The next day, I woke up at the ass crack of dawn and drove nearly three hours to meet with Stewart, Dallas's litigator father. Not only did he fit me in last minute, he refused to charge me for his time even though I offered. Hell, I tried to insist. I'd gladly pay his insane $1,000/hour rate—or whatever he charged—if he had a legal magic wand to make this all go away.

I knew I needed to talk to Bailey. Was going to talk to Bailey, eventually. But first I needed to get a handle on the situation and what the possible fallout could be. At least then I'd have some idea of what I was talking about when I did tell her.

After barely squeezing my truck into the heated underground parking garage, I took the elevator up to the 31st floor. A stainless sign mounted on the wall that read Ward Myers and Trenton LLP greeted me. It hit me that I hadn't been to a lawyer's office since my dad died, when we had to handle all the legal matters relating to that.

Then I remembered the media shitstorm back then. Paparazzi camped out outside our house, my school, even my friends' houses. The constant, low-level nausea I'd had since last night surged. I didn't want to relive that again, and I was worried I might—to a lesser degree—if this got out.

Suddenly, I wondered if I should talk to my mom, but I didn't know how. That conversation might be even worse than talking to Bailey.

Stewart's assistant led me into his massive corner office tucked away in the opposite end of the floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a panoramic view of the city and beyond. Stewart's imposing suit-clad figure was seated behind his glass desk. He waved me in without glancing up, immersed in paperwork.

"Thanks for meeting me on such short notice." I settled into the sleek leather chair across from his desk, crossing an ankle over my knee.

"Not a problem." Stewart shuffled the papers on his desk, setting them aside. He glanced up at me and steepled his thick fingers, leaning over the desk with his brow furrowed. "Dallas said you had a 911 situation on your hands. What's going on?"

If only I knew.

"I'm not sure. There might be...pictures. Of me. Compromising pictures. Or a video, maybe." My stomach lurched, like speaking the words somehow made it more real.

He nodded. "Do they contain any non-consensual acts? Because if they do, you're going to need a different kind of lawyer. I can refer you out to a criminal attorney."

I flinched. Was he seriously asking me that? He saw the look on my face and his expression softened, turning from businesslike to sympathetic.

"I have to ask," Stewart said gently. "Covering the bases. It's nothing against you, son. I would ask Dallas the same thing."

"Nothing like that," I said. "Unless the fact that I didn't consent to the recording counts."

My phone chimed in my hand. I glanced down to find a text from Bailey. Guilt flooded me and I dismissed the message, flipping the ringer to silent.

"Were you aware of it at the time?"

"Kind of. I caught the girl with her phone's camera on. I got mad and then she said she deleted it. I thought she did. I was pretty, uh, intoxicated."

Stewart looked down, making notes on a pad of paper in front of him. "It's a criminal offense to record someone engaging in sexual acts without their permission."

This confirmed what I had gathered based on my internet research, but it was of little comfort right now. I didn't want to press charges after my life exploded, I wanted to defuse the bomb.

"What if they pass it around?" I swallowed, mouth suddenly desert dry.

"The state doesn't have specific laws that govern revenge porn. But blackmailing you about releasing would be an offense. Those are criminal matters. For those, you'd have to go to the police and file a statement to press charges."

Cops. Great. Because if there was a group of people that liked me, it was definitely them.

And like a big ass hockey player filing charges against a chick half his size would look good. Great optics there in terms of my career.

"Okay."

"I have to caution you, though, that would be messy and public. If a civil suit arises, or you want to initiate one, that's where I come in. Also messy and public." His eyes scanned my face. "But I'm assuming you don't want to poke the hornet's nest and go either route right now."

"Correct."

"Generally speaking, that is what I would advise at this stage as well," Stewart said. "Wait until we have a better handle on what the situation is."

"I'm trying to figure it out, but I think she's lying to me. I can't even get her to admit anything exists. But there are rumors that have me worried. Seems like a smoke, fire kind of thing."

At this point, I was almost certain the rumors were about me.

"Our firm works with some excellent private investigators. It might be worth considering to see if they can dig something up."

How was this my life? Hiring a fucking PI?

"As long as they don't draw more attention to it."

"They won't." Stewart shook his head. "Very discreet. They won't approach anyone without your okay, but they'll do a lot of legwork and background research." He paused, giving me a meaningful look. "And maybe some electronic device investigation, for the right price."

"Electronic device investigation?" I felt like I should know what he meant, but I didn't.

He lowered his voice. "Hacking. But that would be illegal, so I never said that, nor would I ever condone it. This is all alleged, hypothetical, you get the drift."

There's an idea. Hack into Kristen's phone. Maybe her email, too.

"Problem is, I think she sent it to someone else."

"For the sake of argument, let's say there is something out there. What would it contain? I know it's an uncomfortable subject, but give me the gist so I can gauge the extent of the damage. How compromising are we talking?" He picked up his mug, taking a drink and watching me over the top.

"I don't know when Kristen took out her phone." I sighed. "I was having sex with this girl, Nicole. She was on top of me. Then I stopped her, and she was blowing me while we smoked a joint."

"So the consent should be pretty easy to establish."

"I should hope so." Consent hadn't even occurred to me as a potential issue.

"That's positive, as it's really one of your biggest potential problems. A sex scandal isn't nearly as bad as sexual assault allegations."

Bile climbed up the back of my throat. I guess he was right; the video was better than a fake rape charge. If we were comparing the lesser of the evils, anyway.

"What about the joint?"

"That's the least of your problems right now," he said. "For all anyone knows, it could be a homemade cigarette. Really neither here nor there in the scheme of things. But there was a third party, Kristen who took the photos?"

"Right. We were fooling around too, but it isn't on camera, as far as I know." At this point, I didn't know what was or wasn't on there. I think Kristen had her phone out for a while before I realized it. I was obliterated.

"Unlike your situation, recording audio with one-party consent is legal. If you speak to anyone about this, record the conversation and get them to talk as much as possible. Then we can gauge if there is anything you can use as evidence for criminal or civil proceedings."

Great. But what I really wanted was to avoid any kind of proceedings altogether.

"Will do," I said. "What about my contract with the league? Do you think...?" I trailed off, unable to force out the rest of the words. Would they drop me? I knew there were morality clauses in my contract.

"This is entirely different from that other recent scandal where an NHL player was taping women without their consent. I don't think they'll be inclined to punish you, the victim, in this scenario. Especially not with me in the picture." His voice took on an edge.

I hoped not. If this tanked my career, my life was over. There was no plan B.

"What if it does leak?"

"One step at a time," he said. "But if it does—the parties responsible will wish it hadn't. I assure you."

Not as much as I will.

He looked at me sympathetically. "Take some time to think before deciding. I never want my clients to act when they're under acute distress. Sleep on it. Spend some time with your girlfriend. Talk it over with someone you can trust."

Who could I even tell? No one else knew. I wanted to keep it that way.

I swallowed. "What would you tell Dallas to do?"

"Bury it." Stewart gestured emphatically with his pudgy hands. "Find it, bury it, and throw a fucking funeral."

"How?"

"We confirm whether there's a copy and if there is, get some NDAs in place immediately. Then we properly destroy the files."

I signed. "Okay. That makes sense."

"Look," he said, "95 percent of the time, a client throws money at this type of thing to sweeten the NDA and it disappears completely. We both know you can afford to do that."

I mean, yeah. Probably. But I shouldn't fucking have to.

"You want me to pay to keep it quiet? I didn't even do anything. You just said what she did was a crime."

"Speaking as both a lawyer and your friend, in situations like this, you do what you need to do." He raised his eyebrows. "Think about how much it could cost you if you don't."

I shook my head, gaze fixed to the glossy black tile flooring. A beat passed and neither of us spoke.

"This is brutal."

I'm sure this is exactly what my dad had in mind when he set me up financially. Hush money for something like this. Fucking awesome. He would be so proud.

At least if he were still here, I could talk to him. I wanted him back more than anything. The dull, ever-present ache of missing him was almost intolerable right now. I was lost. I needed him. Needed someone in my corner more than anything—someone to tell me what the fuck to do, because I sure as hell didn't know.

"I know, son." Stewart leaned his elbows on the table, fixing me with a stern-but-gentle, fatherly look. "Do you want to be right, or do you want to make this go away?"

"Guessing I can't have both."

"No." He shook his head. "You can't."

*

My mind was spinning the entire drive home. I was experiencing some form of shock, not quite accepting that this was reality. Song after song played on the radio but I didn't hear a single word.

I'd quickly written Bailey back when I got into my truck, but we had plans tonight and I had no idea how to tell her everything. I was still processing it myself.

Once I got back into town, I decided to make a quick detour. Didn't want to, but I needed to know for sure. And I need to record the conversation when I found out.

I walked up the sidewalk to the townhouse clad with green siding and rang the doorbell of unit 22. Then I switched on the voice recorder in my phone.

Forgive me, James.

Kristen opened her front door, giving me a coy smile. "Hi." She was in a tank top so low-cut I could almost see nipple, and yoga pants that were nearly painted on. I wondered if she changed when I texted her or always lounged around dressed like that.

"I have practice soon so I can't stay long," I said, stepping inside the entry. "I just wanted to talk to you about last night for a sec."

"What about it?" She looked at me suspiciously as she shut the door behind me, locking it.

I leaned against the white wall, trying hard to appear casual. "Maybe I was too hasty. I was in a bad mood because of my suspension. But you were right, that night with you and Nikki was pretty hot." My nausea hit an all-time high. At this point, I was close to dry-heaving in front of her.

"I know, right?" Kristen batted her lashes at me.

God, she was easy to play. I just hoped she didn't try to touch me. That was a line I wouldn't cross, not even for this.

"Too bad I never got to see the video for myself," I added.

She sniffed. "I thought you were all about your girlfriend these days."

"Doesn't mean I can't reminisce about the past a little." Just saying the words tasted bitter.

"Guess you shouldn't have made me delete it."

In the background, her roommate Charlotte walked by. I wondered if she knew about this, too.

I lowered my voice. "Come on, Kristen. I bet you could find it for me."

"Well, I might be able to dig it up if I tried." She shrugged, playing with a strand of her dark hair.

I knew it. I fucking knew it.

"Try?" I gave her a flirty smile while hating myself inside. "For old times' sake?"

"Fine." Kristen rolled her eyes. "Hang on." Pulling out her phone, she tapped at the screen.

My heart raced as I watched her. After a minute, she handed her phone to me—and there it was, up on the screen. I watched the whole clip with the volume down on low, pretending to be interested. I wanted to smash her phone into pieces, but I knew I couldn't give away my hand. Not yet.

As I had suspected, the video was basically four minutes of me banging Nikki, then her blowing me while we smoked a joint. The clip stopped before I caught Kristen and told her to stop recording, conveniently painting me as a willing participant and eliminating all references to Kristen's name.

I was pretty she was still recording for a few more minutes after that. She cropped the video. I needed the original. Somehow. It was the only thing that might exonerate my ass.

"Is this it?" I glanced up at her, eyebrows raised, and handed back the phone. Her hand brushed mine in the process and I fought the urge to violently yank it away.

Her perfectly arched brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

Careful, Carter.

"I was just hoping it would be longer." I shrugged. "You're not in the video."

"Maybe next time."

"Maybe." Never fucking ever. "No one else knows about this, do they?"

Something flashed across her face. "No."

She was lying.

"Do me a solid and keep it that way, okay? Our little secret. It's hotter that way anyway, right?"

"Totally."

"Thanks, Kris. I have to get going to practice, but I'll text you sometime," I lied.

I stalked back to my truck and climbed inside, flipping the ignition on. Then I slumped against the leather-wrapped steering wheel, trying to untangle my thoughts. Trying to think of a way to break this to Bailey. What could I even say to her?

Part of me thought she might understand, but another part of me was scared she wouldn't. It wasn't just the video, it was what it contained—me with two girls, one of which was someone else's girlfriend. Even though I didn't know she had a boyfriend at the time, it still made me look bad. And I saw how upset Bailey had been about Derek and Jillian. Was she going to lose respect for me over this? Decide I wasn't who she thought I was after all?

Then there was the catastrophic effect this could have on my life—and Bailey's life, by association. Being known as the girlfriend of that guy. Bad publicity. Possibly jeopardizing her scholarship, her internship, her own career. Being the subject of vicious gossip. Was she going to resent me for being dragged into that?

Good god, I hadn't even met her parents and now they would hate me. And so much for any headway I'd made with Derek.

A sharp rap on my window startled me. I glanced up, expecting to find Kristen.

It wasn't.

From bad to worse.

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