Page 74 of Cross the Line

“Sorry.” I shook my head as if to clear it. I grabbed my hair and held it up, turning my face side to side to evaluate the look. Then I let it fall, remembering how Carson liked to run his fingers through my hair when it was down. “Down. Definitely down. It’ll look good with my outfit,” I added.

“What’d you decide to wear? A certain someone’s jersey?” She nudged me.

I laughed. “Can you even imagine?”

Of course I wanted to wear Carson’s jersey to show my support, but Georgia and I were attending the game with our friends. And there would be way too many eyes on us, thanks to my recent Walter Cup win and everyone’s obsession with Bryn. People were naturally curious about her—she’d lost her husband, married his best friend, and their child was due any day now.

People would expect that Bryn would wear Frasier’s jersey; she was his wife. But I… It would be too much of a public declaration for me to wear Carson’s. It would spark too many questions. And the last thing I wanted was to invite speculation over my relationship with Carson when my brother had no idea we were together.

Plus, Carson and I were about to spend the off-season advocating for the NHL’s upstander campaign. I wanted to keep the focus where it needed to be—on our accomplishments, on the goals of the campaign. If people knew, or even suspected, our relationship was anything but professional, their speculation would detract from the important changes we were trying to make in the culture of the sport.

Georgia sectioned my hair, clipping most of it up before grabbing the curling iron and setting to work.

“I decided to wear the white crop top with high-waisted jeans, and retro sneakers in the team’s colors,” I said, finally answering her question.

“Cute.” She moved around behind me, working on a section of my hair. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Nope. I have this awesome Hawks jacket that my mom used to wear in the ’90s.”

And I planned to wear Carson’s jersey number, twenty-eight, hidden, of course. But I wasn’t going to mention that. I wanted it to be something special—a secret just between Carson and me.

She was quiet for a minute, removing another clip so she could start curling the next section of my hair. But then she said, “You really like him, huh?”

It wasn’t a question, not really. But I found myself nodding all the same. Carson came off as cocky, but he was one of the most supportive people I knew. He’d been there for me the entire season, letting me share my frustrations, celebrating my wins, all while encouraging me.

He was so different from the version everyone else knew from online and interviews. And I loved that he let me see a different side of him.

“He’s a good friend,” I said.

“Right. Friend,” she said, setting down the curling iron to mist the section with holding spray. I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t done. Her expression turned more serious. “Well, as your friend, I feel like I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.” I frowned, not liking the concerned tone of her voice or the way she worried her bottom lip.

“I don’t know what you agreed to regarding exclusivity—” Georgia started, and my stomach dipped. “And this might be none of my business…”

My vision blurred, and I gripped the edge of my chair to steady myself.

The idea of Carson with anyone else made me want to throw up. I had no claim on him. We both knew what this was—and what it wasn’t. Hell, I was the one who’d set the rules. And yet…

“Sorry.” Georgia winced. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up now.”

“Tell me,” I demanded in a clipped voice, needing to know. “Please,” I said, trying to soften my request, despite my nerves.

She held up her hands as if to prove her innocence. “He’s been texting a lot with a girl, but maybe it’s one of his sisters.”

I frowned, doubtful that was the case after what Carson had told me about his family. Maybe something had changed, and I hoped so for his sake. I knew how much he missed having a relationship with his siblings. But if they’d started talking, he would’ve mentioned it.

“How do you know this?” I tried to keep my tone level.

“One night on the team plane, I heard Boone asking Carson about someone named Katie. Teasing him about her, actually.”

“Recently?”

“All season, really. He’s been texting her after games.” Georgia frowned, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lo. I should’ve mentioned it sooner.”

And then something occurred to me. Texting her after games. Boone’s teasing. Katie. KT. Carson’s nickname for me sounded a lot like Katie.

“And you’re sure it was Katie, not KT?” I asked.