Exposed on Ice

12

Sienna Cross POV

Some mornings start with coffee.

Some start with your overprotective brother and the man you’re trying very hard not to fall for staring each other down in your kitchen like one wrong word will end in a fistfight.

Today?

Definitely the second one.

I walk back into the kitchen with Oliver sleeping against my shoulder, his tiny hand curled into my shirt like he owns me. Which, honestly, he does.

Caleb is standing near the counter with his arms crossed so tightly I’m surprised he hasn’t snapped in half.

Ronan is leaning against the fridge, looking way too calm for someone who absolutely enjoys annoying my brother.

Men.

Honestly.

I look at both of them and sigh.

“No one is allowed to start a fight before eight in the morning. That should be a universal law.”

Ronan lifts an eyebrow. “Very specific.”

“Because apparently I have to be specific with hockey players.”

Caleb mutters, “Especially this one.”

I close my eyes for a second.

Just one second.

“Great. Amazing. Fantastic. I’m raising two children now.”

Ronan lets out a laugh.

A real one.

Low, warm, unfairly attractive.

I hate that I notice it.

Actually, no.

I hate that I like noticing it.

Caleb shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“I came to check if you were okay,” Caleb says, looking only at me. “Not to listen to him breathe.”

“Bit harsh,” Ronan says.

“Not harsh enough.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “Do you two hear yourselves?”

Oliver makes a tiny sleepy noise like he agrees with me.

Traitor.

“I’m fine,” I tell Caleb. “Seriously. My car broke down. Ronan helped. No one died. We’re okay.”

His jaw tightens.

“You stayed here.”

“Yes.”

“With him.”

I stare at him.

“With my baby. In an emergency. Yes.”

His expression says he’s still not thrilled.

That makes two of us.

“I’ll handle the car after practice,” he says. “Don’t call anyone else.”

Before I can answer, Ronan folds his arms.

“Pretty sure she can decide who she calls.”

Caleb turns slowly.

Like a villain in a horror movie.

“Pretty sure I wasn’t talking to you.”

Oh, for f**k’s sake.

I shift Oliver and glare at both of them.

“Please stop acting like divorced parents with unresolved custody issues.”

That shuts both of them up.

For three whole seconds.

A personal record.

Ronan smirks.

Caleb looks like he’s reconsidering prison as a lifestyle choice.

Finally, Caleb exhales.

“I’m serious, Sienna.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. But I’m okay.”

He studies me, then nods once.

Before leaving, he walks over, kisses Oliver’s forehead, then points directly at Ronan.

Actually points.

Like a five-year-old.

“You. Stay out of trouble.”

Ronan smiles like the devil himself.

“No promises.”

Caleb sighs like life has personally betrayed him, grabs his keys, and leaves.

The second the door shuts, silence fills the apartment.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

Because now it’s just me and Ronan.

Again.

I look down at Oliver.

“Your uncle is insane.”

Ronan pushes off the fridge.

“To be fair, he started it.”

“Oh, absolutely. You were being a perfect gentleman.”

“I usually am.”

I snort.

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve heard all week.”

He steps closer.

Not too close.

But enough.

Enough that I notice stupid things.

Like how his shirt fits across his shoulders.

How his hair is still messy from sleep.

How his eyes always look like they know something I don’t.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he says.

My stomach drops.

I blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying very hard not to like me.”

I nearly choke on air.

Cocky bastard.

“I’m trying very hard not to throw coffee at you.”

“Same thing.”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t see my own brain.

“This is temporary, Ronan.”

There.

Said it.

Again.

Because apparently I enjoy reminding both of us.

Something shifts in his expression.

Not much.

Just enough.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

And for some stupid reason, that feels worse.

Before I can think too much about that emotional disaster, my phone buzzes on the counter.

Saved by technology.

I walk over and grab it.

Unknown Number.

My stomach tightens instantly.

I open the message.

And everything inside me goes cold.

Unknown Number:

Careful, Sienna.

Some players are better at games off the ice.

Attached below is a photo.

My blood runs cold.

It’s me.

Last night.

Outside Ronan’s building.

Holding Oliver.

And Ronan standing beside me.

Taken from across the street.

Without us knowing.

“What the hell?”

Ronan is beside me in seconds.

His shoulder brushes mine as he looks down at the screen.

His entire body goes still.

Gone is the teasing.

Gone is the sarcasm.

This version of him is sharp.

Quiet.

Angry.

“Who sent that?” he asks.

“Unknown number.”

He takes the phone gently, reading it again.

His jaw tightens.

I suddenly feel sick.

Not because of the picture.

Because someone was there.

Watching.

Watching me.

Watching my son.

Watching us.

“This isn’t funny,” I whisper.

“No,” Ronan says, voice flat. “It f*****g isn’t.”

He runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing.

“This has to be IceWire.”

The name lands heavy between us.

IceWire.

Before, it felt like gossip.

Annoying.

Distant.

Something that happened to other people.

Now?

Now it feels like someone standing too close in a dark room.

I hold Oliver tighter.

Too tight.

He stirs softly, and guilt punches me in the chest.

I force myself to breathe.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“I really, really don’t like this.”

His eyes meet mine.

Steady.

Certain.

And for once, there’s no teasing there.

Just something solid.

“You’re safe.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Because I want to believe them.

That’s the dangerous part.

Trusting him feels like standing on thin ice.

One wrong step and everything shatters.

But standing here, scared and angry and exhausted—

I want to believe him.

God help me, I do.

Ronan steps closer.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he knows I’ll run if he pushes too hard.

“You and Oliver stay here today.”

I blink. “What?”

“Until we figure this out.”

“I can’t just stay here.”

“Yes, you can.”

His voice is calm, but firm.

“If someone is taking pictures of you outside my building, I’m not thrilled about you being alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” His voice softens. “That’s not the point.”

Damn him.

I hate when he makes sense.

I hate it even more that part of me feels relieved.

I look away first.

Because if I keep looking at him like this, I’m going to make several bad decisions.

Probably shirtless ones.

“Fine,” I mutter.

His mouth twitches.

“Fine?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

He grins.

Actually grins.

Cocky asshole.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I glare at him.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

And then—

My phone buzzes again.

Another notification.

This time from IceWire.

A new post.

And somehow…

I already know it’s about us.