THE ICE CAPTAIN STARES

Morning light cuts through the bedroom windows like a blade.

I'm alone in his bed.

The sheets smell like him. Cedar. Ice. Something darker underneath.

My dress hangs on the closet door. Red. Wrinkled. Evidence.

"Ethan?"

No answer.

The bathroom is empty. The shower is cold. His toothbrush is gone.

I wrap myself in a sheet and walk downstairs.

He's in the kitchen.

Shirtless. Sweatpants. Coffee in one hand. Phone in the other.

"You left."

"You were sleeping."

"You could have woken me."

"You needed rest." He doesn't look up from his phone. "You were crying in your sleep."

"I don't cry."

"You do." Now he looks. "You cry and you hum. Beethoven. I told you."

"That was years ago."

"Some things don't change."

"Some things do."

He sets down the phone. Walks to me. His hands find my waist under the sheet.

"You're right. Some things do change." His thumb traces my hipbone. "You're thinner. More scars. More secrets."

"Everyone has secrets."

"Not everyone hides them in hospital records." He pulls me closer. "We're going to fix this."

"How?"

"Together."

"That's not a plan."

"It's a start." He kisses my forehead. "Coffee?"

"I need to go."

"Go where?"

"Back to my hotel. Back to reality." I pull away. "I can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"Because your father knows. Because Vanessa knows. Because the whole world will know by noon."

"Let them."

"You don't mean that."

"I mean every word." He pours coffee into a mug. Hands it to me. "I've spent three years caring what people think. It's exhausting."

"And now?"

"Now I care about one thing." His eyes meet mine. "Finding our son."

My phone buzzes.

Jamie. The young reporter from the press room.

"Did you see T*****r?"

"No. Why?"

"Just look."

I open the app.

My face is everywhere.

"Ava Thompson Spotted Leaving Ethan Hayes's House at 2 AM."

"Scandalous Reunion? Journalist and Athlete Back Together?"

"Hayes Cheats on Fiancée with Ex-Girlfriend."

The photos are grainy. Taken from across the lake. But it's clearly me. Clearly his house. Clearly the dress.

"Ethan."

He looks at my phone.

His jaw tightens.

"Mason."

"What?"

"This has Mason written all over it." He pulls out his own phone. Starts typing. "He's the only one who knew you were here. The only one who knew about the dress."

"Why would he do this?"

"Because my father told him to."

"So now what?"

"Now we control the narrative." He holds up his phone. "I just posted something."

I look.

@EthanHayes: "Ava Thompson is helping me with a personal matter. Vanessa Cole and I are not engaged. The ring was a prop. More details soon."

"You posted that?"

"Two minutes ago."

"The comments—"

"I don't care about the comments."

"Your sponsors—"

"I don't care about my sponsors."

"Your team—"

"I don't care about my team." He cups my face. "I care about you. I care about our son. I care about burning my father's empire to the ground. Everything else is noise."

"This is insane."

"Probably."

"We're going to lose everything."

"We already lost everything." His thumb wipes a tear I didn't know I was crying. "The only difference is now we're losing it together."

The doorbell rings.

Ethan doesn't move.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

"No."

"It could be important."

"It could be Vanessa."

"Even worse." I grab my dress. "I need to get dressed."

"Don't."

"Ethan—"

"I like you in the sheet."

The doorbell rings again. More insistent.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He walks to the door. Opens it a crack.

Mason Reed stands on the porch.

His face is pale. His hands are shaking.

"We need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Darius knows everything. The texts. The dress. The photos on T*****r." Mason pushes past Ethan into the house. Sees me in the sheet. "Oh God. You actually slept together."

"That's none of your business."

"It's all of my business. Because when Darius finds out—"

"He already knows." Ethan crosses his arms. "He was here last night."

Mason's face goes white. "Here?"

"In my bedroom. Finding Ava in my closet."

"You hid her in the closet?"

"Where else was I supposed to hide her?"

"I don't know. Anywhere but here." Mason paces. "This is bad. This is really bad."

"You think?" I wrap the sheet tighter. "You're the one who told me to wear the dress. You're the one who told me to come alone. You're the one who set this whole thing up."

"I was trying to help."

"You were trying to trap us."

"No." Mason stops pacing. Looks at me. "I was trying to give you proof. Evidence. Something to take to the police."

"What proof?"

"The adoption records. The hospital files. The bank transfers." He pulls a flash drive from his pocket. "It's all here. Every document. Every signature. Every lie."

Ethan snatches the drive. "Why should we trust you?"

"Because I'm done working for your father."

"When did you decide that?"

"When he threatened to kill me."

The room goes silent.

"He said what?" I ask.

"Last week. I told him I wanted out. He said the only way out is in a body bag." Mason's voice cracks. "I have a wife. I have kids. I can't die for him."

"So you're betraying him to save yourself?"

"I'm betraying him because it's the right thing to do." He looks at Ethan. "I've known you since we were kids. You're my best friend. And I've spent three years lying to you. It's killing me."

"Then tell me the truth."

"The whole truth?"

"Every word."

Mason takes a breath.

"Your father never wanted you to have a family. He wanted you alone. Dependent on him. Controllable. When you fell in love with Ava, he saw it as a threat. He tried to pay her off. She refused. So he came up with a plan."

"The article," I say.

"The article was the first step. Make her look like a traitor. Make you hate her. Drive her away." Mason looks at me. "But you were pregnant. He didn't know that until after the accident."

"The accident wasn't an accident?"

"The car that hit you? Driven by one of his employees." Mason's voice drops. "He wasn't trying to kill you. Just scare you. Make you lose the baby."

"But I didn't lose the baby."

"No. You almost died. But the baby survived. Premature. Small. But alive."

"Where is he?" Ethan's voice is barely a whisper.

"Idaho. A couple. John and Mary Reynolds. They think they adopted him legally. They don't know the truth."

"Did my father pay them?"

"He pays them every month. For his silence. For their cooperation. For keeping the boy hidden."

"What's his name?"

Mason hesitates.

"Please," I beg. "What's my son's name?"

"Noah."

Noah.

My son's name is Noah.

I sink to the floor.

The sheet falls around me.

I don't care.

Ethan kneels beside me. Pulls me into his arms.

"Noah," he repeats. "Our son's name is Noah."

"He's four years old. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. He likes dinosaurs and hockey and peanut butter sandwiches." Mason kneels too. "I've watched him from a distance. He's perfect. He's healthy. He's happy."

"Happy without us."

"For now." Mason pulls out his phone. Scrolls. Hands it to me. "This was taken last month."

A photo.

A little boy. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Ethan's face on a smaller body.

He's smiling.

He's missing two front teeth.

He's wearing a jersey.

A Seattle Blizzards jersey.

"He knows about Ethan," Mason says quietly. "The Reynolds are fans. They watch the games. Noah knows his father is a hockey player."

"Does he know about me?"

Mason hesitates.

"No."

The word breaks something inside me.

"He thinks his birth mother died. That's what the Reynolds told him. That's what your father told them to say."

"I'm dead to my own son."

"Not for long." Ethan stands. Pulls me up with him. "We're going to Idaho. Today."

"You can't." Mason stands too. "Darius has people watching the Reynolds' house. If you show up, he'll know."

"So we go in disguise."

"Ethan—"

"I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you what's happening." Ethan grabs his keys. "You're either with us or against us, Mason. Choose now."

Mason looks at me. At Ethan. At the floor.

"I'm with you."

"Then drive." Ethan tosses him the keys. "You're taking us to Idaho."

"Now?"

"Now."

Mason catches the keys. Nods.

"I'll get the car."

He leaves.

Ethan turns to me.

"You need clothes."

"I need my son."

"You'll have him. I promise." He takes my hand. "But first, you need clothes. And shoes. And a plan."

"A plan?"

"We're not just showing up at his front door. We're going to get evidence. Photos. Video. Something we can take to the police."

"You want me to be a journalist."

"I want you to be a mother." He cups my face. "A mother who will do whatever it takes to get her son back."

"Whatever it takes?"

"Whatever it takes."

I kiss him.

Hard.

"I love you."

"I know." He kisses me back. "Now get dressed. We have a four-hour drive."

EROTIC CLIFFHANGER:

He follows me upstairs.

I can feel his eyes on my body. On the sheet. On the way my hips move.

"Stop staring."

"I can't."

"You need to focus."

"I am focused." His hand catches my wrist. Spins me around. Pins me against the wall. "I'm focused on you."

"We don't have time."

"We have four hours." His mouth finds my neck. "Plenty of time."

"Ethan—"

"I spent three years without you, Ava." His voice drops. "Three years of nothing. Three years of pretending. Three years of hating myself for letting you go."

"You didn't let me go. Your father—"

"I don't care about my father right now." His hands slide under the sheet. "I care about you. I care about the way you say my name. I care about the sounds you make when I touch you."

"Ethan."

"Like that."

"Someone will hear."

"Let them."

He lifts me.

My legs wrap around his waist.

The sheet falls.

"We don't have time for a shower," he says.

"Then don't shower."

"The car—"

"Shut up and kiss me."

He kisses me.

And for the next twenty minutes, there is no missing son. No evil father. No conspiracy.

Just him.

Just me.

Just us.