Page 87 of Cross Ice

Then someone went deeper.

His LinkedIn says he used to work in LA. Let me check something…

Ten minutes later:

HOLY SHIT. Evan Beckett used to go by Evan Hunter. He dated Ryan Pierce three years ago.

Old photos surfaced. Ryan and me at a red-carpet event. At a restaurant. Getting into his car. Headlines from three years ago: Ryan Pierce and Boyfriend Evan Hunter Spotted in LA.

The narrative formed in real time, and I watched it happen.

He has a type: famous men.

From Hollywood actor to NHL star.

Is Evan Beckett a celebrity chaser?

Gold digger confirmed.

My vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe through my tight chest.

My work email flooded with media requests—ESPN, Sports Illustrated, half a dozen outlets I’d never heard of.

A client email: Given the recent media attention surrounding your personal life, we think it’s best to pause our engagement.

Another: Can we reschedule our Monday meeting?

My professional reputation—the one thing I’d rebuilt after Ryan, the foundation of my new life—was crumbling in real time.

I set my phone down and stared at the wall.

Nico had been texting. I could see his name on the screen every time a new message came in.

Nico

Please just tell me you’re okay. I’m losing my mind here.

I looked at his name on the screen for a long time.

He hadn’t done this to me deliberately. I knew that. But we’d both been careless—I’d seen the parking lot, felt the openness of it, and I’d kissed him back every time. Four times. Because I was warm and tired and glad he was home and I’d stopped being careful too. We’d both stopped being careful.

It wasn’t the same as Ryan. But it still mattered, and we’d both let it happen.

I typed with shaking hands.

Evan

I’m home. I’m okay.

Nico

Can I come over? Please. I need to see you.

I stared at the message.

Evan

Not yet. I need time to think.