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

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

LILY

T he prestigious logo of the New York Times stares back at me as I sit at my kitchen table, staring at the email on my laptop screen. It is an offer that should have me jumping for joy. It offers a fresh start and a chance to rebuild my career far away from the mess in Omaha.

My finger hovers over "Accept", but I can’t bring myself to click it.

"This is what you wanted," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my unwashed hair. "A real shot at the big leagues."

But even as I say the words, I know they aren’t entirely true.

What I also want is Carter.

I minimize the email and pull up a local news site. Carter’s face stares back at me from the top story, looking haggard and worn. The headline screams about possible criminal charges, his career hanging in the balance.

My chest tightens as I scan the article. The press has crucified him today, like they have every day for the past week and a half, his every move dissected and analyzed. His mother has been hospitalized – a minor heart attack, they say, brought on by the stress.

And now the police are circling, still undecided on whether to press charges for his role in the cover-up. Although opinions vary about whether he could end up in jail for being at the wheel so many years ago, if nothing else it’s trouble Carter doesn’t need.

I ache to go to him, to offer whatever support I can. But Frank’s threat still looms large in my mind. If I show up now, it might only make things worse. Cursing, I close the laptop with more force than necessary, stand up, and pace the small kitchen.

The boxes scattered around the apartment seem to mock me, a physical representation of my indecision. Stay or go? Get in touch with Carter or continue to hide from him to keep him safe? Risk everything or fold my hand?

My eyes land on the framed photo I’d pulled out of a box earlier. It’s from my college graduation, my arm slung around Jess’s shoulders as we both grin at the camera. We look so young, so full of hope and ambition.

I pick up the frame, running my thumb over the glass. That girl in the photo wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have charged headfirst into the fray, consequences be damned. But that girl hadn’t seen her dreams crumble around her, or watched someone she cared about get torn apart in the press.

I set the photo down with a sigh, turning back to the laptop. The job offer still waits, promising a clean slate and a chance to start over without the baggage of the past few months, and at the most prestigious paper in the world, to boot.

But as I reach for the mouse, Carter’s face flashes through my mind again. The warmth in his eyes when he’d finally opened up to me. The way he’d held me that last night, like I was something precious. My hand freezes, caught between two impossible choices.

"Fuck it," I say.

I grab my coat and head out the door, desperate for some fresh air to clear my head. The crisp evening breeze nips at my cheeks as I wander through the streets of Omaha, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

My career aspirations…

The job offer…

Carter’s face…

His touch…

His… everything…

Frank’s threat.

They all swirl together in a dizzying mix that leaves me feeling lost and overwhelmed. It’s been the same for days, my boxes packed, but my mind and heart not yet ready to move on.

Before I know it, I find myself standing in front of Baxter Arena. The familiar roar of the crowd inside tugs at something deep in my chest, awakening a longing I can’t quite explain.

Without really thinking about it, I buy a ticket and slip inside, drawn by an invisible force I can’t resist. As I enter the arena, the electric atmosphere washes over me.

And, for a moment, I feel a sense of belonging I haven’t in weeks.

The game is already underway as I find a seat high in the stands. My eyes immediately seek Carter on the ice, and my breath catches in my throat. Even from this distance, I can see something is off.

Carter’s usual fluid grace is gone, replaced by jerky, unfocused movements. He fumbles a pass, then barely keeps his feet during a routine check. It’s like watching an entirely different player.

"What the hell is Knox doing out there?" a fan behind me grumbles. "Looks like he forgot how to skate."

"Well, he killed his sister, so maybe she’s haunting him from the grave," another fan says, laughing. "Hope they trade him before the cops lock him up."

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to turn around and defend him. They do not know what he’s going through, the pressure he’s under. But then again, neither do I. Not anymore. I’ve cut myself out of his life, thinking it was for the best.

Abandoned him.

As the first period drags on, Carter’s performance only gets worse. He misses an easy shot on goal, then takes a stupid penalty that leaves the team shorthanded for two minutes. When he returns to the ice, his frustration is palpable.

As he keeps trying too hard, forcing plays that aren’t there and only making things worse, I watch Coach Carson’s face grow increasingly thunderous on the bench. Finally, after another botched play, he’s had enough.

Even from my perch in the nosebleeds, I can see the defeat in Carter’s posture as he skates to the bench. Coach Carson lays into him, his words lost in the din of the arena, but his furious gestures speaking volumes. Carter nods mechanically, his eyes fixed on the ice.

And then he’s benched.

Carter slumps onto the bench, ripping off his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He looks… broken. My heart aches, and I want nothing more than to go down there, to tell him it will be okay, that we’ll figure this out together.

But I can’t.

How would he even react if I did?

"Hi, Carter," I whisper to myself, mocking myself. "I left you hanging for weeks on end, knowing you had issues with trust. But I’m back now, cool?"

I scoff in disgust with myself.

By staying away, I’ve made my choice, like it or not.

As the second period starts, Carter remains on the bench, hunched over, while his teammates battle it out on the ice. Every few minutes, his gaze drifts up to the press box, and I wonder if he’s looking for me.

This isn’t the confident, sometimes infuriating, but altogether wonderful man I’d come to know and love. This is someone lost, drowning under the weight of his past and the relentless media scrutiny, in a far worse state than ever before.

And I’ve left him to face it alone.

Watching Carter now, seeing the toll this whole mess has taken on him, I realize how badly I’ve failed. Not as a journalist, but as someone who cares about him. Suddenly, I wish I could somehow let him know he isn’t alone.

The realization hits me like a punch. I’ve been so caught up in my fears, in Frank’s threats, that I’ve abandoned the one person who’d truly opened up to me. The one person who’d trusted me enough to share his darkest secrets and who’d told me we’d face the entire world together.

I pull out my phone, staring at the unanswered email about the job offer. It promises stability, opportunity, and a fresh start away from all this drama. But as I look back at Carter, I know I can’t do it. I can’t walk away.

Not when there’s still a story to tell – the real story.

My fingers fly across the screen as I type out a quick response: "Thank you for the opportunity, but I must respectfully decline."

As soon as I hit send, a weight lifts off my shoulders. I’ve made my choice, and for the first time in weeks, it feels right. Frank’s threat still looms large, but I’m done letting fear dictate my actions. I’m a journalist and I love Carter Knox...

And it’s time I start acting like it.

I stand up and head for the aisle. My mind is already racing, piecing together the narrative I need to tell. Not the salacious expose Frank wanted, but the truth – the whole, messy, complicated truth about Carter Knox.

As I hurry out of the arena, my phone buzzes with a text from Jess:

"Have you made your decision?"

I smile, feeling a spark of my old determination returning. I type back:

"Yep. I’m staying. And I’m going to do my job. The right way."

I have no idea how Carter will react when I drop the story on him, on the world, but it’s time to take back the power from Frank and everyone else who’s tried to hurt Carter and keep him from me. I know it might backfire, hurt him more than ever, and end us once and for all.

But I have to try.

The story of Lily Grant and Carter Knox isn’t over yet, and this time, I’m going to try my hardest to make sure I get it right. And if I screw it up, I’ll do it running to him, not running from danger, and God help anyone who stands in my way.