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

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

CARTER

H ours later, I can’t sleep. The walls of my hotel room feel like they’re closing in on me, memories of my mom’s pleading eyes and Lily’s curious gaze outside our house suffocating me. I’d tried to find Lily earlier, pounding on her door until a bleary-eyed teammate yelled at me to keep it down.

But she wasn’t there. Probably off digging through my trash can.

I need to get out. To move. To feel the familiar bite of ice beneath my skates. I grab my gear bag and a bottle of whiskey I’d stashed away in my kit, then sneak out of the hotel. I could have gone to the practice facility we had access to when we played in Minnesota, but not with the booze, so I need another solution.

The night air is crisp. It reminds me of countless late-night practices when I was a kid, when hockey was still just a dream and not the cage it sometimes feels like now. The local rink where I’d spent most of those practices is dark, but I know how to get in. The rink manager always left a key hidden.

Some things never changed.

Even though I had.

As I lace up my skates, I take a long pull from the whiskey bottle. The burn in my throat is a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest. I’d been so careful for so long, keeping everyone at arm’s length, burying the truth beneath layers of ice and anger.

And now, because of one reporter, it all threatens to come crashing down.

I step onto the ice, relishing the familiar scrape of my blades. The rink is silent except for the hum of the cooling system and my breathing. I start to skate, slow at first, then faster, pushing myself until my lungs burn and sweat drips down my back.

Between laps, I take swigs from the bottle, feeling the alcohol warm my insides and dull the sharp edges of my thoughts. But it can’t erase the image of my mom’s face, or the weight of my dad’s sacrifice, or the memory of Sarah’s laugh – forever silenced because of me.

I skate harder and harder, but soon it isn’t enough. I get a stick and a puck and get to work. Soon, the familiar rhythm echoes through the empty rink, a steady beat that matches the pounding of my heart. With each lap, each shot, I try to outrun the memories that threaten to overwhelm me.

Thwack. The puck slams into the boards.

Sarah’s laugh, silenced forever.

Thwack. Another shot, harder this time.

Mom’s eyes, filled with a pain I couldn’t erase.

Thwack. The net rattles as the puck finds its mark.

Dad’s face, grim and determined as he took the fall for me.

I skate faster, my blades carving angry lines into the ice. I’d spent years building walls, keeping everyone at arm’s length, burying the truth beneath layers of ice and anger. And now, because of one nosy reporter, it all threatens to come crashing down.

Lily’s face flashes in my mind, her green eyes wide with curiosity as she stood outside my family’s house. The memory sends a fresh wave of panic through me, and I channel it into my next shot. The puck ricochets off the crossbar with a satisfying clang.

I reach for the whiskey bottle I’d left by the boards, taking a long pull. But the relief is fleeting. As I skate back to center ice, puck on my stick, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change. Lily is digging, and I know she won’t stop until she uncovers the truth.

The thought makes my stomach churn.

I wind up for another shot, putting all my frustration and fear behind it. The puck flies wide, missing the net entirely and slamming into the plexiglass with a resounding crack. The sound echoes through the empty rink, startling me out of my thoughts.

For a moment, I just stand there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down my face. In the quiet, the weight of everything I’ve been carrying threatens to crush me. My hands shake as I run them through my sweat-soaked hair. How had it come to this? How had I let myself get backed into a corner by some journalist?

The answer comes unbidden from the depths of my conscience.

Because you’re guilty, it says. And because you’ve been running from the truth for so long .

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the voice, but it persists.

You can’t keep running forever, Carter, my mind mocks me. Eventually, the truth always comes out.

Pushing myself back to my feet, I retrieve my stick and skate over to where I’d left the whiskey bottle. As I reach for it, I catch sight of my reflection in the plexiglass. For a second, I barely recognize myself. The man staring back at me looks haunted, desperate.

Is this what Lily sees when she looks at me?

I grab the bottle and take another long drink, relishing the burn. But even as the alcohol dulls my senses, I know that while it can help me feel blissful nothing in the moment, it can’t solve my problems. It can’t erase the past or keep Lily from digging deeper.

I don’t know how long I skate, lost in a haze of whiskey and self-loathing. It’s rhythmic. Robotic. At least until I round the corner of the rink for what feels like the thousandth time, and a flash of movement catches my eye. I stumble, nearly losing my balance, and squint into the darkness of the stands.

“Who’s there?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty arena.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then, a figure emerges from the shadows, and my stomach drops.

Lily.

I freeze, my skates digging into the ice as she steps into the dim light.

What the hell is she doing here? And why does she look like… that?

She’s wearing a slinky black dress that hugs every curve, the kind of outfit you’d wear to a fancy cocktail party, not some run-down ice rink in the middle of the night. The dress dips low in the front, revealing a tempting glimpse of cleavage, and the hemline stops just above her knees, showing off legs that seem to go on forever. Her hair is swept up in some kind of fancy updo, with a few stray tendrils framing her face.

“Fuck,” I say, taking another swig. She looks incredible. And it pisses me off how much I notice it.

“Carter?” Lily’s voice echoes through the rink. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

I snort, gesturing with the bottle. “I could ask you the same thing. Bit overdressed for a skate…”

She shifts, looking uncomfortable. “I was… out,” she says vaguely. “With a source.”

“A source , huh?” I skate closer, my voice full of suggestion. “Must’ve been one hell of an interview.”

My mind wanders, imagining her on a date with some faceless source. I picture his hands on her waist, then sliding, north or south. There really isn’t a poor option with a body like that, her curves an equal shot at a good time, regardless of which choice is made…

A surge of jealousy hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. What the hell? She’s nothing to me but a pain in my ass, a threat to everything I’ve worked so hard to protect. So why does the thought of another man touching her make me want to put my fist through the boards?

Her cheeks flush, from anger or embarrassment, or both. “What’s your problem?” Lily fumes. “I came here to check you were okay, not be grilled about what I wear or who I see. Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” I snap, but the words ring hollow even to my ears. “But I could ask you the same question. Why do you give a damn where I am or what I’m doing? Especially here… ”

I cut myself off, realizing I’ve said too much. Lily’s eyes widen, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Damn it. This is precisely what I’ve been trying to avoid. First, she’d seen me emotional coming out of my family home, and now she’s at my childhood rink.

Too.

Fucking.

CLOSE.

Carter!

She takes a step closer to me. “Carter, what’s going on? Why are you here alone in the middle of the night?”

“What, you think you can bat those pretty eyes at me and I’ll just spill all my deepest, darkest secrets?” I laugh bitterly. “Sorry, no dice.”

Lily’s expression softens, and for a moment, I see genuine concern in her eyes. It makes my chest ache in a way I would rather not examine too closely. “I’m not trying to trick you, Carter. Training this hard with a bottle of bourbon in your hand isn’t healthy, and it’s clear your coach and your teammates are worried about you.”

“Well, I didn’t ask for anyone’s concern,” I snarl. “Why don’t you go find your ‘source’ and leave me the hell alone?”

She crosses her arms, which only draws my attention to her chest. “You’re drunk,” she says flatly. “And even more of an asshole than usual.”

“How did you find me?” I say.

“I have my ways…” Lily sighs, taking a few steps closer to the ice. “When I saw you leave your parents’ house, with that look on your face, I figured it was best to let you go back to your hotel room and brood a bit. I was going to speak to you in the morning when you cooled down, but then?—

“Then you followed me?” I hiss, harsher than I’d intended, but not really regretting it.

“No,” she says. “Tank called me and asked if I knew where you were. Apparently, Coach Carson called a late-night meeting, and nobody could find you. You weren’t in the hotel or answering your calls, and given the severity of the look on your face, I was worried you might do something stupid.”

“Why come here, then?” I scoff. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“Because I figured if there was one place you might go instead of there, it would be the rink you practiced at every day of your life before you turned 18.” She smirks. “I’m a journalist…”

I have to admit, I’m impressed, even amidst my anger and hurt. She’d deduced that some way or another, even though I’d never told her and – to my knowledge – it had never been written anywhere. But finding that fact shows she can find others.

“Stay the hell away from me,” I growl, skating backward, recognizing the danger. “And my family.”

Lily’s expression softens. “Carter, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want to understand?—

“There’s nothing to understand!” I shout. “Here’s a story: Star player drinks alone in a shitty rink.”

I take another long pull from the bottle, relishing the burn. Anything to dull the panic rising in my chest. Lily is too close. Too perceptive. And looking at her in that dress, with genuine concern in those green eyes… it’s doing things to my head I can’t afford.

“Go home, Lily,” I say, my voice rough. “There’s nothing for you here. I’m not going to tell you shit. There’s no story.”

Lily’s eyes flicker to the nearly empty bottle. “I’m not here for a story, Carter. I came here to check if you were okay.”