If this keeps up, we might not get out of here again before spring,” Lexi observes, watching the fat white flakes fall outside the living room window.

Another day, another snowstorm. It’s a good thing I have a gorgeous woman here to keep me occupied; otherwise, I might have started developing cabin fever. I’ve never been one to enjoy sitting still, my childhood consisting of constant baseball practice and my adult life not turning out much different. But, for some reason, with Lexi sitting next to me, hanging out on the couch while bingeing shit TV shows doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

I turn and look out the window, twisting my head to see over the top of hers. She’s tucked into the crook of my arm, her legs curled up on the couch beneath her. Until she spoke, I thought her attention had been solely on the two brothers fighting demons on TV in front of us. But, apparently, the impending ice age is more worrisome than the fate of Sam and Dean Winchester.

“That’s fine with me,” I respond, tugging her in a little tighter. “Though Coach might be pissed if I’m late to spring training.”

“When is that?” she asks, her attention swinging back around to me.

“Mid-February.”

“February?” she exclaims. “That’s hardly spring.”

“It is down in Arizona. It’s usually in the seventies. Perfect baseball weather.”

She purses her lips as she thinks. “So, we have only a few more months until it’s back to reality?”

I press a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing her arm to try to soothe away her worries. “As far as I’m concerned, this is my reality. I will have to go back to Seattle. But that doesn’t make this any less real.”

She smiles, letting out a content sigh. Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she scoots down the couch, stretching out her legs and laying her head in my lap.

She’s out within minutes, her tiny snores absolutely adorable in the quiet room. I grab the remote and turn off the TV, not wanting to risk a loud noise from the show waking her.

I kept her awake all night last night, determined to prove to her that, even after our talk, she still meant the world to me. I spent hours worshipping her body, kissing and licking every square inch until she begged me to end the torture. And then I made sure she came so many times, there wasn’t a single orgasm left in her spent body. It was glorious.

But, looking down at her now as she sleeps, I can’t deny that it’s a lot harder to stay up all night, having sex, than it was even five years ago. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I seem to be getting old.

Age. The athlete’s worst enemy.

Lucky for me, baseball is a lower-impact sport, so provided I don’t blow out my knee or my arm, I should still have another ten good years left in me. Maybe even fifteen, if I’m lucky.

I think back to my and Lexi’s conversation last night and her worry over what her past could mean for my career. I wasn’t surprised by the DUI. I’d figured as much after finding out she didn’t drink and no longer drove. But I hadn’t expected the part about the accident. Hearing the pain in her voice as she spoke about the woman and child she’d hurt was devastating. But not as much as it had been for her. I couldn’t bring myself to be concerned about me after hearing how much it hurt her talking about the accident. And then seeing that little girl…

Let’s just say, there will be a substantial donation made to her medical expenses as soon as I can get a moment to myself. It won’t make up for the things she’s lost, but maybe it’ll help make them a little easier. And maybe, by making things easier for Lily, Lexi will be able to start forgiving herself.

I’ll be honest, if word got out, there’s no doubt in my mind some dumb-ass reporter would grab hold and not let go until I was finished. God knows, plenty of them tried after this shit with Angela. My only saving grace was the fact that she recanted. Still…I’m sure there are people who still want to see me ruined.

Jealousy is a fickle bitch. Something I’ve learned all too well in the past decade.

Pulling out my phone, I decide to do a quick search of my name. Last time I talked to Ray, he said things were starting to die down. I haven’t bothered to check the headlines since then. One, because I’ve been too busy with Lexi to check. And, two, because I’ve been too preoccupied with Lexi to give a shit.

I type my name into the search bar, cringing when the first article that comes up is a negative one.

There’s a picture of Angela in the thumbnail, so I don’t even bother to click the link. I’m already certain which option the author chose.

I scroll a little longer, keeping a mental tally of the good versus the bad. Surprisingly, the majority seems to be in my favor. There are even a few attacking Angela. I click on one out of curiosity and almost feel sorry for her after reading the first few paragraphs.

Almost.

I see a particular name pop up in the byline over and over again, so I click on one of his articles, dated shortly after Angela dropped the charges.

By now, you’ve surely heard the good news.

Tag Taggart is innocent.

Tag Taggart isn’t a rapist.

Tag Taggart is everyone’s favorite guy again.

Angela Hancock, the woman who formerly charged Taggart with sexual assault, dropped the charges on Thursday afternoon, following a lengthy meeting between her attorneys and Taggart’s. Sources say Taggart paid Hancock something in the vicinity of three million dollars, and in return, she recanted her previous statements. Hancock has fallen off the radar since the meeting, a fact that’s causing many to wonder if she fabricated the whole thing in order to extort money from Taggart.

Based on this new evidence, it would certainly seem so, wouldn’t it?

However, in this reporter’s humble opinion, Tag Taggart isn’t nearly the man he tries to convey. His humble, boy-next-door attitude is all well and good—until the truth comes out. And, ladies and gentlemen, the lens doesn’t lie.

Case in point, the week prior to the supposed rape, Taggart and the Rampage were in California for the first round of the playoffs. After every game, Taggart and the team would frequent a local bar. And, each night, Taggart would be seen leaving the bar with a different woman, most of them heavily intoxicated. As the photos below suggest, Taggart had to, quite literally, hold some of these women up as they made their way to his car.

My eyes flash over the pictures, each of them taken at such an angle that it would appear the woman present couldn’t stand, let alone agree to any sort of sexual activity. They’re total bullshit, of course, as anyone with half a brain can see. A woman’s head thrown back as she laughs is hardly the same thing as her being so drunk, she can’t hold her head up. But, to someone who already thinks I did it, they definitely look incriminating.

I scroll past the scores of pictures to find the rest of the story.

I mean, seriously, was this guy stalking me? How does he have so many?

As you can see, the evidence is there. Tag Taggart might have gotten away with rape, but there’s one thing that’s for sure.

He’s hardly innocent.

I stop there, not wanting to see any more about all the ways I’m guilty of being the worst person on the planet. My nostrils flare as I seethe over the words I just read. My gut reaction is to call Ray and find out exactly what in the hell is being done about this asshole. But I know that conversation won’t be quiet. And I don’t want to wake Lexi. Besides, this article was written before I last spoke with Ray. He assured me things were good.

I lock my phone and toss it on the floor beside me. There’s no way I’m going to be able to nap now, but I scoot down next to Lexi anyway, spooning her warm back to my front. Just the feel of her lying next to me is enough to lessen some of the anger and anxiety currently coursing through my body.

I close my eyes, reveling in the scent of Lexi’s sweet shampoo. There’s nothing I can do about this Paul dickwad today. It’s obvious from the entire tone of his article that the douche has some sort of vendetta against me. And the thought of him catching wind of Lexi’s past…exposing it for the entire world to see…

It’s the sort of thing that would give a fucker like that a chubby. He’d get his rocks off from destroying not only my life, but also the life of the woman I love.

And that won’t fucking happen. Not when she’s finally starting to get some of it back.

First thing tomorrow, I’m going to call Ray, and I’ll tell him everything. He won’t be happy with this turn of events. But he’s going to have to deal with it. We’ll come up with some sort of plan, something we can put into place in the event of Lexi’s past coming to light.

I don’t care what they say about me.

But if they try to fuck with her?

It’s war.