Page 58 of Slapshot Bride

“I think I’m paying the price for living recklessly now. Someone up there…” I point to the ceiling and look up. “...probably saw me frolicking around and thought it’s damn time I receive a lesson.”

“Now you sound like my mom. Come on man.”

I huff.

“Six months ago...” I start, gathering my thoughts and trying to figure out how the hell to explain the whole Maya situation in a few sentences.

Mason waits. I see his ears perk up, and usually, I’d laugh, but not today.

“After the championship. The party. Maya.”

His face doesn't change yet, but I see the small reset in his eyes. He remembers Maya. He met her once, that night, briefly. He didn’t like her.

He told me later, in a voicemail I deleted, that he did not trust her, and I told him I was an adult, and he had not pressed.

“Yes?”

“I was drunk.”

“Okay...”

Now comes the part I hate admitting.

Because this isn’t me. Yeah, I’ve always liked a good time. Women. The occasional night of drinking. But I’ve never let any of it interfere with my career. That always came first.

Except that night.

That night, I fucked up. And I’ve been paying for it ever since.

“I did something stupid. Something she suggested, and after the win and everything that came with it, I didn't have the discipline to say no.” I pause, my jaw tightening. “She had drugs. I'd never touched anything like that before, but she kept pushing. Kept telling me to loosen up.”

I look down at my hands.

“Part of me knew she was filming me. I saw her holding up her phone, and something in the back of my mind kept telling me this wasn't right. But I convinced myself I was being paranoid.” I let out a humorless laugh. “The truth is, I was too drunk to think straight or make a smart decision.”

Mason doesn't say anything. Yet.

“She has the videos. Me using the drugs on her. My face is stamped across all videos. There are pictures too.”

“Jesus, Easton.” He slams a palm over his face.

“She’s been asking for money, and I’ve been paying her for the last six months. Small amounts. Nothing big enough to draw attention. Just enough to keep me paying. Just enough that the payments themselves start to look like evidence that I had something to hide.” I stare down at my drink. “I knew that. I paid her anyway.”

A beat passes.

“I stopped two weeks ago.”

Mason sits back.

He runs a hand down his face. He isn't looking at me. “Easton.”

I stare at him, waiting for the criticism. I deserve it.

But I know Mason. He won't just tell me how badly I screwed up. He'll help me find a solution, too.

“You need a lawyer.”

“I have a lawyer.”