Page 60 of Expose on the Ice

"How has this tragedy affected your relationship with your father?"

"Carter, do you blame your father for Sarah’s death?"

The questions keep coming, each one more invasive than the last. I answer them mechanically, but my mind is on Lily. The hurt in her eyes, the way she flinches at each probing question – it doesn’t match up with someone who would have leaked such personal information.

If she’d been the one to dig the knife in, she’d be celebrating right now.

The hero of the show, the one who’d ripped open Carter Knox.

Yet she looks miserable.

Her body language screams innocence.

"Look," I say, cutting off the barrage of questions. "I’ve spent years trying to move past this tragedy. It’s shaped who I am as a player and as a person. I’ve answered your questions, and now?—

LILY

I stand, waiting for the elevator, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The image of Carter at that podium, his jaw set and eyes determined, is seared into my brain. But I’d seen the cracks in his armor, the pain that flashed in his eyes with each invasive question.

God, I want to be there for him.

To stand beside him and face it all together.

Yet I’d lost that chance, hadn’t I?

I’d royally screwed things up with Carter. Even if I hadn’t been the one to leak the story, I’d still dug into his past without his permission. The betrayal in his eyes when he’d confronted me at the charity ball… it still haunts me.

But seeing him today, watching him bare his soul to the world, it had clarified something for me. My feelings for Carter go way beyond professional curiosity or even simple attraction. I care about him. Deeply. And I’m glad he hadn’t told the media anything about the truth I’d uncovered, and he kept close for years.

As the elevator finally comes and I step inside, alone, I don’t know what’s next for me. I won’t publish the information I know about the cover-up. It would be the story of my lifetime, but I won’t do that to Carter, no matter that he’s lost to me, and no matter how much I need to salvage my career.

I’ll burn the notes as soon as I get home.

Just before the elevator is due to depart, the doors slide open again, and my heart nearly stops. Carter steps in, looking spent. His broad shoulders are slumped, his usually perfectly styled hair disheveled. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air crackles with tension – sexual, emotional, all of it.

I can’t take my eyes off him. Even exhausted and defeated, he’s breathtaking. His jaw is clenched as he stares straight ahead, and I want nothing more than to reach out and smooth away the lines of worry etched across his forehead.

The elevator begins its descent, the silence between us deafening. I fidget with the strap of my purse, desperate to fill the void. Then, my mind screaming at me to stop, I smash my palm against the emergency stop. The elevator halts its descent, cocooning us in.

Forcing him to listen.

"I didn’t leak it," I blurt out. "I swear to you, Carter. I would never do that to you."

He glances down at the button panel, seeming to consider pressing the stop button again, but then he turns to me then, his stormy gray eyes meeting mine. The intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch. Suddenly, the exhaustion I’d seen at the press conference podium is replaced by a fire and… a curiosity?

"My editor admitted it," I continue, the words tumbling out. "He said they used my notes, but I?—

"I know," Carter says quietly, effectively silencing me.

I blink, stunned. "You… you know? When did you figure it out?"

He nods. "During the press conference. The way you looked at me… it wasn’t the face of someone who’d scored the story of a lifetime, or who was responsible for me being torn apart by the pack of assholes."

Relief washes over me, chased by a fresh wave of guilt. "God, Carter, I’m so sorry. I never should have followed you home or spoken to Isla or… I just… I got caught up in trying to prove myself, in cracking your hard shell, and I lost sight of what really mattered."

Carter’s eyes soften slightly. "And what’s that?"

"You," I say without hesitation. "Your trust. Your… friendship."

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