Page 80 of Expose on the Ice

"Frank," Mark’s voice crackles through the speaker, sounding tense. "We need to talk about the Knox story."

Frank leans back in his chair, looking like the cat that got the cream. "Oh? And what about it? I hope you’re not calling to threaten legal action. You know as well as I do that everything we printed was true."

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. "It’s not about what you’ve already printed, Frank. It’s about what you’re planning to print next."

I feel a small smile forming at the corners of my mouth. Clearly, Carter has told Mark, and if the team’s boss is now calling Frank, there might be a chance something could be done about the story before it reaches print.

Frank’s eyes narrow. "I’m listening."

"We have a proposition for you," Mark says, his voice steady. "One that I think you’ll find interesting."

Frank glances at me, then back at the phone. "Go on."

I stand there, frozen, as Mark’s voice crackles through the speakerphone. My heart races, a mix of shock and hope coursing through my veins.

"It’s simple," Mark says, his tone firm, "If you publish any further leaks about Carter Knox or his past, our players will start a boycott of the Star and all its sister papers, networks, radio stations, and podcasts."

Frank’s face contorts, his smug expression morphing into one of disbelief and anger. "What the hell are you talking about, Mark? You can’t do that!"

"Oh, but we can," Mark replies. "And it’s not just us. Teams across the league, and in other leagues, are joining in. No interviews, no press conferences, no locker room access. Nothing."

Frank’s face is turning an alarming shade of red. "This is blackmail! You can’t strong-arm the press like this!"

"It’s not blackmail, Frank," Mark says calmly. "It’s a choice. You can choose to do the right thing, or you can choose to lose access to every major sports team in the region. Our players – and, frankly,everyone– have reached the end of the road with tolerating your constant digging into their private lives, and we also know the value sports coverage has to you and your organization."

Frank’s eyes dart to me, narrowing with barely contained fury. I keep my face as neutral as possible, but inside, I’m beaming. "Go to hell," I whisper.

Frank leans back in his chair, running a hand through his thinning hair. "You’re bluffing. There’s no way you could organize something like this so quickly."

"Try us," Mark says, his voice steely. "Publish that story, and watch how fast your sports section becomes irrelevant. How long do you think your paper will last without sports coverage?"

The silence that follows is deafening. I can almost see the gears turning in Frank’s head as he weighs his options. Everyone knows that sports coverage is a massive driver of clicks, eyeballs, and advertiser spend. Without it, the paper would hollow out even faster.

Frank’s eyes flick to me again, filled with a mixture of anger and resignation. "Fine," he finally growls. "What are your exact terms?"

"It’s simple," Mark replies. "You bury any further stories about Carter Knox’s past, and you provide Lily Grant with a severance package commensurate with her years of service and the work you stole from her."

Frank’s jaw clenches, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of his desk. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I hope you enjoy covering high school badminton tournaments, because that’s about all the sports access you’ll have left," Mark says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I hold my breath, watching Frank’s internal struggle play out across his face. It’s a delicious turning of the tables on him after he’d caused so much damage to Carter and me. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a long, defeated sigh.

"Alright," he mutters. "You win. We’ll bury the story about Knox and sort out a severance package for Grant."

CHAPTER 32

LILY

Imeet Carter at a nearby lake. My heart clenches at the sight of him, remembering everything we’ve been through in the past day or so. As I approach, the gravel crunching under my feet alerts him to my presence. He turns, his eyes lighting up when they meet mine and, instantly, we’re in each other’s arms.

"Hey," I murmur into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

"Hey yourself," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.

We pull apart just enough to look at each other, and then his lips are on mine. The kiss is passionate, desperate, filled with all the emotions we can’t put into words. When we finally break apart, I can’t help but smile.

"Come on," Carter says, taking my hand. "Let’s walk."