While being on a Division I hockey team was like being under a magnifying glass, playing professionally was like living under a high-performance microscope. The scrutiny was next-level. The media, the public, everyone was constantly all over the athletes. I knew that firsthand from my dad. They camped out in front of our house for weeks after he died, shoving their cameras in our faces and yelling at us, trying to get quotes and soundbites. Vultures. I was having flashbacks to that time with all the attention this tape was getting.

On top of all that, I had mixed feelings about the possibility of staying, but I knew it could have been a lot worse. Realistically, keeping my contract and getting to spend another year with Bailey was the best-case scenario.

Ten minutes sped by like ten seconds, and we arrived at our destination before I was ready. I pulled into a vacant visitor space and switched off the ignition. The squat gray brick building stared back at me through the windshield like an insurmountable mountain.

Apprehension bowled me over, and I set my jaw. My hands stuck to the steering wheel like they were being held in place by an invisible force.

“Chase.” Bailey unfastened her seat belt and scooted closer to me. “It’ll be all right.” She covered my hand with hers, her skin soft and cool against mine. “Stewart said it’s straightforward. We’ll go in, give our statements, hand over copies of the text messages and recordings, and we’ll be done in no time.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

She grabbed her tan purse off the console and held it in her lap, waiting for me. I shifted in my seat but didn’t release my death grip on the leather steering wheel. My brain knew I should get out, but my body wouldn’t cooperate.

Frustration surged through my veins, further fueled by the unfairness of the situation. Today wouldn’t be the end of it by a long shot. This was merely setting the wheels in motion for criminal proceedings to come. Seeking justice meant I would be forced to relive last April and the past week over and over again, like a nightmare stuck on repeat. Worst of all, the minute we filed our reports, Bailey would be dragged even deeper into this mess—the very thing I’d been trying to avoid all along.

In addition, there was the civil suit being spearheaded by Dallas’s father. I was going to take Morrison and his trust fund to the fucking cleaners, and then I’d donate all the proceeds to whatever charity he hated most—which was probably any of them, because he was a piece of shit.