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

Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

LILY

S urrounded by a sea of half-packed boxes, each one a stark reminder of how quickly my life has unraveled, the apartment I’d once loved now feels like a prison, closing in on me with every passing moment.

So many moments.

Weeks without him.

Without Carter.

At my desk, my fingers hover over the keyboard as I scroll through yet another job listing. Copy editor for a local gardening magazine. I snort, the sound hollow in the quiet room. From rising star sports journalist to articles about petunias.

"Lily?" Jess’s voice calls through the door, followed by a soft knock. "I know you’re in there. Come on, let me in."

I remain silent, willing her to go away, to understand that I don’t want to talk to anyone about anything right now. After a few moments, I hear her sigh and retreat down the hallway, even Jess’ legendary reserves of humor and pep destroyed by the black hole of my mood.

My gaze falls on a stack of framed photos I’d pulled from the walls. On top is a picture of my college graduation. I pick it up, my chest tightening as I look at my younger self. So full of hope and ambition – and so na?ve.

"Look where that got you," I mutter, turning the frame face-down and dropping it into a nearby box with a dull thud.

The silence in the apartment is deafening, broken only by the occasional ping of my phone. Each message, each missed call, feels like an accusation. A reminder of the people I’m pushing away, the life I’m leaving behind.

But what choice do I have? Frank’s threat looms over me like a dark cloud. If I stay, if I fight, it will only make things worse for Carter. And I can’t bear the thought of causing him any more pain, which means I have to keep my distance from him and go.

To be here, in Omaha, knowing he’s so close but completely untouchable, would kill me. I need to get to the other side of the country, get a job elsewhere and head in any direction. It doesn’t matter what, or where, all that matters is not here .

I glance at my laptop screen, the cursor blinking mockingly at me from an empty Word document. I’d thought about writing, about pouring my heart out onto the page. But the words won’t come. They’re stuck somewhere in my chest, tangled up with all the things I can’t say, can’t feel, because to do so would rip apart the person I’ve cared for most in my whole life.

My fingers itch to dial Carter’s number, to hear his voice just one more time. But I know if I do, my resolve will crumble. And then he and the rest of the team would end up destroyed by Frank’s vendetta, when they’d only been trying to help Carter and me.

No, this is better.

Lonely, painful, but better.

This way, Carter can salvage his career, his reputation.

Even if it means sacrificing my happiness in the process.

CARTER

I slump onto the bench in front of my locker, my muscles aching from the beating I’ve just taken on the ice. The locker room is eerily quiet, like a convention of corpses inside a morgue, a stark contrast to the chaos waiting for me outside.

I can hear the muffled voices of reporters clamoring for a statement, hungry for more details about the shitstorm my life has become. Screw them, they can wait, although the league has told me I can’t ignore them entirely.

I’ve played like absolute shit tonight. Missed passes, sloppy defense, couldn’t find the back of the net to save my life. Coach had benched me for the third period, and I can’t even blame him. I’m a liability out there at the moment.

My eyes drift to the mirror inside my locker door. The face staring back at me is a stranger – hollow-eyed, unshaven, with a nasty bruise blooming along my jaw from a vicious check. My whole body aches, but so does my heart, and that’s far worse.

Everything has gone to hell so fast.

The story about Sarah’s death and the cover-up has exploded, dragging my family’s darkest secret into the harsh light of day. It’s been front page news for a week now, Frank and his journalists drip feeding a small amount of detail every day, keeping the eyeballs and the clicks and the ad revenue coming.

The police are sniffing around, asking questions about my involvement, my father’s role in taking the fall. They haven’t charged me with anything yet, but I figure they might, as if reliving that night isn’t torture enough.

And then there’s my mom. The stress of it all has been too much, and she’d collapsed at home last week. A minor heart attack, the doctors said, but it feels like a knife to my gut. She’s another person I’ve failed to protect.

But the worst part, the thing that keeps me up at night staring at the ceiling, is Lily. Not because of what the story has done to her, but because of what she’s done since the story. Nothing. She’s just… vanished. One text message, and then radio silence. I’ve called. No answer. I’ve visited, and Jess had told me she was gone.

No contact.

No explanation.

Nothing.

After everything we’d shared – mind, body and spirit – and after I’d finally let someone in, she’s walked away without a backward glance the minute it got hard. All that talk about doing it together, all the shared moments, for nothing.

I feel like such an idiot.

I’d believed we could face this together. But in the end, I should have known better. Being alone had kept me safe for years, and straying from that has ruined my life. My fist connects with the locker door. The sharp pain is almost a relief, something tangible to focus on besides the ache in my chest.

"Idiot!" I growl, cradling my hand against my chest. Stupid move. The last thing I need is an injury on top of everything else.

I grab my phone, scrolling through the endless notifications. Missed calls from my agent, another voicemail from the detective handling the case. I ignore them all, my thumb hovering over Lily’s name in my contacts.

I should delete it. Erase every trace of her from my life, like she’s so easily done to me. But I can’t do it. Pathetic as it is, some small part of me still hopes she’ll reach out, explain why she left, tell me it has all been a mistake.

"Get it together, Knox," I mutter, shoving the phone back into my bag.

I can’t keep doing this to myself. I have to focus on salvaging what’s left of my career, on keeping myself out of prison, on being there for my family. I can’t let myself be dragged down by thoughts of what might have been.

But as I finally stand to face the media circus waiting outside, I can’t shake the image of Lily’s smile, the warmth of her touch, and the memory of how it felt to finally let someone see me, the real me, and love me for it.

At least for a minute.

LILY

I stare at the ceiling, sprawled across my bed in a tangle of unwashed sheets. The setting sun casts long shadows across my room, matching my mood perfectly. I’ve been holed up in here for days, ignoring Jess’s attempts to coax me out.

A soft knock on the door breaks the silence. "Lil? You alive in there?"

I sigh, debating whether to answer. But the concern in Jess’s voice tugs at me. She’s my oldest friend, always there for me, and vice versa. No matter what’s going on, it’s a dick move to hide from her forever. Especially when I’ve decided to move away.

"Come in," I finally croak, my voice rusty from disuse.

The door creaks open, and Jess pokes her head in. "When’s the last time you opened a window?"

I shrug, not bothering to move as she crosses the room and throws open the curtains and then the window. Fresh air rushes in, carrying the scent of rain, which is a suitable match for my mood, although some thunder and lightning wouldn’t go astray.

"Alright, spill," Jess says, perching on the edge of my bed. "What’s going on with you?"

The floodgates open. Everything I’ve been bottling up comes pouring out – my frustration at Frank’s manipulation, the fear of causing more damage to Carter’s life, the crushing weight of feeling powerless and alone.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," I say, my voice cracking. "Keeping my distance to protect him. But it feels like I’m suffocating."

Jess listens, her brow furrowed with concern. When I finally fall silent, she asks the question I’ve been dreading. "Have you talked to Carter about it?"

"No," I whisper. "I can’t. Frank threatened to make it look like Carter and the rest of the team were involved in some criminal conspiracy to blackmail him and cover up the story."

"But Lil," she says softly, trying to soothe me. "Carter deserves to know why you disappeared. He must be going through hell…."

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back tears. "I know. But what if reaching out makes things worse? What if Frank follows through on his threat?"

"What if he doesn’t? What if you’re both suffering for nothing?" Jess counters. "And, even if Frank does drop another bomb, doesn’t Carter have the right to choose?"

I have no answer for that.

Jess gives my hand a squeeze before standing up. "Just… think about it, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone."

After she leaves, I reach for my phone. Carter’s name sits at the top of my contacts, his goofy profile picture – taken during a rare moment of lightness – staring back at me. My thumb hovers over the call button.

One touch. That’s all it would take to hear his voice again. But Frank’s threat echoes in my mind, along with the memory of Carter’s face the last time I’d seen him – so hopeful, so trusting. I can’t bear the thought of causing him more pain.

With a shaky breath, I set the phone back down.