answers right now. I just need you to stop running away from the questions.”

This was the man I loved, telling me what he needed to feel comfortable in our relationship. To feel safe and wanted. To feel validated.

And he was right. Running was exactly what I’d been doing—both figuratively and literally, the moment things got uncomfortable. Taking what, at the time, had felt like the easy way out.

Always choosing fear over everything else.

Over him.

All this time, I’d been so focused on what I might lose by coming out that I hadn’t ever let myself consider what I was already losing by staying hidden.

Marjorie’s words echoed back to me.Someday, Bell is going to ask you for something you can’t give him while you’re hiding. And when that happens, you’ll have to decide what matters more: your fear or his happiness.

Right now, nothing—absolutely nothing—mattered more to me than making this man happy.

“I love you.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, surprising even me. My heart hammered so hard I could feel my pulse in my fingertips, my toes, my throat.

I hadn’t meant to say it—not now, not like this—but once they were out, I felt lighter somehow, like I’d been carrying their weight for too long.

Bell froze, his eyes widening, lips parting slightly. Whatever he’d expected me to say, it wasn’t that.

That made two of us.

“You don’t have to?—"

“Ido,” I interrupted, my voice rough with urgency as I closed the distance between us, crossing the few feet that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

I stopped in front of Bell—close enough to feel the heat rolling off his body, close enough to catch the sharp hitch of his breath—and reached for his hands, twining our fingers together.

“I need to say it. Because it’s true.” My voice grew steadier with every word, the tremor fading. “And because I need you to know, this isn’t about not loving you enough. It’s about … not knowing how to love you right.”

The air between us hummed with electricity, with possibility. “You do, E.”

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