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

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

LILY

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Knox looks like a wounded animal, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. But beneath the anger, I see something else – pain, raw and visceral. And suddenly, I feel terrible for doing so much to undermine him: talking to his teammates and to Isla, and following him home.

"Carter," I say softly, taking a cautious step toward the ice. "What if we just… talk? No recorder, no notebook, no laptop. Just you and me."

He barks out a harsh laugh. "Right. And I’m supposed to believe you won’t use every word against me?"

I hold up my hands, palms out. "Off the record. I’m not here as a journalist right now. I’m here as… someone who’s worried about you."

Knox’s eyes narrow, searching my face, boring deep for any sign of deception. The silence stretches between us, thick with tension. Finally, he sighs, then speaks. "Fine," he says. "But only if you skate with me."

I blink, surprised. "What?"

He gestures to the empty rink with the bottle. "We do it on the ice."

For a moment, I hesitate. This is a terrible idea. I’m in a cocktail dress, and I haven’t skated since college, for crying out loud. But the look in Knox’s eyes – a mix of a challenge and a cry for help – makes my decision for me.

"Alright," I say, kicking off my shoes. "But I warn you, it has been a long time since I skated."

A ghost of a smile flickers across Knox’s face as he skates to the boards, grabbing a pair of rental skates. As he moves, even while on his way to being blind drunk, it’s impossible not to notice his grace. His power.

His magnetism.

He returns with the skates, and as I sit, putting them on, I’m sure I give him a glimpse of my underwear – if you could really call that tiny, lacy thing underwear – without meaning to. Even the thought of it makes me flush beet red.

Nice one, super-confident-sexy-Lil , my mind mocks me. Smooth as ice!

I hit the ice, grateful for the support of the wall as I find my balance, looking like a giraffe on skates compared to Carter – even drunk Carter. I’d played hockey as a kid, and skated a little during college, but it had been a long time. And as we move, the scrape of our skates echoes in the cavernous space.

It feels oddly intimate, like we’re the only two people left in the world. Knox offers me the bottle, and I take it without thinking. The whiskey burns going down, and I cough hard, but it helps chase away the chill that had settled in my bones.

"So," I say, handing the bottle back. "You want to tell me what’s really going on?"

I struggle to keep up with Knox as he glides effortlessly across the ice. The silence between us stretches on, broken only by the scrape of our blades and the occasional swig from the whiskey bottle. I start to wonder if he’ll talk at all, or if it had all just been an elaborate ruse to laugh at my skating abilities.

Finally, Knox speaks, his voice low and rough. "You want to know what’s going on? Fine. I’m drowning, Lily."

I hold my breath, afraid to interrupt and break the spell. I know I’d told him this was off the record, but even if I can’t use a word of it, I’m aching to find out his secrets. Knox continues, his words coming faster now, like a dam breaking.

"Everyone’s always expecting me to be a hockey god. The savior, the franchise player. From the age of six until now, I’ve been the avatar of everyone else’s dreams and hopes. Do you know what that’s like?"

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

His eyes are intense as he goes on. "And then you show up, with your questions and your notebook, digging into every corner of my life. It’s like I can’t breathe anymore. Can’t think. Can’t…"

"Carter, I?—

He cuts me off with a sharp gesture. "And now you’re following me to my parent’s home? My childhood rink? What the hell, Lily? That’s crossing a massive line."

Guilt gnaws at my insides. He’s right, of course. I’d gone too far, slipping an Apple Air Tag into his bag, then following him. I feel ashamed, but I’d been desperate for a story. But before I can apologize, Knox continues, his voice softer now.

"You don’t know what it’s like, carrying this… this weight. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Sarah’s face."

My heart clenches at the raw pain in his voice. I want to reach out, to comfort him somehow, but I hold back. "Your sister?" I ask gently.

Knox nods, his eyes far away, as if he’d forgotten he doesn’t want to tell me anything. "She was… God, she was everything. And now she’s gone."

I bite my lip, torn between my journalistic instincts screaming for more details and my growing concern for the man in front of me. I know his sister is dead. It had come up in my research about him, something about an accident involving her father, who’d since gone to jail.

The details were sketchy, and I’d planned to find out more, but his hostility about family-related questions had put it on the back burner. But now, I wonder if there’s more there. More that led to the emotional mess I’d seen exiting his family home, who is now skating with me on the ice.

And I suddenly connect it to what Tank had said, about Knox’s shift from being a carefree young kid to the intense ball of aggression he is now. The timing would line up, because his sister had died a few months before the draft.

I swallow hard, guilt and something else – something warmer – swirling in my chest. "I’m sorry," I whisper. "I never meant to?—

"To what?" Knox challenges, his voice bitter. "To dig up all the shit I’ve been trying to bury? To make me relive every mistake?"

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "To hurt you," I say softly. "That was never my intention, Carter."

He laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the empty rink. "Well, intentions don’t mean shit. Nor do regrets. I’m the king of those."

We skate in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging between us. I struggle to find the right thing to say, to balance my role as a journalist with the unexpected care I feel for this broken man, who is so put together on the ice, and seems to be an utter mess off it.

I find myself caught between conflicting desires.

Part of me – the ambitious journalist – wants to memorize every word, to craft the perfect exposé. But another part, growing stronger by the minute, just wants to listen, to understand, to help if I can, or to just be there for him if I can’t.

I push my professional instincts aside, focusing instead on the man in front of me. For now, at least, I will be what Knox needs – a sympathetic ear, a friend. The rest… well, I’ll figure that out later, looming deadline or not.

We stop skating for a minute and face each other. The dim lights of the empty arena cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the pain etched into every line.

"I can’t believe I’m telling you all this," Knox says, shaking his head. "I haven’t talked about Sarah with anyone in… God, I don’t even know how long."

I bite my lip, fighting my desire to comfort him. "Sometimes it’s easier to open up to a stranger," I say.

Knox’s eyes meet mine. "You’re not exactly a stranger anymore, are you, Lily?"

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the chill of the rink. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest.

"I guess not," I admit, feeling flushed. "Though I’m pretty sure you still hate my guts."

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Hate’s a strong word. Let’s go with… annoyed."

I can’t help but laugh, the tension between us easing slightly. "I’ll take it."

We lapse into silence again, skating slowly around the rink, but this time it feels different. Comfortable, almost. Knox’s gaze drifts to the empty stands, lost in thought.

"You know," he says after a moment, his voice low, "I used to love this place. Now…"

"Now it’s full of ghosts?" I supply gently.

Knox’s eyes snap back to mine, widening slightly. "Yeah," he breathes. "Exactly."

Something shifts at that moment. The walls he’d so carefully constructed crumble, and I glimpse beneath the tough exterior – vulnerable, haunted, and achingly human.

"I’m sorry," I say. "For pushing so hard. For following you here."

"It’s okay," he says. "You’re probably under pressure yourself…"

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Yeah, I am. This assignment… it’s my big break, you know? I’ve been stuck covering minor league baseball and high school wrestling for years. When my editor gave me this opportunity, I thought I’d finally made it."

Knox raises an eyebrow. "And now?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "Now? I’m terrified I’m going to blow it." The words tumble out of me, fueled by exhaustion and the surreal intimacy of the moment, laced with the fear of failure. "That first story? It was fine. Good, even. But now…"

I skate in a slow circle as I try to gather my thoughts. Knox trails me, at a close but respectful distance, his eyes never leaving me. It’s clear he’s going to stay silent until I keep speaking, like I’d done to him a moment ago.

"Now I’m screwed," I admit, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "My deadline for the second piece is coming up fast, and I’ve got nothing. I mean, what am I supposed to write? ‘Local hockey star continues to play well but otherwise be an enigma’?"

Knox snorts, but there’s no real heat behind it. "Sounds riveting."

"Right?" I shake my head. "God, I can just see my editor’s face now. ‘Sorry, Lily, but you should stick to covering little league soccer’ or maybe just an outright ‘you’re fired’ – but either way, not the result I was hoping for."

Knox is quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Probably my fault," he says gruffly. "Look, I get it, okay? The pressure to perform, to live up to everyone’s expectations… But you can’t let it paralyze you. You’ve got to push through it, or it’ll eat you alive."

"How?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

"Hell if I know. I’m still figuring it out myself," he says, his voice low and husky, "You know, you’re not at all what I expected, Lily Grant."

My heart hammers in my chest. "Oh?" I breathe, suddenly feeling like something has changed between us, but unable to identify what exactly. "And what did you expect?"

He shrugs, a ghost of his usual smirk playing at his lips. "Some ruthless shark of a reporter, I guess. And you had me fooled for a moment, with the brash attitude, the confidence as you worked my teammates, the gall to follow me everywhere, the sexy outfits… but…"

"But what?" I press, suddenly desperate to know.

"But you give a damn." Knox’s gaze intensifies, pinning me in place. "And you’re as driven as I am, but also loaded down with as much self-doubt."

"Well, you’re not exactly what I had in mind, either," I say, breathlessly. "Killer bod. Good at hockey. A bit of an asshole. But…"

"But what?" He smirks, repeating my words back at me.

"But… well… every time you look me in the eyes, I feel like you’re boring into me. And every time you look me up and down, I feel…"

The air between us is thick with tension. We’ve drifted closer without realizing it, close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and feel his heat as much as I can feel the chill of the ice beneath my feet.

I lean in, just an inch, drawn by some invisible force, my heart pounding in my chest. Knox’s eyes flicker to my lips, and before I can process exactly what’s happening, he closes the last of the distance between us.

And, at that moment, he’s no longer ‘Knox’, my subject.

He’s ‘Carter’, my… who the hell knows?

His lips crash into mine, hot and urgent. I freeze for a split second, but then instinct takes over, and I kiss him back with equal fervor. The world falls away. There’s nothing but the press of Carter’s mouth against mine, the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

A small, desperate sound escapes me as I grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, like a drowning woman holding on to a life raft, wanting to keep a grip as I pass through the fury of the storm and find its eye.

He pulls back for a second, eyes locked onto mine, searching them, asking a million questions in one glance. When my eyes give him the answer he clearly wants, we both want, he claims my mouth again with the same ferocity he plays with on the ice.

As we engulf each other, one of his hands curls around the back of my neck, the other sliding down my spine to rest at the curve of my ass. Electricity zings through me, pooling in places I’d tried to ignore for weeks now.

I snake my arms around his neck, my fingers combing through his hair, and press my chest against his. His scent – clean laundry, male sweat, and a hint of the whiskey we’d shared – fills my lungs, fueling my lust.

His tongue dances with mine, teasing and tempting. Slowly, my fingers trace the hard planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm, then I slide my hands down his lean, sculpted abdomen.

We break apart for air, both gasping. But Carter doesn’t stop. His lips blaze a path along my jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. I shiver, tilting my head to give him better access. It’s like he knows exactly how to navigate my body, like he does defenders on his way to goal.

"Carter," I breathe, barely recognizing my voice.

He growls in response, the sound sending a jolt of electricity straight through me. I gasp as his hand slips under the hem of my shirt, calloused fingers finding my panties, threatening to expose me like I had him.

I moan, my hips rocking forward instinctively. The movement seems to snap us both back to reality. Carter jerks away as if he’d been burned, his eyes wide with shock. We stare at each other, chests heaving.

"What’s wrong?" I say, the sudden absence of his touch leaving me cold.

"Shit," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I shouldn’t have?—

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. My mind is reeling, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Desire still courses through my veins, my body aching for his touch. But confusion quickly follows.

What the hell had just happened?

How had we gone from baring our souls to… this?

I search Carter’s face, hoping to find some answers there. But his expression has already closed off, that familiar mask of indifference sliding back into place. His walls are back up, and I’m back on the outside, no matter what we’d just shared.

"Carter," I try again, my voice shaky. "I?—

"Forget it," he cuts me off, his tone brusque. "This was a mistake."

Before I can react, he’s already skating away, leaving me alone on the ice. I watch helplessly as he disappears into the locker room, the sound of the door slamming echoing through the empty arena. I stand there, frozen in place, my lips still tingling from his kiss.

What the hell was that?