Page 89 of Cross Ice

Forward. Into the media circus. Into everything I’d run from three years ago.

“I don’t know if I can do it again,” I admitted.

“Maybe you can’t. And that’s okay too.” His voice softened. “But you owe it to yourself—and to Nico—to figure out which it is. Don’t run without talking to him first.”

I turned my phone back on.

Twenty-two texts. I scrolled through them quickly. Most were variations of the same thing—Nico checking in every twenty minutes or so, the messages getting quieter and more controlled as the hours passed, like he was trying not to overwhelm me while also being unable to stop entirely.

The most recent was from ten minutes ago.

Nico

I’m here whenever you’re ready. No pressure. Just tell me you’re okay.

I looked at Danny. He nodded.

Evan

I’m okay. Danny’s here. You can come over.

The response came in fifteen seconds.

Nico

On my way. Twenty-five minutes.

Danny made me shower, change, and brush my teeth. Made me sit on the couch and breathe. When the knock finally came, he answered the door.

Nico stood there in a hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low, clearly trying to be inconspicuous. He looked exhausted, with shadows under his eyes and a tight jaw.

His gaze went straight to me.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Danny said. He squeezed Nico’s arm briefly on his way out, a gesture that surprised me, and then he was gone.

For a long moment, Nico and I just looked at each other across the room.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault someone took photos.”

“It’s my fault I kissed you in that parking lot. I knew it wasn’t private enough. I did it anyway.” He held my gaze. “That’s on me.”

“It’s on both of us,” I said. “I kissed you back. Every time. I knew where we were and I kissed you back anyway.” I met his eyes. “I’m not letting you carry this alone.”

He looked at me for a moment, something moving through his expression that I couldn’t quite name. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Or just the feeling of being seen accurately by someone who could have chosen not to.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Both of us.”

He crossed to the couch but didn’t sit. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking lost. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m thinking this is exactly what I was afraid of.” My voice cracked. “They found me, Nico. They found Ryan. They’re saying I’m using you, that I have a pattern. Clients are dropping me. My professional email is full of media requests.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “Everything I rebuilt after Ryan is falling apart.”

“I’m going to fix this⁠—”

“How?” I looked up at him. “How do you fix this when it’s already everywhere?”

He didn’t have an answer.