Expose on the Ice (Sparks on the Ice #1)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

LILY

T he entire vehicle shakes as I slam the car door. Hard. My hands are trembling as I jam the key into the ignition, my breath coming in short, angry bursts.

“That arrogant son of a bitch,” I snarl, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

Realizing I need to calm down before I do something stupid, I grab my phone and hit Jessica’s number on speed dial. She picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, girl! How’d it go?” she says.

“How’d it go?” I echo, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I just wasted an hour of my life trying to interview a human ice sculpture!”

“Uh oh,” Jess says. “That bad, huh?”

I launch into a heated rant, my free hand gesticulating wildly as I recount every frustrating moment of my encounter with Knox. “I swear to God, Jess, it was like pulling teeth. No, scratch that – pulling teeth would’ve been easier and more pleasant.”

“Damn,” Jess says when I finally pause for breath. “Sounds like a real charmer.”

“Oh, he’s charming, all right,” I scoff. “If by ‘charming’ you mean an arrogant, evasive jackass who thinks he’s God’s gift to hockey.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, he is,” Jess points out.

“Not helping,” I say.

“Sorry, sorry,” she backpedals. “Look, maybe he was just having a bad day. You’ve got all season to work with him, right? I’m sure things will get better.”

I sigh heavily, feeling utterly defeated. “I even tried it, Jess. Can you believe that?”

“Tried what?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.

I hesitate briefly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “The cleavage,” I finally admit, my cheeks flushing slightly.

Jess laughs boisterously, her voice filled with amusement. “Oh my god, you didn’t…” she prompts.

“I did…” I sigh again, remembering the moment. “And he looked. I mean, he definitely looked.”

“Of course he did!” Jess exclaims. “See! It’s not all bad! Maybe there’s hope for this assignment after all.”

I crack a small smile at her enthusiasm, even as I shake my head in disbelief at the situation I’ve found myself in. And that I’d flashed some cleavage at Knox.

I snort. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll magically transform into an open book overnight. Face it, Jess, I’m screwed. How am I supposed to write a year-long profile series on a guy who won’t give me anything more than his jersey number?”

“Come on, Lil, don’t talk like that,” Jess says, her voice softening. “You can’t let one bad interview derail you.”

“I know, I know,” I sigh, some fight going out of me. “It’s just… God, he’s infuriating! You should’ve seen the way he looked at me, like I was some annoying bug he wanted to swat away.”

“Well, maybe you should swat back,” Jess suggests. “You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.”

I pause, considering her words. She has a point. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am in my career. Am I really going to let some hotshot with a chip on his shoulder derail my dreams?

“You’re right,” I say, a newfound determination creeping into my voice. “If Knox thinks he can scare me off with his brooding silence and death glares, he’s got another thing coming.”

“That’s my girl,” Jess cheers. “So, what’s the plan? More tit?”

“No more tit!” I laugh, then chew my lip, my mind already racing with possibilities. “I’m not sure yet. But one thing’s for certain – I’m going to crack that icy exterior of his if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Now that’s the Lily Grant I know and love,” Jess says. “Just… be careful, okay? Don’t do anything crazy.”

I laugh, some of my earlier anger dissipating. “Define crazy.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, her tone mock-stern. “No breaking and entering, no hidden cameras in the locker room…”

“Damn, there go all my best ideas,” I tease.

We chat for a few more minutes before hanging up.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, my mind racing. Maybe I should call Frank. He’d know how to handle this situation, right? He’s dealt with difficult subjects before. Surely, he’d have some sage advice. But I hesitate, because I can already hear Frank’s gruff voice in my head:

“Figure it out, Grant.”

I wince, imagining the disappointment in his eyes. He’s given me the chance of a lifetime with this assignment. How would it look if I came crawling back after the very first interview, begging for help after it had gone off the rails?

No, I can’t do it. I won’t. Frank has faith in me, even if it’s buried under layers of gruffness. Something had made him think I could handle this gig, and I don’t want to let him down. This is my shot. It’s time to put on my big girl pants and make it work.

I start the car, Frank’s imaginary voice still echoing in my head. As I pull out of the arena’s parking lot, my mind is already churning with ideas. Carter Knox might think he’s won this battle, but the war is far from over.

Game on, asshole.

CARTER

I slam my locker door shut with a resounding bang that echoes through the dressing room. The metallic clang makes a few of my teammates jump, their heads snapping in my direction.

“Whoa, easy there, Knox,” ‘Tank’ Thompson calls out from across the room. “What’d that locker ever do to you?”

I ignore him, yanking my skates from the bottom of the locker with more force than necessary. The laces tangle around my fingers as I wrestle them onto my feet, cursing under my breath.

“Everything okay, man?” Tank asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Peachy,” I growl.

As I viciously tug at my laces, I can feel their eyes on me, a mix of curiosity and wariness filling the air. Tank and the others are used to walking on eggshells around me. But let them stare. I don’t owe anyone an explanation.

When my skates are on, I grab my stick and storm out of the locker room, leaving a wake of whispers behind me. The cool air of the practice rink hits me as I step onto the ice, but it does nothing to calm the fire raging inside me.

I take off, my blades cutting into the pristine surface as I push myself harder and faster with each lap. It’s a welcome distraction, but it isn’t enough to silence the voice in my head – her voice, asking all those damn questions.

“What about your family, Carter? Do they come to your games often?”

I grit my teeth, picking up speed. The memory of those green eyes boring into me, searching for cracks in my armor, makes my blood boil. Who the hell does she think she is?

“The accident with your sister… care to comment?”

My stick slaps against the ice as I round the corner, the sound echoing off the empty stands. I’d seen the glint in her eyes when she’d asked all those questions, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

She’d been looking for a reaction and, damn it, I’d given her one.

I can still feel the heat of her body as we’d stood toe-to-toe, her chin tilted up defiantly as she challenged me. For a moment, I’d been surprised by how close she was, how her lips parted slightly as she waited for my answer.

And that hint of cleavage…

In a single moment of weakness, I’d let my mask slip.

“Fuck!” I shout, the word bouncing off the rafters as I cut to a stop at center ice, spraying snow.

I’ve screwed up. I know it, and worse, she knows it.

I’d let her see that her questions had rattled me, and now she’ll dig and pry until she finds every skeleton in my closet. The image of Sarah’s face flashes through my mind, and I feel my chest tighten. The thought sends a chill down my spine, colder than the ice beneath my skates. I can’t let that happen.

I won’t .

I take off again, pushing myself even harder. My lungs burn as I gasp for air, but I welcome the pain. It’s better than the alternative – better than remembering, better than feeling. As I round the far end of the rink, I notice Coach Carson standing by the boards, his arms crossed. Great. Just what I need.

I slow to a stop in front of him, trying to catch my breath. “Just getting in some minutes, Coach.”

“You planning on wearing a groove in my ice, Knox?” he asks, his voice gruff.

I shake my head, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my glove. “Just rusty.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with that reporter I saw storming out earlier?”

I tense, my jaw clenching. Coach’s eyes narrow, and I know I’ve given myself away. “Uh…”

“Look, son,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “I know you’re not a fan of the media circus, but this could be good for the team. God knows we’ve had little else to be positive about this season, your performances aside. We’re on the ropes.”

“Fine,” I say.

“Hell, it could be good for you, too, Carter…”

I snort, unable to hide my skepticism. “Yeah, I doubt that.”

Coach sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Just… try to work with her, alright? She’s going to be around all season. Might as well make the best of it.”

LILY

Blink. Blink. Blink.

No matter how long I stared at it, the blinking cursor on my computer screen was persistent. The blank document mocks me, daring me to write something – anything – about Knox that isn’t complete bullshit, although he’s given me nothing to work with.

Around me, the newsroom buzzes with activity. Phones ring, keyboards clack, and my coworkers bustle about. I observe Mitch, our senior sportswriter, gesticulating wildly as he argues with someone on the phone.

These are the people I’ve looked up to for years. Seasoned journalists who can smell a story from a mile away and write circles around the competition. And here I am, the rookie with the plum assignment, drowning.

I’ve seen their looks when they’d found out about…

“Get it together, Grant,” I mutter to myself, sitting up straight.

I am not going to let some brooding hockey player with a chip on his shoulder derail my career before it really even begins. After cracking my knuckles, I start typing, determined to at least get something on the page.

My first attempt isn’t so crash hot:

“Carter Knox, star forward for the Omaha Frost Giants, is a man of few words.”

I delete it immediately. Too cliché. I try again:

“The ice at Baxter Arena isn’t the only thing that’s cold when it comes to Carter Knox.”

Even worse. I groan again, louder this time.

“Having trouble?”

I glance up to find Frank peeking over my cubicle partition, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Is it that obvious?” I inquire, motioning hopelessly at my monitor.

He chuckles. “Only to those of us who’ve experienced it. Is he getting on your nerves?”

I bob my head, thankful for the solidarity. “He’s about as forthcoming as a concrete barrier.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, alright?” He smiles. “You’ll work it out. Find the angle.”

As he departs, I inhale deeply and redirect my attention to my laptop. Frank has a point. I will work this out. I have no choice. He’s shown faith in me, and I will not mess it up. With a sigh, I open a new document and start brainstorming questions for the follow-up interview tomorrow.

If Knox thinks he can scare me off with his brooding silence and icy glares, he has another thing coming. I am going to crack that tough exterior of his if it’s the last thing I do. And if he won’t play ball, he’ll find I’m Lily fucking Grant.

And I’m just getting started.