Page 62 of Cross Ice

“Of course.”

We threw away our half-eaten yogurt and walked back to my apartment. The whole way I kept my head slightly down, aware of every phone in every hand we passed. I hadn’t done that since LA.

Back in my apartment, I paced the living room while Nico watched from the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have thought about that before suggesting we go out.”

“It’s not your fault.” I stopped pacing. “I’ve been here before. I know how it starts. And standing there holding that phone, all I could think was… what if someone recognized me? As Evan Hunter.”

Nico went still. “Ryan’s Evan.”

“Ryan’s Evan,” I confirmed. “If someone makes that connection—if anyone who covered that story sees a photo of me with you—it’s not going to raise questions about who I am. It’s going to raise questions about who you are.”

Nico didn’t say anything for a moment. Neither did I. We both knew what it meant.

“That’s a real risk,” Nico said. Not minimizing it. Just naming it.

“I know.”

He crossed to me. “I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. But Evan… we knew this was complicated. That hasn’t changed what I want.”

“I know.” I let him pull me in. “I’m just scared.”

“I know you are.” His arms tightened. “So am I, sometimes.”

That surprised me enough that I pulled back to look at him. He met my eyes steadily, not taking it back.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve known that was possible. I chose this anyway.”

“That’s not fair to you,” I said. “Any of it.”

“Evan.” His hand moved slowly up and down my back. “I told you, I chose this. That includes the complicated parts.”

I leaned into him, the adrenaline leaving me hollowed out and tired. “Thank you. For not pretending it’s simple.”

“It’s not simple,” he said. “But it’s worth it.” He pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “We’ll figure it out.”

We moved to the couch, and I sat with his arm around me while my heart rate slowly returned to normal.

But the fear didn’t go away. Nico had chosen this, and I believed him. What I didn’t know yet was whether I could let something good just be good without bracing for the other shoe to drop.

That was the part that kept me up that night, long after Nico had gone home.

Wednesday evening, I was back on my couch watching San Jose play Pittsburgh.

The game was close, back and forth, neither team able to pull away. San Jose scored first; Pittsburgh tied it up. Nico assisted on a goal in the second period with something the commentators called “a high-risk cross ice pass.”

But Pittsburgh fought back. They scored twice in the third period, and despite San Jose’s best efforts, the final score was 3–2 Pittsburgh.

A loss.

My phone rang twenty minutes later.

“Hey,” I answered.

“Hey.” Nico’s voice was rough, exhausted. “You watched?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about the loss.”