56. the blast zone

Chase

The more I told Dallas, the more tense his posture grew.

Halfway through the recap of my conversation with Luke, he leapt off my bed. “Holy shit,” he said, interrupting me. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

Good question.

“Uh, kind of been in shock over here. My life went from normal to a living nightmare in the span of twenty-four hours. Still not thinking clearly, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

I circled back to detailing the sordid chain of events. By the end of my story, Dallas was pacing the floor of my room, nearly as distressed as I was.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned on his heel and made another lap. “I remember how upset you were the next day when you told me Kristen pulled that stunt.”

He was right. But I was still pissed at myself for trusting her in the first place.

“That doesn’t change the situation I’m in now.”

Dallas shook his head, raking a hand through his dark hair. “You have to tell Bailey.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Morrison is going to blow up her entire world.”

He meant well, but I’d been second-guessing and agonizing over that very decision for the better part of the last three days. If it was as simple as telling her, I would have already done it.

“How would he know if you told her the truth?”

That was the million-dollar question. But the price if he did was far too high—Bailey losing everything she’d worked three years for. Her future. Her shot at a career she deserved. Being financially independent, which mattered to her more than she’d ever admit.

Not to mention the blowback in her personal life. I had skin thicker than an alligator hide, but Bailey didn’t.

“I don’t know,” I said, prickly unease washing over me. “Morrison knows all kinds of shit he shouldn’t. How does he even know about her internship? It’s creepy as hell.”

When I met Stewart’s PI, Vincent, yesterday, the first thing I asked him to do was make sure Luke didn’t have a tail on Bailey. Vincent told me to sit tight, so I’d been obsessively watching my phone and waiting for an update since. Waiting to hear whether he’d gotten a hold of the full tape, knew who else might have it, anything.

So far, no word. I couldn’t even contact Stewart again until Vincent gave me the all-clear.

Sitting, waiting, losing my goddamn mind.

“Maybe you should let Bailey decide what she wants to do,” Dallas said.

“You don’t think I want to? Giving her the choice might be the same thing as making it for her. If I tell her, and Morrison finds out, he’ll go nuclear. Game over.”

The fallout played in my head like a horror movie on repeat: that fucking email going to her friends, her family, everyone affiliated with her scholarship and internship. Bailey’s life falling apart like a house of cards, all because of me.

Morrison could pull the trigger at some point anyway, with or without dragging Bailey into it. God willing, it would be without. At the end of the day, I could own up to the things I’d done, even if I hadn’t intended them to be public knowledge.

Whether Bailey would want to be with me once she knew about the tape, though? The answer to that question scared me.

“If you don’t tell her,” Dallas said, his voice quiet, “you could lose her.”

It winded me like a hockey stick to the stomach. Again, he was right, but I couldn’t accept that as a possibility. I couldn’t be the reason her dreams went up in smoke, either. Hence the hellish purgatory I was trapped in.

I itched to pick up the phone. Better yet, to go over there and see her. I missed her more than anything in the world. The distance I’d put between us was literal torture. Like I was missing a limb, and it had only been days. How much more of this could I take?

“I’m trying to keep her out of the blast zone. I don’t care what happens to me, but I can’t let her get dragged into this shit. What would you do if it was Shiv?”

“I’d protect her,” Dallas admitted. “At all costs.”

“Exactly. Priority number one was pushing her out of the path of an oncoming freight train. If you have any ideas beyond that, I’m all ears.”

Beside me on my bed, my phone lit up.

* * *

“You going to come to my first NHL game?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

The hours I had to wait to meet with Vincent felt like a fucking eternity. Dallas tried to stay with me, but his anxiety level was feeding into mine, so I finally forced him to leave the house and keep his original plans with Shiv.

In the meantime, Vincent gave me the go-ahead to talk to Stewart. What I’d hoped would be a constructive conversation turned out to be destructive, because Stewart and I agreed that he’d pre-emptively inform Los Angeles about the situation. There was a chance I was about to blow my contract to bits and ruin my future hockey career, but Stewart assured me that getting ahead of it was the best way to go. I had no choice but to trust him.

It was after eight by the time I met Vincent. The grimy pub we were meeting at for the second time was located on the other end of town in an industrial park. Vincent claimed it was “a secure location,” but the area was more than a little shady. He obviously knew what he was doing, though, so I kept my mouth shut. Maybe the cockroaches moonlighted as security.

I headed to the back corner and slid into the booth across from him. He was dressed in head-to-toe black, with hard features amplified by a jagged scar down his left cheek. How he blended in easily enough to be a PI was a mystery, but Stewart said his nickname was the Ghost. Hopefully, he’d live up to it.

Vincent laced his fingers on the table, looking at me over his half-empty pint of beer with a grim expression. He was a brand-new addition to my shortlist of terrifying people—one notch below Stewart. I got the feeling if I asked Vincent to have Morrison offed, he’d give me a price and initiate plans.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.

“Before we go any further,” Vincent said, “we have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy with sources. Which means it’s not admissible in court.”

“That’s fine.” My foot landed on something sticky on the floor beneath the table, and it made a ripping sound as I repositioned my legs. “I need to know.”

“As we discussed, I have a copy of the full video,” Vincent said. “Or rather, I have both clips, as it was digitally split into two.”

Nausea brimmed in the pit of my stomach. “Can I see the second one?”

From across the table, he stretched his arm out, offering me his phone. I accepted and adjusted the volume to its lowest setting, hesitating briefly. Revulsion bowled into me as I hit Play.

Clip 2 of 2

Location: Private residence, 9516 32nd Ave

Date saved: Saturday, April 21st at 1:27 AM

— RECORDING STARTS —

[1:35:02 AM]

Nicole: Come on already.

Chase: Wait, I need to grab another—what the fuck, Kristen? How long have you had that out? Put that shit away.

[background noise]

Chase: Get off me, Nikki.

Nicole: (unintelligible)

Kristen: It’s not on, Chase. I’m just messing around.

Chase: I don’t care. Let me see your phone.

Kristen: But you look so good on camera.

Chase: What? You better not be recording this.

[background noise]

Kristen: (laughs) Or what?

Chase: I’m not fucking around. Give me the phone.

Chase: Now, Kristen. I don’t need Coach seeing this.

Kristen: You’re such a downer. Relax, I’ll delete it. See?

[1:36:09AM]

— RECORDING ENDS —

The video ended, and I stared at the frozen screen without blinking.

Just like I’d thought.

A murky mixture of feelings swirled within me. Vindication, anger, regret. I’d been so focused on funneling my rage toward Morrison that I hadn’t even begun to think about what to do with Kristen. First, she made the recording—and edited the clip to fuck me extra hard—then she sold me out for practically pennies.

At least I had the other half, time stamp and all. Should this hit worst-case scenario, at least Bailey would be spared some of the fallout. There was no way anyone could plausibly link her to the tape now.

“If you give the police probable cause when you press charges, sometimes they dig up this stuff themselves.” Vincent nodded at his phone, still in my hand, the screen having gone black. “Your audio recording, which was legally obtained, gives them a good starting point to go hunting for this. It shouldn’t be too hard to find unless the cop working the case is a total fucking moron.” He heaved a weary sigh. “Though, unfortunately, many of them are.”

With my luck, I’d end up with the fucking moron variety working my case. Problem for another time, though.

I handed his phone back to him. “Was anyone following Bailey?”

“No. But I assume you’re aware that you were being followed.”

An icy sensation trickled down my spine. “I had an inkling.” Confirming it didn’t make it any less disturbing, though.

“Another PI firm. Travers Mill. Top shelf prices, bottom tier, sloppy work. They were retained by”—he glanced down and checked his notes—“Lucas Morrison.”

No surprise there.

“How long have they been following me?”

“A month.”

Holy shit. Since he pulled the car stunt with Bailey.

He shrugged, bringing his beer to his mouth. “Like I said, they’re sloppy. Practically left behind a trail of breadcrumbs.”

“Are they still tailing me?”

“No.” The mug clanged against the table with an ominous finality. His thin lips quirked. “And they won’t be again. I’ve seen to that.”

“Wait, if no one was following Bailey, how did Morrison know all that stuff about her life?”

“Oh, Travers Mill was definitely poking around in her life.”

Another arctic blast filled my body at the idea of Luke’s minions snooping into Bailey’s personal affairs. I tried to push it out of mind, focusing on the takeaway message. They were gone now.

“But they weren’t following her like they were you,” he added. “They won’t be snooping around in her life anymore, either. Their investigator broke several laws and was too careless to conceal it properly. With that sort of leverage, you can expect them to leave you alone going forward.”

“Does that mean it’s safe for me to talk to her?”

“Yes,” he said. “Travers Mill have to let Luke know they were exposed, but you have a small window of opportunity before that happens. I’m going to tail you myself for the next few days to be sure they’ve backed off.”

A rush of air flooded my lungs, like I’d been holding my breath without realizing it.

I could see her. Talk to her. Tell her everything. Beg for her forgiveness, or at least try.

“Stewart is handling the legal end of things as we speak,” he added.

In addition to talking to the management for Los Angeles, Stewart planned to “leash that sorry excuse for a shit stain” by going straight to the source of said stain—Luke’s parents. He felt that, as lawyers, they’d be pretty receptive in light of the recording from the truck and the threat of a messy, public lawsuit. Not to mention criminal charges on top of that.

Either it would work or it wouldn’t. I couldn’t wait any longer to find out. If the coast was clear, nothing would keep me from seeing Bailey.

* * *

“Yellow.”

“Are you okay?”

“I want a kiss.”

“I thought you were getting overstimulated.”

“No, I was getting lonely up here.”

“We can’t have that. Do you want me to untie you?”

“Not yet. But I need you to make good on all this teasing soon, or I’m going to lose my mind.”

* * *