Page 141 of Cross Ice

“Tell me about the call with Wesley,” I said. “What did he say?”

“Practical stuff. Cameras, social media, how to keep my professional identity separate from all of this.” He paused. “I have a list. I’ve already started working through it.”

“Sounds like a helpful phone call.”

“He also suggested I talk to Rachel. Your PR manager.” He met my gaze. “He thinks she might be able to help keep the hockey coverage separate from my personal life.”

I nodded slowly. “I can make that introduction. If you want.”

“I do.” He paused. “But you can’t fix this for me, Nico,” he said. “I have to do the work myself.”

That landed hard.

“I’ve been trying to fix it,” I said sheepishly. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know how to not do that. I see you struggling and I want to…” I gestured vaguely. “Do something. Make it better.”

“I know. But sometimes I don’t need you to make it better. I just need you to be there while I figure it out.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m not good at that yet. But I’m trying.”

“I know you are.”

We sat on the couch in a comfortable silence that had been missing for weeks. His shoulder pressed against mine. His hand found mine without looking.

This… this still worked.

“What about you?” Evan asked. “Did you figure anything out this week?”

“Yeah.” I turned to face him. “I figured out I’ve been resenting you. For the team stuff I skipped, the way I was playing, the suspension. I made bad choices and then blamed you for how they turned out, and that wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“So, what do you need from me?” he asked. “To make this work.”

“I need to go to team stuff,” I said. “Beer nights, dinners, optional skates. Not every one, but most of them. Without feeling guilty about it.”

“Okay.”

“And I need you to actually tell me when you’re struggling. Not just say you’re fine. Because when you say you’re fine and you’re not, I try to fix things you haven’t asked me to fix.”

“That’s fair.”

“And I need to know that you can handle this. Not perfectly. Not without hard days. But that you actually want this life, not just me.”

“I can do that.” He paused. “That’s what today was. Showing up at the game. Being visible. Choosing this.”

“Yeah. It was.”

I kissed him, pulling him closer, and he came easily. His fingers threaded through my hair, and the tension I’d been carrying for weeks finally eased. Not desperate or trying to fix anything. Not weighted with fear or uncertainty. Just us—present, connected, choosing each other without all the noise. The way it used to feel.

He pulled back. Took a breath.

“And I deleted the social media apps. Closed the browser tabs. I’m not reading comments anymore.” He paused. “Danny’s monitoring for me. If there’s something I actually need to know about—a specific threat, something spreading that needs to be addressed—he’ll tell me. Everything else, I don’t see.”

I looked at him. “How does that feel?”