Page 73 of Cross Ice

He dealt with the condom, found the wet wipes in the nightstand drawer, and cleaned me up with the same steady attention he gave everything. I lay there and let him. This, too, was part of being let in. The after. The care. The way he moved through it like I mattered.

He settled beside me and turned to face me.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. More than okay.”

He brushed hair back from my forehead. “Tonight was big.”

“I know.”

“You were amazing. You came tonight. You sat in my seat, stayed for the lounge, met my teammates. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t.” I met his eyes. “But I’m glad I did it.”

He kissed me, soft and slow. “Good.”

“You mean so much to me,” I said quietly. “More every day.”

He pulled me close, and I let myself sink into his warmth, the safety of the bed, his arms around me.

Tonight had been good. Better than good.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet voice whispered: How many people had phones out tonight? How many photos was I in? How long before one of them ends up online?

Tomorrow’s problem. Not tonight’s.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Evan

Wednesday evening, Nico showed up at my apartment carrying a garment bag.

“What’s that?” I asked as he stepped inside.

“A surprise.” He hung the bag on my coat rack. “Close your eyes.”

“Nico—”

“Come on. Humor me.”

I closed my eyes, feeling ridiculous, and heard the soft sound of a zipper. Fabric rustling.

“Okay. Open.”

He was holding a jersey—red, black, and white, with the Lasers logo across the chest. When he turned it around, BRIGGS and the number seventeen was on the back.

“It’s for you,” Nico said. “For tomorrow night’s game. If you want to wear it.”

I stared at the jersey, and my breath caught. His name. His number. A visible declaration to everyone in that arena that I was there for him.

“Look at the front,” he added, turning it around to the front again.

I took the jersey from him and examined it. There, just above the Lasers logo, was his signature in silver Sharpie.

“You don’t have to wear it,” he said. “I just thought⁠—”

“I want to.” The words came out rough through my tight throat. “I want to wear it.”