Page 110 of Cross Ice

“Evan—”

“I said I’ll think about it.”

After we hung up, I sat on my couch and stared at the wall. He was right. I knew he was right. I couldn’t stay inside forever. Eventually I’d have to leave, have to be visible, have to exist in the world as Evan Beckett instead of just a name attached to viral photographs.

Eventually.

But not today.

I sat down at my desk to check my email and immediately regretted it.

I’d received a Google Alert I’d set up days ago for any mention of my name online—one more system in the monitoring infrastructure I’d been building since the photos dropped, alongside the browser tabs I couldn’t stop checking. I’d told myself I’d turn it off eventually, that monitoring every article was making things worse.

I hadn’t turned it off.

I clicked it.

It was a blog post. One of those “celebrity gossip” sites that pretended to be journalism. The headline made my stomach drop.

Inside Evan Beckett’s Life: Where to Spot Nicolás Briggs’s Boyfriend

I read it without moving, my sparkling water untouched beside me.

The blog featured photos pulled from friends’ old social media posts. Photos I’d been in the background of, photos I hadn’t known existed, photos from barbecues and birthday dinners that had never been meant for anyone outside those rooms. Someone had gone through every tagged connection I had and scraped anything with my face in it.

But worse than the photos was the text.

Beckett, 32, lives in an upscale apartment building in Milpitas, just north of San Jose. The modern high-rise offers views of the foothills and is popular with young professionals and tech workers. He’s frequently spotted at a coffee shop on Calaveras Boulevard, where staff say he orders a caramel latte. Mornings around eight seem to be his preferred coffee time…

They’d documented my routine, where I lived… The building was visible in the background of one photo. The address wasn’t listed but was obvious if you knew the area.

My hands started shaking.

Beckett runs his consulting business from home and is often seen working from the corner table at Café Beans, laptop open, earbuds in. According to neighbors, he keeps a low profile and is rarely seen at evening social events in the building…

According to neighbors.

Someone I lived near had talked to them. Given them information about my habits, my schedule, my life.

I left my desk and went to the window. Pulled back the blinds just enough to look outside.

The street looked normal. A couple walking a dog. A jogger passing by. A car pulling out of the garage across the street.

But now every person on the sidewalk felt like a potential threat. Every pedestrian could have a camera. Every neighbor who nodded to me in the hallway might have been the one who’d talked.

I let the blinds fall back into place and stepped back.

My phone chimed. A text from Nico.

Nico

Morning. How are you doing?

I looked at the message, then at my laptop still open on my desk, the blog post still visible on the screen.

Evan

Okay. Just working.