“No. Who in the hell would do that?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up at the ceiling and muttered something he didn’t catch. “Oh yeah, that would be me. Someone who doesn’t know you beyond your playing stats but who took a deep dive into your past to find the one secret you didn’t even know you had, just so I could expose it and make a name for myself.” She marched over to the doorway leading out onto the porch, her voice growing louder and tinnier with each step, and shoved her feet into snow boots—black, of course—and grabbed a dark puffer coat off the hook. “Of course, I’d probably end up getting fired from my brand-new job and become a hockey pariah in the process, but you know nothing is too high a price to pay to expose you. That sounds totally legit.” She shoved her arms into the coat, zipped it up, and snapped the bottom of the hood together until the only parts of her face visible were her eyes and pointy nose. “Not everyone in the world is here to screw you over, you big, mean jerk.”

And with that, she stormed out of the cabin. He watched as she slip-stomped down the snow-covered steps and swiped a shovel that was leaning against the railing, his mind trying to unravel what she’d just said.

How was it suddenly his fault Shelby was the loud mouth who’d leaked to the press just because it wasn’t on purpose? Who could blame him for being upset, what with the press being on his ass since he hit juniors? They loved to report about how he was good but not great like his dad—that he never would be. For years he’d fought against it. Then he’d sort of learned to accept it. The stories comparing him to his legend-on-the-ice of a father kept coming, though. Ian had come to his suspicion and loathing of the press and all media types, including places like The Biscuit and Shelby herself, honestly. These were people who lived to fuck other people over and knock them down. End of story.

This latest twist only served to prove his point. Fan comments that all the hockey talent in the family must have gone to the son who’d been picked in the first round, the one whose plus/minus average had been among the best in the league since his rookie season, the one who’d known the truth and had never said a damn word. The press loved to see someone get laid low and report all the gory details. It got clicks, that was for sure.