“Go ahead, big boy.” The photographer took a few steps back as he lifted his camera and grabbed a few quick shots. “I’ll get the whole thing in pics and sue you for all you’ve got.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ian snarled, an angry fire eating its way up from his gut.

“That may be,” the other man said as he walked away. “But at least I don’t have to fight for the scraps left by my dad and brother.”

And that’s when all of Ian’s locks clicked into place, one after the other, dead bolts turning closed so that the anger was shut away behind layers of steel and titanium. His breaths became longer, slower, his gaze cleared as all the red fury dissipated, and everything inside him went icy cold. It was exactly what had happened when he’d heard that he and Christensen shared half their DNA, exactly what had happened the first time in college when a national sports reporter said he was a cheap copy of the old man, and exactly what happened every time his dad stood on the other side of the wall at the rink and watched Ian’s practices with barely concealed disappointment.

Shelby stepped closer, slipping her fingers between his and squeezing. “We can just head back to the hotel.”

“No, that asshole isn’t going to stop us.” He’d learned that early. People would talk, they’d try to cut him open and take a peek inside, but he’d never really let them see. He refused to open up in front of them. It’s how he stayed safe. He wasn’t about to forget that lesson and let the gawkers win now. “Come on—it’ll be fun.”

…

Shelby and Ian obviously had different definitions of fun. His was balancing on teeny-tiny blades without letting his ankles wobble while going backward. Hers was eating store-bought raw cookie dough from a bucket.

“You’ve got this,” Ian said, his hands holding hers in a strong, steady grip as he guided her around the practice facility’s ice. “Just keep it steady.”

That was easy for him to say—he didn’t feel like a newborn calf out here all jelly legs and lurching from foot to foot.

“You’re doing great,” Ian said, clearly in his element. He hadn’t teetered once.

Keeping her eyes on her borrowed skates—who knew the team trainer and she had the same size feet?—she did a shuffle sorta glide thing to move forward. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“I don’t do it often.”

“I know. That’s what I like about you.”

They took one more half turn around the ice before he led her back over to the wall so she could clutch the top of the divider between the rink and the bench. Meanwhile, he went over it like he was hopping a fence. Show-off.