Page 23 of Cross Ice

Nico studied me for a moment. “That sounds lonely.”

The observation caught me off guard. Not because it was wrong, but because it was exactly right. “It is what it is.”

“Well,” Nico said, his tone deliberately lighter. “If you ever want to borrow my family for a weekend, I’m sure my mom would adopt you immediately. She’s like that. Feeds everyone, asks a million questions, sends you home with leftovers you didn’t ask for.”

I smiled despite the heaviness of talking about my parents. “That sounds nice, actually.”

“It is.” He met my eyes. “You’d like her.”

The casual way he said it—like meeting his mother was something that might actually happen, like this thing between us might last long enough for that—made my stomach dance despite my reservations. I looked down before he could see too much on my face.

We lay there talking as the evening went quiet around us. Nico told me about growing up in San Diego, about learning to play hockey as a kid. He caught himself mid-sentence, something briefly shifting behind his eyes, and moved on quickly to something else.

I didn’t say anything, but I held onto it—the way he’d said hockey specifically, not sports the way he always did. The slip was small. The catch was deliberate. When I added it to events and Saturday nights, the picture that emerged wasn’t complete, but it was clearer than he’d intended it to be. Someone managing what they let through, and not quite managing it well enough.

I didn’t know yet what he was protecting, but I knew there was something to find.

It wasn’t until he was getting ready to leave around ten that he mentioned Saturday.

“I’m busy Saturday night and Sunday,” he said, pulling on his Henley. He paused and met my eyes. “But I meant what I said about Monday.”

“I know,” I said.

His smile was immediate and genuine.

He kissed me goodbye at the door, not sweet, but claiming. His hand slid into my hair, angling my head exactly where he wanted it, and he kissed me like he was staking something. When he pulled back, I was breathless. I watched through the peephole as he walked to the elevator, my lips still tingling.

After he left, I sat on my couch in my quiet apartment and tried to process what was happening.

This wasn’t a hookup anymore. I’d known it Thursday, when I’d said yes to Friday without thinking. I knew it more clearly now.

But I still didn’t know him. Not really. His first name. That he worked in sports, in some specific way he wouldn’t name. That he’d learned to play hockey as a kid and caught himself saying it. That he kept hours that didn’t add up and talked about his schedule the way someone talks around a thing they’ve decided not to share.

He was building a life around me with one hand. With the other, he was keeping a door closed.

I picked up my phone and texted Danny.

Evan

Are you free Saturday afternoon?

Danny

Yeah, why? You okay?

Evan

I need to talk.

CHAPTER FIVE

Evan

Saturday afternoon, Danny came over with lattes and determination written all over his face.

“Okay.” He settled onto my couch. “Talk.”

I wrapped my hands around my cup and tried to figure out where to start. “I’ve been hooking up with someone.”