Page 34 of Cross Ice

He looked at it for a moment.

Then he placed his hand in mine.

“I’m willing to try,” he said. “If you’re willing to be honest.”

“I am.” I closed my fingers around his. “I have been, since Washington. I just got home too slowly.”

He almost smiled at that. Not quite, but almost.

We sat there for a while without talking, his hand in mine, the afternoon light moving across the room. Eventually he shifted and looked up at me.

“Nicolás,” he said, trying it out.

“Still Nico. You know my last name now,” I said. “I still don’t know yours.”

He looked at me for a moment. Something flickered across his face, quick enough that I almost missed it.

“Beckett,” he said. “Evan Beckett.”

“Evan Beckett.” I pressed a kiss to his hand. “Marketing consultant. Face on zero buses.”

“My favorite distinction,” he said dryly.

We ordered dinner—Chinese, from the place down the street, because neither of us wanted to go out and neither of us wanted to cook. We ate on the couch with the containers between us and the TV on low, and talked about smaller things: his week, what he’d been working on, a book he’d started. Normal conversation, the kind we’d been having for weeks, except that this time nothing underneath it was hidden. It felt different. Lighter.

He fell asleep against my shoulder somewhere around ten. I stayed until his breathing evened out, then eased out from under him, pulled the blanket over him, and let myself out.

I walked to the elevator and stood there, waiting. When the doors opened, I stepped inside and turned to face the hallway—the long corridor, his door, closed and quiet.

I’m willing to try, if you’re willing to be honest.

Not yes. Not I’m in. But he hadn’t said no, and his hand in mine had been steady and sure.

I pressed the lobby button. It was enough. I’d make it enough.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Evan

I woke up at 2:17 a.m. to an empty couch and a blanket tucked around me.

Nico had covered me before he left. That detail sat in my chest while I oriented myself in the dark—the TV off, the apartment quiet, the blanket pulled up to my shoulders. He could have woken me. Could have made sure I knew that he’d taken care of me. Instead, he’d tucked the blanket around me and let himself out. Ryan had never done anything without claiming credit.

I lay there for a few minutes, staring into the dark, waiting to fall back asleep.

That wasn’t going to happen.

I got up, retrieved my MacBook from the office, and settled on the couch with it. I didn’t turn on a lamp. The screen light was enough. I sat there for a moment with the laptop open and the cursor blinking in the search bar.

Then I typed: Nicolás Briggs San Jose Lasers.

The results loaded instantly. Of course they did. There were hundreds of them.

I started with the Wikipedia page.

Nicolás Alejandro Briggs is an American professional ice hockey player and left winger for the San Jose Lasers of the National Hockey League. He is widely regarded as one of the premier power forwards of his generation.

One of the premier power forwards of his generation.