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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

CARTER

I step onto the ice, the familiar chill seeping through my skates and into my bones. It’s a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head. The rink is my sanctuary, the only place where I can forget about everything else and just… be.

"Alright, boys! Passing drills!" Coach Carson’s voice booms across the arena, then follows up with detailed instructions for the drill.

I throw myself into the drill with ferocity. The puck slaps against my stick, a satisfying crack echoing through the air as I send it flying towards Tank. He corrals it easily, raising an eyebrow at the force behind my pass.

"Easy, Knox," he calls out. "Save some for the games, yeah?"

I ignore him, focusing instead on the next puck. And the next. And the next. It’s better than thinking about that night with Lily, the way her eyes had softened as I spilled my guts like some lovesick teenager, and the way her lips had…

"Knox!" Coach’s sharp bark snaps me back to reality. "Take five. You’re pushing too hard."

I skate over to him, jaw clenched. "I’m fine, Coach."

He studies me for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. "I said take five."

I growl, my temper flaring. "Just let me do my job."

We engage in a battle of wills for a few seconds, neither gaze wavering, but eventually I give in. I’m stubborn, and he’s an old and world champion hard ass, but he also knows the one way he can get to me and get his way, no matter what.

The threat of the bench.

With a nod, I skate toward the locker room entrance, but before I reach it, I see Frosty, our mascot, waving at me enthusiastically from the sidelines. He’s gesturing to a kid, maybe ten, looking at me with wide, awe-filled eyes.

"Hey, Knox!" Frosty calls out, his voice muffled by the giant foam head. "Got a fan here who’d love an autograph!"

I feel my shoulders tense, irritation prickling under my skin. Usually, I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t have time for this shit. Not today. Not when every second I’m not moving, not playing, leaves me alone with my thoughts.

"Not now," I snap.

"Come on, man," Frosty persists, his perpetual grin somehow managing to look pleading. "It’ll take two seconds. Kid’s been waiting all practice."

Something in me snaps. All the frustration, the confusion, the goddamn vulnerability I’d been trying to bury comes rushing to the surface. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve skated over to Frosty and taken a swing.

My fist connects with that stupid grinning face, the foam head flying off and revealing the shocked expression of the guy inside. He stumbles backward, nearly dragging the kid down with him.

"Jesus Christ, Knox!" Tank yells, skating over and grabbing my arm. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The rink falls silent, save for the sound of my heavy breathing. I look around, seeing the shocked faces of my teammates, the horrified expression of the kid who’d just wanted an autograph.

I pull my arm away from Tank aggressively and skate off, finding sanctuary in the locker room while my teammates deal with the fallout, finding gear for the kid and helping Frosty to his feet.

I slump onto a bench in the empty locker room, my head in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? Punching Frosty? The mascot ? In front of a kid?

I’m losing it.

A different door into the locker room swings open, the one that leads from the management offices, and I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Mark’s footsteps echo through the room, stopping right in front of me.

"What was that, Knox?" Mark’s voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the anger simmering beneath the surface.

I lift my head, meeting his steely gaze. "I screwed up."

"You’re damn right you did." Mark crosses his arms, his jaw clenched. "Our star player assaulting the mascot in front of a child? Do you have any idea how this looks? The PR nightmare this will be?"

I wince. "I’ll apologize?—

"You’ll do more than apologize," Mark cuts me off, his tone brooking no argument. "I’ve already called the children’s cancer ward at Omaha Medical Center, where the kid who witnessed your assault is currently getting treated for a rare form of childhood cancer. We’re hosting a fundraising ball to make amends, and you are the star of the show."

I feel my stomach drop. "Mark, come on, I’ll give the kid a signed jersey and buy Frosty a beer. I?—

"This isn’t up for debate," he says, holding up a hand to silence me. "And that’s not all."

The look in his eyes tells me I will not like what comes next.

"I invited that journalist, Lily Grant, to make the ball her the focus of her second story about the team."

My blood runs cold. "You did what?"

Mark’s eyes narrow. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed the tension between you two. Whatever’s going on, you need to get over it. You’re going to play nice, smile for the cameras, and give her the access she needs to write a glowing piece about our charitable efforts. And if you’re not the all-singing, all-dancing star of the show, we will have issues. Are we clear?"

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "I don’t have a choice, do I"

Mark shakes his head. "No."

A wave of dread rushes through me. The thought of being near Lily again, especially in such a public setting, fills me with apprehension. After that night at the rink, I’d been avoiding her like the plague. And now this?

"When?" I ask, my voice sounding strangled even to my ears.

"Two weeks from Saturday," Mark replies. "That should give us enough time to pull everything together and for you to get your head on straight."

I nod numbly, my mind already racing. Two weeks. Two weeks to prepare myself to face Lily again, to put on a show for the cameras and the donors, all while trying to keep my past buried.

"And Carter?" Mark’s voice softens. "I don’t know what’s been eating at you lately, but you need to get it together. This team needs you at your best, not punching mascots and snapping at reporters. Whatever’s going on, deal with it, or I’ll have to deal with you."

With that, he turns and leaves, the forceful slam of the door closing behind him with a finality that echoes through the empty locker room. It sends a final message that Mark is pissed.

I sit there for a long moment, my head in my hands. The anxiety that I’d been trying to keep at bay comes rushing back, threatening to overwhelm me. I’d already told Lily more than I wanted and, even though she’d promised to keep it off the record, I wasn’t sure I fully trusted her.

And now she has an entire night glued to me.

The thought makes my chest tighten, my breath coming in sharp gasps. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let her expose the truth about Sarah, about that night, about the cover-up. It would destroy everything I’d worked for, everything my family had sacrificed to protect.

But how the hell am I supposed to keep her at arm’s length when Mark is practically throwing us together?

The ping of my phone breaks my reverie. I dig it out of my locker and stare at my phone, the message from my Uncle Pete burning into my retinas:

"Carter, heads up. Someone’s poking around town, asking questions about Sarah. Journalist, I think. Your mom’s worried. Call her. And be careful."

My stomach twists into knots. Uncle Pete isn’t actually my uncle, just my dad’s old fishing buddy, and one of the few who knows the entire story. He’d always looked out for us, and if he’s reaching out like this, it means trouble.

I toss the phone into my locker and pace the locker room, running my hands through my hair. Damn it. This is exactly what I’d been afraid of. And I know exactly who’s behind it. One nosy reporter who has a knack for finding her way through the cracks in my armor and my story.

Lily Grant.

The memory of her eyes, soft and understanding in the dim light of the empty rink, flashes through my mind. For a moment, I’d let myself believe she was different. That maybe I could trust her. But the message from Uncle Pete proves what a joke that was.

She’s just like all the rest, digging for dirt, trying to uncover the skeletons in my closet. Well, she can try all she wants. I’ve spent years building these walls, and I’m not about to let some nosy reporter tear them down.

I grab my phone again, thumb hovering over Lily’s contact. Part of me wants to call her, to confront her about what she’s doing. But what good would that do? She’d only deny it, or use it as an opportunity to pry even further.

No, the best thing to do is shut her out completely. Keep my distance, give her nothing to work with. I’ll avoid her like the plague for the next two weeks, then play nice at this stupid charity ball, but that’s it. No more late-night conversations. No more moments of weakness.

And definitely no more kissing and wandering hands…

I close my eyes, thinking of that soft, tentative kiss. I can still feel the surprise I felt when our lips touched, the spark that ignited between us. The booze had lowered our inhibitions and then… then things got out of hand.

I feel my body respond to the memory, my traitorous dick twitching at the thought of her full lips and the taste of her mouth. My skin prickles, as I recall the feel of her breasts pressed against me, the softness of her skin.

I’d wanted to touch her, to explore every inch of her. My hand had started up her leg as her hands explored my chest. Up and inside her dress, brushing her lacy panties, testing her boundaries, getting closer and closer to her core…

Carter , I yell inside my head. Get it together.

My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from Lily:

"Hey, Carter. I was hoping we could talk about the ball. Coffee?"

I feel my jaw clench, anger churning in my gut. I don’t want to see her for the next few weeks before the ball, and I definitely don’t want to have a damn coffee with her. I type out a response, each word feeling like another brick in the wall around my heart:

"Can’t. Busy. See you at the event."

Short. Cold. Impersonal.

A bucket of ice water over all my emotions.

Just the way it needs to be.

I hit send, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest. It doesn’t matter what I feel, or what I thought I’d seen in Lily’s eyes that night. She’s a threat, plain and simple. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her from digging up the past.

As I grab my gear bag and head for the door, I push thoughts of Lily’s prying and Uncle Pete’s warning to the back of my mind. I have two weeks to get my head on straight and shore up my defenses so nobody can break through.

Not even her.