Page 41 of Expose on the Ice

"Lily? It’s Frank. Got a minute?"

I sit up, my stomach instantly knotting. Frank Pearson, my editor at the Star, rarely calls unless it’s important. And given the mess I’d made, I have a feeling this will not be a pleasant conversation.

"Sure, Frank," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "What’s up?"

"How’s the Knox story coming?" he asks, not bothering with small talk. "Your first piece was good, but we’re going to need something meatier soon…"

I swallow hard. "I’m… working on it," I lie, my mind racing. "There’s more to Carter than meets the eye. I just need a little more time to?—

"Time isn’t a luxury we have, kid," Frank cuts in, his gruff voice tinged with an edge I don’t like. "Things are tight. We need this series to be a hit."

My stomach drops. "What do you mean, ‘tight’?"

Frank sighs, and I can practically see him rubbing his temples. "Look, there’s talk of potential layoffs. Nothing’s set in stone, but…"

The rest of his words fade into a dull roar as panic sets in. Layoffs? I’d worked my ass off to get this far, and now it couldall come crashing down because I couldn’t crack one stubborn hockey player?

"Lily? Are you still there?"

I snap back to attention. "Yeah, sorry. I’m here."

"Listen, I know Knox is a tough nut to crack. But you’re good at what you do. Find an angle, dig deeper. We need a smash hit to keep your job safe."

"Right," I say weakly. "I’ll… I’ll figure something out."

"That’s what I like to hear. Keep me posted."

The line goes dead, and I let the phone slip from my fingers onto the bed. My mind is reeling. How am I supposed to dig deeper when Carter has completely shut me out? And even if I could, how could I justify destroying his personal life for the sake of my career?

I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The weight of everything– the kiss, the secrets, and now the threat to my job – presses down on me like a physical force. I need a plan, and fast. But as I lay there, my thoughts a jumbled mess, I come up with an idea to at least keep me busy.

"No harmfindingthe story, is there?" I mutter to myself. "I don’t need topublishit, and it might tell me more about Carter…"

With a heavy sigh, I open my laptop and begin my research. The weight of Frank’s words hangs over me like a storm cloud, but I can’t shake the image of Carter’s vulnerable expression that night at the rink. Still, I have a job to do, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m curious about what I might find.

I start with the basics of his junior career and family, which I’d already looked through when first given the assignment: fluff pieces about his rise to hockey stardom, with the occasional mention of his supportive parents. Nothing earth-shattering there.

But then I dig deeper. My preliminary research on his family had only been for information, because I thought the story was him and here and now, not them and then and there. Yet, as I chase this rabbit down the hole, I start to think there’s even more than Carter had revealed at the rink that night…

I find an old article from Carter’s hometown newspaper. "Local Hockey Prodigy Faces Family Tragedy," the headline reads. The article is vague, mentioning a "terrible accident" that had claimed the life of Carter’s sister, Sarah. It praises the family’s strength in the face of adversity.

I run a hand through my hair. Something about the article feels… off. It’s too polished, too careful in its wording. "What am I missing?" I say.

I keep following leads and cross-referencing dates. Slowly, a picture emerges that makes my stomach churn. There are whispers of a cover-up, veiled references to "inconsistencies" in the official report. One old message board post even suggests that Carter had been involved in the accident somehow.

The more I find, the more convinced I become. The court transcripts from his father’s trial are brief. Carter’s father had entered a guilty plea for the raft of dangerous driving charges arrayed against him, sparing his family a lengthy trial, but also leaving key evidence out of the public eye.

There are plenty of loose ends that feel like they’d been tied up, but I wonder if they’d come loose if I gave them a tug and started talking to people…

My hands hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly. If I’m right, then this is the story – the big, meaty exposé Frank is looking for. It could cement my reputation and open up a world of opportunity for me.

But at what cost?

I think back to that night at the rink, the raw pain in Carter’s eyes as he opened up to me, even a little. The way his walls had come crashing down, if only for a moment, and then that kiss…

"Fuck," I whisper, pushing away from my desk. This feels wrong. Every instinct I have as a reporter is screaming at me to pursue this lead, to uncover the truth. But my heart? My heart is telling me something else entirely.

I pace my small bedroom, my mind racing. What am I supposed to do with this information? Keep digging and potentially destroy Carter’s life? Keep it to myself and risk losing my job? Neither option feels right to me.

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