Frozen Between us

Face of the Past

I read the note three times before convincing myself not to panic.

See you soon.

Four harmless words.

And yet they felt dangerously personal.

I folded the paper and shoved it into my notebook before Bryce could notice.

“You look pale,” he said.

“Flattering.”

“You taking the assignment?”

I looked at him.

Then at Ethan’s photograph.

Then back at the note hidden beneath my hand.

This was insane.

The smart answer was still no.

Protect your peace. Protect your sanity. Protect the carefully rebuilt life that did not include Ethan Cole.

But another voice spoke louder.

The ambitious one.

The stubborn journalist who hated losing.

And maybe—if I was being painfully honest—the woman who hated the idea of Ethan believing she couldn’t handle him.

I hated that voice.

Mostly because it sounded like me.

I closed the folder.

“When do I leave?”

Bryce blinked.

Then grinned like he’d won the lottery.

“Tomorrow morning.”

I immediately regretted everything.

—

Packing felt surreal.

My apartment was quiet except for the sound of zippers and the city outside my windows.

I moved through the familiar motions automatically—sweaters, boots, recorder, laptop, notebooks.

Professional armor.

Necessary armor.

My phone buzzed.

Mia: So?

I typed back.

I said yes.

Three dots appeared instantly.

You're either brave or clinically insane.

Probably both.

She called before I could avoid her.

“I knew it,” she said.

“You sound smug.”

“I am smug.”

I zipped my suitcase.

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

“Because I tell you the truth.”

“That I’m emotionally unstable?”

“That you’re stronger than you think.”

I rolled my eyes.

“This isn’t dramatic.”

“You accepted a month-long assignment with the man who broke your heart.”

Fair point.

I sat on the edge of my bed.

“I’m doing my job.”

“And if seeing him hurts?”

I stared at the half-packed suitcase.

Then answered honestly.

“It probably will.”

The silence on her end softened.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

Maybe not.

But some part of me still needed proof.

Proof that Ethan no longer had power over me.

That I could stand in front of him and feel nothing.

Or at least survive feeling something.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

Mia sighed.

“That sentence usually means the opposite.”

—

The flight landed the next afternoon beneath gray skies and falling snow.

Of course.

The city hosting the championship looked exactly how hockey felt—cold, sharp, and beautiful from a distance.

I stepped out of the airport and instantly regretted not wearing thicker gloves.

A car from the Wolves organization waited near the curb.

The driver greeted me politely.

“Ms. Hart?”

I nodded.

He took my luggage.

“The team arranged transportation.”

That unsettled me more than it should have.

Too organized.

Too personal.

I slid into the back seat and watched the city pass by.

Massive arenas.

Restaurants crowded with fans.

Banners stretched across buildings featuring Wolves players.

And there—

Towering above traffic—

Ethan.

His face covered an enormous championship advertisement.

Captain’s jersey.

Focused expression.

Untouchable confidence.

I looked away too quickly.

Ridiculous.

He was just a billboard.

Not a ghost.

The hotel appeared twenty minutes later.

Luxury.

Of course.

Championship sponsors spared no expense.

The lobby buzzed with reporters and photographers checking in.

I collected my room key and headed toward the elevators—

Then stopped.

Because laughter drifted from nearby.

Deep.

Male.

Familiar.

Every nerve in my body froze.

No.

My pulse climbed before I even turned.

A group of players stood near the hotel bar surrounded by staff and media.

And in the center—

Ethan.

My breath caught.

Five years vanished and returned at once.

He was taller than memory.

Or maybe simply larger somehow.

Broad shoulders beneath a dark coat.

Dark hair slightly damp from snow.

And that same devastating calm he’d always carried, as though the world moved around him instead of through him.

He laughed at something a teammate said.

Then—

His head turned.

And found me.

The moment hit like impact.

Noise disappeared.

The lobby blurred.

Only him remained.

Those blue eyes locked onto mine.

No surprise.

No confusion.

Just stillness.

As if he had expected this exact second.

My heartbeat stumbled.

Five years.

And somehow recognition still burned between us with frightening ease.

His expression changed almost imperceptibly.

The faintest tightening of his jaw.

The smallest pause.

Then the players beside him kept talking and reality returned.

Move.

I should move.

Instead I stood frozen.

Ethan excused himself from the group.

My lungs forgot how to function.

He walked toward me.

Steady.

Unhurried.

Every step tightening the knot in my stomach.

This was absurd.

I covered political scandals without shaking.

Confronted angry coaches and arrogant athletes.

Yet suddenly I felt twenty-two again.

And vulnerable.

He stopped in front of me.

Close enough to smell winter and cedar.

Close enough for memory to hurt.

For a second neither of us spoke.

Then his voice.

Lower than I remembered.

Rougher.

“Lena.”

God.

Hearing my name from him again nearly unraveled me.

I forced professionalism into my spine.

“Cole.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

Still Ethan beneath the fame.

Still annoyingly observant.

“You kept the last name treatment.”

“You earned it.”

Something unreadable crossed his face.

The years sat heavily between us.

He looked older.

Not aged—just sharpened.

Success and pressure carved into his features.

But his eyes—

Those remained dangerous.

Because they remembered too much.

“You got my note,” he said.

I stiffened.

So he admitted it.

“You shouldn’t have sent it.”

His gaze held mine.

“You still hate surprises.”

“I hate manipulation.”

His jaw tightened.

“That wasn’t manipulation.”

Then what was it?

A warning?

A challenge?

I gripped my suitcase handle harder.

“We’re here to work.”

“I know.”

The calm in his voice irritated me.

Like he wasn’t equally unsettled.

Like this meant nothing.

Around us, hotel chatter continued.

But the space between us felt strangely separate.

Private.

And far too familiar.

“You requested me?” I asked.

No point avoiding it.

He didn’t deny it.

“Yes.”

The answer landed harder than expected.

“Why?”

His eyes searched mine.

“You’re good at what you do.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

I almost laughed.

Ethan and truth had once been complicated.

Still were, apparently.

A reporter passed nearby and waved at him.

Instantly his expression shifted.

Public Ethan.

Polished.

Controlled.

He acknowledged them before looking back at me.

And for one impossible second, something softer flickered beneath the composure.

Gone so quickly I nearly imagined it.

“You should rest,” he said.

“We have media orientation tomorrow.”

We.

The word unsettled me.

I stepped toward the elevator.

“This isn’t personal.”

His gaze followed me.

“No?”

“No.”

The doors opened.

I stepped inside.

But before they closed—

Ethan spoke again.

Quietly.

“You still bite the inside of your cheek when you’re angry.”

My breath caught.

The elevator doors slid shut.

And suddenly I was alone.

My reflection stared back from mirrored walls.

Flushed cheeks.

Wide eyes.

Not calm.

Definitely not unaffected.

I touched my mouth.

He remembered.

Five years later—

He still remembered.

The realization followed me all the way to my room.

And long after the city lights dimmed beyond the window, one thought refused to leave me.

This assignment was already far more dangerous than I had imagined.