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 driver’s side. We planned to grab an early lunch once we took care of an unpleasant but completely necessary task. Then I’d do my best to forget about everything for a while.

I waited with the truck idling while Bailey buckled her seat belt.

Lifting her chin, she gave me a small smile. “How was practice?”

She was trying a little too hard to sound casual, like it was another ordinary day.

“It was okay.”

That was a white lie. Or a big fat lie, rather, because practice was a tire fire. I hadn’t been on the ice in almost seven days, and it showed. It had been years since I’d gone that long without putting on skates.

To make matters worse, Coach Miller worked me until I nearly keeled over on the ice—probably as payback for my disappearing act. Things went downhill from there when I was hauled into his office afterward and grilled like a goddamn steak over an open flame. Like everyone else in the world, Coach Miller heard about the video, but it was clear he didn’t have the whole story. 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.

He started citing morality clauses, behavior expectations for the school’s varsity athletes, and our team’s code of conduct. Our conversation made a drastic detour when I explained the non-consensual nature of the tape, and then he was more sympathetic than I’d expected. I cut the conversation short and gave him Stewart’s contact information in case he had any more questions. Presumably, dropping the attorney word would put the issue to rest with him and the school’s administration.

“But are you okay?” Bailey prodded, concern across her face.

I met her gaze briefly before breaking away again and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

Her lips rolled together, making it clear she didn’t believe that, but she said nothing. She knew when and when not to push me, and I loved her for that.

Our drive was largely silent, mostly because I was exhausted on every level imaginable. 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 up in the air.