Expose on the Ice (Sparks on the Ice #1)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

LILY

A s I watch Carter storm off, my heart sinks into my stomach. The accusation in his eyes cuts deeper than any words could have. I want to run after him, to explain, to tell him I hadn’t betrayed his trust. But my feet remain rooted to the spot, the weight of what had just happened holding me in place.

The rival reporter’s – my colleague’s – words echo in my ears, drowning out the music and chatter around me. I had written nothing about the accident yet, and until a moment ago hadn’t even decided if I was going to pursue the story, so how could they have known?

With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and navigate to the Star’s website. I already know what I’ll find, because I know the business well enough. And, as expected, right there at the top of the page is a headline that screams at me in bold letters:

"Carter Knox and The Tragic Past He Can’t Escape."

As I click on the article and read it, I feel the blood drain from my face. The article is a sensationalized account of Carter’s family history, focusing on the death of his sister. It has a lot of what had been reported years ago, but now there’s more.

The grief… and how he pushed himself to breaking point on the ice every single day, trying to forget it and escape it.

The impact on his budding hockey career… how he’d been a light, carefree player made hard after the accident.

The strain it had put on his family… how, when he occasionally visited his mother’s otherwise empty home, the visits were brief and tense.

I know instantly that all of those things are based on my note-taking, from the things I’d observed and the people I’d spoken to. The words in the article might be a little different – although not much – but I recognize their origin.

There are also details that Carter had shared with me that night at the rink. Off the record. When his guard was down. The writer had twisted these intimate moments, presenting them in the most scandalous light possible.

"Oh God," I whisper, my free hand covering my mouth in horror.

Carter’s past, the pain he’d tried so hard to keep buried, is now splashed across the internet – on news websites and social media – for all the world to see. And soon, it’ll be on the front page of every newsstand in North America, and all over social media.

Although plenty of the work in the story is mine, there’s new reporting as well. There are quotes from old teammates, neighbors, even a former coach. At least the reporter had done some work after they’d somehow stolen mine.

"How could they have known?" I mutter, my mind racing. I had shared none of my notes with anyone. " Where did they get this?"

Whether or not I’d meant to, and however my notes had gotten into this reporter’s hands, I’d played a part in this violation of Carter’s privacy. I’d written down my recollection of our off-the-record conversation and failed to secure my notes in general. No wonder he’d looked at me with such betrayal.

I feel like I’m going to throw up, but I want answers. My hands shake as I dial Frank’s number, my stomach churning with a nauseating mix of guilt and anger. The phone rings once, twice, three times before he picks up.

"Frank," I say, my voice trembling. "What the hell is going on? Why is there an article about Carter Knox’s past on the website?"

"I was wondering when you’d call," Frank’s gruff voice comes through the line, sounding annoyingly calm. "Well, get on with it…"

"I didn’t write that article," I hiss, trying to keep my voice down despite the rage building inside me. "I haven’t even decided if I was going to pursue that angle. How could you publish it?"

Frank lets out a heavy sigh. "Look, kid, it’s time to get with the program. You weren’t delivering, so we had to use what we had. Someone took your notes, made a few calls, and ran with it."

" My notes?" I sputter, incredulous. "Those were my sources, my work. You can’t just?—

"Can’t what?" Frank cuts me off with a laugh that makes my blood boil. "You’re paid by the paper, Lily. Your work is our work. Don’t worry about it."

I grip my phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "But how did you even get my notes? They were in my notepad. I never even typed them out."

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when Frank speaks again, his voice has lost its casual tone. "Listen, Lily, I’m under a lot of pressure here. Jobs are going. You need to step up and do better."

"Do better?" I repeat, my voice rising. "You stole my work and published it without my consent. How is that supposed to make me do better?"

"It’s called motivation," Frank snaps, in a tone that tells me he’s done being lectured by a junior reporter. "Now, are you going to keep whining, flashing your tits to Knox every other day, and who knows what else? Or are you going to knuckle down, keep digging – scratching and clawing and fighting – to get me a damn story?"

"Frank," I say, suddenly burning with shame and anger. "I?—

"Spare it, kid. I don’t care who you kiss or sleep with, especially if it gets me a story," he says. "But your job is to get back there and get me something I can use, or I’ll find someone else who will. I like you, and that’s why I used the notes and otherwise kept you employed for now, but it’s a one-time get-out-of-the-shit-can-free card."

I open my mouth to argue further, but the line goes dead. Frank has hung up on me. I lower my phone, staring at it in disbelief as the event continues around me. I feel betrayed, and responsible for the hurt I’d seen in Carter’s eyes.

My gaze sweeps the room, searching for him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I’ve screwed up, big time. Even if I hadn’t written the article myself, my notes had been the foundation for it. I’d let my curiosity get the better of me, written everything I’d heard and researched down, thinking it was safe…

And now Carter is paying the price.

In my trauma, I only realize then that there are things that I’d written on a notepad – a different notepad – at home that hadn’t found their way into the story. All the digging I’d done, and my suspicion of a cover-up…

Shaking my head, I forget about that for now. I can figure out how Frank had got some – but not all – of my notes later. It feels like the smallest firecracker compared to the nuclear bomb that had dropped on me and on Carter.

I need to find him, to explain, to apologize, and to figure out how to fix it. But as I take a step forward, my legs wobble beneath me. The weight of what had happened, of what I’d inadvertently caused, threatens to topple me.

How can I face Carter now?

How can I ever regain his trust?

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 I wanted to happen?

The answer is obvious.

I’d wanted him.

And now I’d screwed it up.