Chapter 1
Evan's phone buzzed against the bench for the third time since he'd sat down, and he refused to look at it.
He wasn't supposed to have it out during drills — especially not when Nath was in the middle of one of his "stop skating like you want me dead" speeches for the rookies.
But something in Evan's chest tightened before he even realized it.
Something sharp.
Instinctive.
The way it did with Maxim or the kids.
It would only take him a second to look, and he was getting water anyway.
Odds were, it was his mom sending him emails about the upcoming Thrust commercial.
He was supposed to be doing it with some tennis player he'd yet to learn the name of.
Seeing an email would give him some peace of mind.
Let him get back on track, if nothing else.
It was not an email.
It was a dozen text messages from Maxim.
So the tightening anxiety in his chest was now psychic, which was just wonderful. Fantastic, even.
Totally not going to cause problems or anything the next time he catastrophized about leaving the stove on even though he hadn't cooked anything in months.
Maxim never texted him during practice.
Not anymore.
Not unless things were catastrophically on fire — metaphorically or literally, since Maxim had once set an oven mitt ablaze and thought texting Evan "small problem" was an adequate summary.
But this was not that.
I have Hazel.
That was it.
Three words.
No context.
Plain.
Soft.
Terrifying, because it was one in the afternoon and Hazel should have been at school.
Evan felt his lungs freeze in his chest, and he definitely was going to start reading more into his panic attacks after this.
Somehow, he'd known — really known — that it was about both Maxim and the kids before he'd even picked up his phone.
A puck clattered at his skates before he could read the other fourteen messages.
"Bennett!" Nathan whined, making his way across the ice.
"If you're letting me yell at the rookies by myself so you can check fantasy football, so help me I wi–"
Evan didn't even let him finish, just shoved the screen between them and focused on Nathan's face instead of how many people were around.
Too many people who could glance over at any second and figure out who Lily really was.
He didn't fucking care right now.
He watched Nathan's expression change in real time.
The goofy snark he wore to practice, which turned into annoyance when he saw who Evan was talking to, which morphed into confusion as he saw his daughter's name.
And then it was just terror.
"What do you mean he has Hazel?" Nathan asked.
His voice came out a little too loud, sharp enough that a few of their teammates glanced over.
Neither of them had the presence of mind to care.
Notice, maybe, but not care.
Evan didn't answer the question, mostly because he couldn't. His brain had gone white-out, thoughts completely wiped clean.
He didn't know what the hell Maxim meant by that.
He turned the screen back towards himself and scrolled with numb fingers.
Hazel is sick.
Fever.
School called me.
I am taking her to apartment.
Please do not panic.
Which, of course, was the thing that made him panic.
Immediately.
Nathan ripped off his gloves as Evan read the messages back to him.
"I didn't get any calls!" he yelled, panic already bleeding into his movements.
His jersey was halfway over his head.
"Your phone's on the bench," Evan reminded him.
His throat felt tight, and his voice sounded so distant in his own ears.
Nath swore loudly enough to get the whistle blown at him from across the ice.
Neither cared enough to do anything but ignore the shrill noise.
They were already on the bench, hands shaking as they tore their skates off.
Coach Dupuis skated over to them, halfway through a speech about professionalism before he saw their faces.
He'd seen panic before, but never on both of them at the same time.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Family emergency.
Kids," Nathan huffed as he pulled off the last of his padding.
Evan was only one shin guard behind him.
"We need to go.
Now."
Coach didn't argue.
It helped that Coach knew the Reeves kids.
Knew their names.
Knew their faces.
Knew they were impossible not to love.
It helped even more that he saw Evan's reaction — froze pale, as if someone had scraped him hollow and filled the space with ice.
Maybe that was why they were met with little resistance when they bolted.
Maybe Coach thought it was bad, because there was no other reason he'd let both his captain and his alternate literally run away from practice.
Nathan took off for the locker room without even bringing his gear with him.
Evan followed, helmet dangling from his fingertips, in a similar state of panic.
In the hallway, when they finally had a chance to thoroughly check their phones, they were met with a barrage of messages.
Each of them had about twenty missed calls.
Nathan's voicemails had stacked to five — three from the school, one from Naomi Bennett, and one from Maxim Sorokin.
Evan had a similar resume — one from the school, one from Naomi Bennett, and three from Maxim Sorokin.
Evan registered the names without processing them.
He didn't press play.
"What did he say in the rest of the texts?" Nathan asked, throwing his car keys at Evan's head because there was no way he was driving.
Evan read aloud.
I am taking her to the store.
She needs medicine.
People are staring.
There was that line again.
Like Maxim thought telling him not to panic was the same as telling him to breathe.
Either way, Evan was panicking, and he was decidedly not breathing.
Maxim wasn't even supposed to be in Rivermere!
Kingsford didn't play here for another month, and now their captain was just...
here. Strutting around town with Nathan Reeves's child like that was a completely normal thing to do.
This was a disaster. A multi-layered, career-impacting disaster.
Nathan dragged his hand down his face as he climbed into the passenger side.
"Tessa's gonna kill me," he mumbled.
Evan didn't say what he was thinking, because he knew he would start yelling:
you put him as a fucking emergency contact?
What the fuck is wrong with you?
He also didn't say:
thank god you put him as your emergency contact!
What would we have done if Maxim wasn't here?
Beneath the adrenaline and the dread was something small and almost shamefully warm.
Nathan trusted Maxim.
He trusted Maxim with the kids more than anyone else in the world.
And Evan...
Evan trusted Maxim with the kids more than he trusted himself.
Even so, Evan's sBillach wouldn't settle.
His hands kept tightening around the keys he still hadn't put in the ignition, like he needed their weight to keep himself from shaking.
That, of course, did not stop him from trembling like an old, crusty dog as he finished reading out the messages.
We are home.
She is asleep.
Tell Reeves I did not kidnap her.
Despite it all, Nathan snorted.
"That idiot."
Evan's chest loosened just a bit, and he found himself laughing at the absurdity.
The panic hadn't subsided — that wouldn't happen until he saw Hazel with his own eyes and the fallout of whatever the hell just happened had passed — but it was a small relief.
He'd take it.
Nathan did not wake up intending to threaten arson, but by 9:17 AM he had drafted three separate messages that could, with very little imagination, be used as evidence in court.
None of this was his fault.
He had played a perfectly normal hockey game last night (two assists).
He had tucked his four children into bed.
He had gone to sleep.
He had woken up.
He had eaten a protein bar that tasted like despair.
And then he checked his phone.
49 missed calls.
14 texts from Evan.
12 voicemails.
A link from his agent that began with "Um... should I know something?"
And a partridge in a fucking pear tree:
Maxim Sorokin Carrying Hazel Reeves Through Grocery Story Like A Feverish Koala
Front page.
Trending hashtag.
Fan edits.
People tagging him, personally, with is this your secret love child?
"Oh my god!"Nathan slammed his laptop shut and then immediately reopened it, because unfortunately he needed to fix this disaster.
He thought this would die after a day — it had been three.
"I'm going to burn down Rivermere."
From across the kitchen, Tessa took a long sip of her coffee.
Start with the Rapids' PR Office."
He loved this woman.
He loved her so much it made his teeth ache.
He fucking hated whatever the hell was happening right now.
So he opened a Word document and stared at the blinking cursor.
It felt like it was mocking him.
He needed a statement.
A good one.