Page 49 of Expose on the Ice

I suddenly feel tiny. And idiotic, in this slut dress and the underwear so small I may as well not be wearing any. Who am I kidding? Why the hell did I come dressed like this, anyway? What had I expected to happen? What had Iwantedto happen?

The answer is obvious.

I’d wanted him.

And now I’d screwed it up.

CHAPTER 19

CARTER

My legs barely hold me up as I stumble into the men’s bathroom. The door swings shut behind me, muffling the sounds of the charity ball – the chatter, the soft music. All of it fades away as I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white, and stare at a guilty man in the mirror.

My reflection stares back at me, a stranger with haunted eyes and a clenched jaw. I hardly recognize myself. I let out a lengthy sigh. "What now, Carter?"

The article.

Those details.

My past laid bare for the world to see.

How could this be happening?

As I’d moved away from Lily and the reporter who’d cornered me, I’d quickly read the article on the Star’s website using my phone. It had all been there. The accident. Sarah. Isla. My family. How I’d pushed myself to the breaking point on the ice, trying to escape the memories.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the words from that damn article are burned into my brain.

At least there was nothing about the cover-up, but that feels like a small win. My stomach churns as I remember thereporter’s questions earlier. The knowing look in his eyes. He’d known everything. Things nobody except my family and my agent knew… and Lily.

Talking to me on the ice.

Talking to my teammates.

Stalking me to my mom’s house.

Somehow getting in touch with Isla.

Watching me.

Always. Fucking. Watching. Me.

"Idiot," I growl at my reflection.

I think back to the warning from Uncle Pete, the cryptic warning about someone snooping around back home. It must have been Lily, digging right before the story was finalized, talking to people who knew me before Sarah died and before I became this version of myself.

My fist connects with the mirror before I even realize I’ve moved. Pain shoots through my hand, but I welcome it. It’s better than the ache in my chest, the feeling of betrayal that threatens to suffocate me. I’d let her in. I’d kissed her. I’d touched her. I’d fantasized aboutfuckingher.

And all along, she’d been planning this.

To use me.

The bathroom door creaks open, and I whirl around, ready to snarl at whoever dares to intrude. But it’s just some drunk guy who takes one look at my face and backs out quickly, muttering an apology and clearly sensing my rage.

I turn back to the cracked mirror, watching a drop of blood from my knuckles trail down the fractured glass. It’s fitting, really. Everything is broken now. My carefully constructed walls, the hurt I’d tried my best to conceal, the image I’d worked to maintain – all of it shattered by a story in a newspaper.

And Lily…

Tonight, for a moment, I’d thought there might be something there. Something real. But it had all been a lie. Every question, every look, every touch – it was all just part of her game. Her way of getting the story she wanted.

---