The next morning, I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed to attend an early morning ice time. After crashing hard and actually sleeping for the first time in a week, leaving the comfort of Bailey's body beneath warm, cozy blankets was a struggle. I'd regressed back to the phase when things were new with us and I was actively trying not to be a stage-five clinger. Except right now, I wasn't even trying to fight it; I was straight up clinging. I didn't want to let her out of my sight.

Bailey claimed she didn't mind, but I suspected she might feel differently after another week or so.

With practice finally over, I swung back over to her place to pick her up. Because again, I was static cling city.

After hopping out to open her door and give her a quick hello kiss, I slid back into the drivers' side. We were planning to grab an early lunch once we took care of one unpleasant but completely necessary task. Then I was going to forget about everything for a while. Or try to, at least, because it probably wouldn't work.

I waited with the truck idling in park while Bailey reached over, buckling her seatbelt.

She lifted her chin. "How was practice?"

I could tell she was trying a little too hard to sound casual, like it was just another ordinary day.

"It was okay."

That was a little white lie. Or a big fat lie, rather, because practice was a tire fire. It was the first time I'd been on the ice in almost seven days, and it showed. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone that long without putting on skates. It had to be some kind of record.

To make matters worse, Coach Miller worked me until I nearly keeled over on the ice—probably as payback for disappearing for the past week. Things continued to go downhill from there when I was hauled into his office afterward and grilled like a goddamn steak over an open flame. His interrogation was so invasive, I was surprised he didn't a strip search me or stick a needle in my arm right then and there to drug test me for good measure. Though I wouldn't be surprised if I got a call in the next few days for the latter.

My high-level explanation of what went down and why I'd been MIA did little to appease Miller, either. When he started making noise about morality clauses, behavior expectations for the school's varsity athletes, and our team's code of conduct, it became clear I wasn't explaining the situation properly, so I cut the conversation short and offered him Stewart's number in case he had any more questions.

"But are you okay?" Bailey looked at me, concern across her face. I met her gaze briefly before breaking away again, giving a one-shouldered shrug.

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine."

She shot me a sidelong glance that said she didn't believe that, but said nothing.

Miller changed his tune pretty quickly once I dropped the "lawyer" word. Between having Stewart in my corner and the fact that, frankly, the team needed me, I wasn't overly concerned about my spot on the Falcons roster. Los Angeles was another story. My future for next year was still up in the air.

While being on a div 1 hockey team was like being under a magnifying glass, playing in the NHL was like being under a high-performance microscope. The scrutiny was next-level. I knew that firsthand from my dad.

I had mixed feelings about the possibility of staying, but I knew it could have been a lot worse. Plus, another year with James wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Our drive was largely silent, mostly because I was exhausted on every level imaginable, and Bailey seemed to sense that. Ten minutes sped by like ten seconds and we arrived at our destination before I was fully ready. I pulled into a vacant visitor stall and shifted the truck into park, switching off the ignition. The squat, grey-bricked building stared back at me through the windshield. Apprehension bowled me over and my jaw set. My hands stuck to the steering wheel like they were being held in place by an invisible force.

"Chase." Bailey reached over and placed her hand on my knee. "It'll be all right."

"Cops make me nervous." It slipped out before I could stop myself, though I instantly regretted saying it. One of her older brothers was actively trying to get into the police academy back home.

"You said that before. Why is that, anyway?"

I shifted in my seat, still clenching the steering wheel. "I don't know. Don't like authority figures in general, really. Same with the media."

"You realize you're dating 'the media,' right?" A tiny smile played on her lips.

"Real journalists are fine," I said. "It's the fucking paparazzi I hate. Brings back bad memories."

Her smile faded. "Because it reminds you of your dad?"

"Pretty much."

They camped out in front of our house for several weeks after he died, shoving their cameras in our faces and yelling at us, trying to get quotes and soundbites. Vultures. I was having bad flashbacks of it with all the attention this sex tape was getting.

"I'm sorry." Bailey took my hand. Her skin was skin soft and cool against mine and the bodily contact eased my anxiety a notch. My breathing deepened, resuming a more normal pattern. "What bad memories do you have involving the police?"

"Just stuff from when I was a teenager."

"Got into lots of trouble?"

If by that she meant, got brought home in a cruiser on more than one occasion, then yes, I sure did. Thank Gretzky for being a minor. And, well, for lawyers—I guess the legal profession had been saving my ass for longer than I cared to admit.

"Some." I shrugged. "Nothing on the record."

She nodded sympathetically. "Well, you're not the one in trouble this time. Stewart said it's pretty straightforward. We just have to go in, give our statements, hand over copies of the text messages and recordings, and we'll be done."

Unease settled like a boulder in the pit of my stomach. The literal last thing I wanted as to go into the police station and outline the gory details of this debacle to a complete stranger. This wouldn't be the last of it, either; this was simply setting the wheels in motion for legal proceedings to come. Being forced to relive last April and the past week over and over again, like some kind of nightmare stuck on repeat.

Bailey grabbed her leather purse off the console and held it in her lap, waiting for me to make a move. I swallowed, but didn't release my death grip from the black leather-wrapped wheel.

"I got you," she said.

"I know." And I was lucky for it.

*

Later that night, we curled up under a blanket on the couch in my living room, idly watching the New York vs Boston game. It was in sudden-death overtime and in theory, should have been exciting, but my mind wasn't in it. At all. It had been less than 24 hours, but the video had already exploded all over the internet. Luke had been muzzled a few hours too late and the genie was already out of the bottle.

I hadn't even talked to my mom yet. I knew I had to, but I kept delaying. At the rate things were going, she'd hear about it herself if I didn't tell her soon. I knew that would be worse, but it was a conversation I sorely did not want to have.

Bailey leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees. "Holy crap. Did you see that shot? That was insane."

"Huh?" I said absently. "Oh, yeah. Crazy."

The game was over and I had no idea what had just happened. Or who won. My mind kept circling back to everything else.

Stewart's firm was working overtime to perform damage control, sending menacing cease and desist letters to companies and individuals, contacting search engines to have it de-indexed in their databases, and dealing directly with hosting providers to have the content removed, but it was like a goddamn game of whack-a-mole. Plus, it did nothing to stop the copies circulating privately via text message and social media. There was no way to address those.

Everyone knew my business. And I do mean everyone. My phone had been inundated with a steady stream of calls and texts from people I hadn't spoken to in ages or had never spoken to in the first place. I was planning to change my number first thing in the morning. I hadn't logged into social media either. At this point, I was leaning toward deleting my accounts without even checking.

At least Derek had been understanding once Bailey confirmed that I didn't cheat on her with two girls like he'd initially thought. After she explained what happened, he was almost as angry as I was. He also reported that Luke had been placed on an indefinite suspension from the team. It was a small victory, but at this point, any victory counted.

The other, biggest positive was that Luke never did drag Bailey into it. I wasn't sure why—whether it was because his parents reined him in before he could or if it was ultimately an empty threat—but I was thankful as hell.

Still, Bailey was going to be known as the girlfriend of "that guy" from now on. While she insisted that she didn't care...I did.

Bailey wordlessly grabbed the remote and turned the volume down. Then she climbed onto my lap, straddling me, and ducked her head, trying to catch my eye. When that failed, she poked my abs.

"Carter." I looked up at her sulkily, but didn't say anything. Her pupils dilated and her expression softened. "I wish you saw yourself the way I see you."

Despite my crappy mood, I couldn't fight back the smile. "Now you're stealing my lines?"

"Maybe." She leaned closer. The cherry-vanilla of her lip balm drifted over as she brushed her lips against mine. "But it's true. I think you're pretty great."

At the moment, I felt like a million things. Great wasn't one of them.

"You're a little biased, James."

Bailey flattened a palm against my chest. My heart drummed against her hand, the pervasive tension in my body slowly easing with each beat. She always had that effect on me, like a superpower no one else had.

"You saying my opinion doesn't count?" Lips slightly parted, she watched me. In the moment, she looked so perfect that I couldn't believe she was mine. I didn't know how I got so lucky, but I was going to do everything in my power to keep it that way.

"Of course it does, but..." I didn't have a response that didn't make me sound like a dick. Obviously, her opinion counted. I just thought she was wrong in this case.

She traced my jawline with the pad of her thumb, studying my face intently. "I think my opinion counts the most, because I know who you are inside." Her hazel eyes held mine, patterned with a kaleidoscope of green and gold I knew by heart. "You've been nothing but patient and kind with me. No one has ever made me feel cared for the way that you do."

At least I got one thing right.

"Well, of course," I said, rubbing her lower back. "I love you. I think part of me always knew I would."

I never cared about anything before her—not even myself. I was just sort of existing. Hockey, school, get fucked up every weekend, rinse and repeat. I figured that was it until the league. Even then, I'd probably have done the same thing, just with a bigger budget.

Her breath snagged, eyes welling up, and she wiped away a stray tear with her finger.

"Dammit." Guilt swirled in my stomach. "I didn't mean to make you cry." I reached over and grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table, handing it to her.

Bailey laughed, dabbing at her eyes and setting the tissue aside. "It's not the bad kind of crying. But it's messing with my attempt to seduce you."

"I'll stop talking. Seduce away." I wasn't worthy, would never be worthy. But I wasn't dumb enough to argue with that.

"Yeah?" Her lips curled into a lopsided grin that was somehow sexy and adorable all at once. Damn, I loved those lips. I wanted to kiss them for the rest of my life.

"Hell yeah."

We'd both been so tired the night before that we fell into a near-coma without even having makeup sex. At this point, I wanted her so bad it hurt. Literally. And having her on top of me was compounding that significantly.

Plus, I just missed her. Needed her. Loved her.

Eyelids heavy, Bailey tilted her head and her mouth met mine, soft and sweet. A rush ran through my body, everything clicking back into place.

I drew in a breath, deepening the kiss, and her lips parted for me, slender fingers digging into my shoulders. She let out a soft sigh as my hands landed on the soft, bare skin of her waist, sliding under her tank top and exploring her body like it was the first time. Savoring every smooth inch beneath my fingers, every curve beneath my palms—shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips.

My hands slid down to grip her from behind, pulling her tighter. She fit in my hands perfectly, fit against me perfectly, just like she always did. Letting out a small moan, she moved against me and sent a surge of pleasure through my body. My craving for her kicked into overdrive in response. Suddenly, I was torn between the frantic need to touch her, taste her, claim every part of her, and the desire to draw it out, making up for time. More than anything, I just wanted to be close to her, to have her body pressed up against mine with nothing between us.

Bailey ground up against me again and I grabbed hold of her tank top, beginning to slide it up over her head.

She froze. "Roommates?" It was a breath against my lips.

"Good point." Dallas was at the girls' apartment, but I had no idea what Ty's plans were. I ducked my head, planting a kiss on the hollow of her neck. "Let's go upstairs."

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