Chapter 7 In the Bag #2
But he’s right. And I can’t help but notice that his voice is steady, confident, with none of his usual awkward pauses or grunts. This is Brooks, the professional athlete, the one who gives post-game interviews with cameras shoved in his face.
“The King and the Sport’s Queen,” Marcus muses. “It’s got a certain ring to it.”
My heart races so fast it could burst out of my chest, alien-style. Is Brooks Kingston actually helping me get the sportscaster job?
“The kind of access no other station in the region could dream of.” Brooks’ hand comes to rest on my shoulder, warm, steady.
Pretend, I remind myself. This is all pretend.
Marcus’s fingers drum against the arm of his chair. “But Donny has some powerful backers... people who contribute significantly to our advertising budget.”
“I’ll do some co-broadcasting with Syd.” Brook’s thumb traces small circles on my shoulder that send shivers down my spine. “And a series of in-depth interviews about the Trout. About my injury and recovery. Exclusive content, only for KBVR.”
Wow.
The Brooks Kingston I know would rather smash into plexiglass than sit for a series of personal interviews.
There’s a pause where I can practically see the wheels turning in Marcus’s head, calculating the potential ratings boost against the risk of angering Donny’s backers.
“All right, Sydney,” he says finally, and my heart leaps into my throat. “You’ve got the position—on a trial basis.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face, even as disbelief washes over me.
I got it. I actually got it.
Am I playing dirty for it? Possibly. But it’s not like Donny’s above playing dirty.
“Let’s shoot your first co-broadcast on Saturday, at the Trout’s opening game in Boise,” Marcus continues, looking back and forth between Brooks and me.
“We’ll leak your relationship status Saturday morning before the broadcast to get the buzz going.
And if this interview falls flat, or if your relationship doesn’t translate to the ratings boost you’re promising, I’m going to give Donny a try. Understood?”
“Crystal clear.” I fight back the urge to scream with joy. “You won’t regret this, Marcus.”
“I better not.” He stands, adjusting his tie. “I’ll make the announcement at the morning meeting. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”
As he reaches the door, he pauses, looking back at us with a smile. “And congratulations on the relationship. I can’t say I saw it coming, but... it makes sense. Definitely saw the sparks yesterday morning on the air.”
The door closes behind him, and for a moment, Brooks and I stand in silence, the magnitude of what just happened settling over us.
“What the hell was that?” I finally whisper, torn between gratitude and confusion. “You said—”
“I know what I said,” Brooks cuts me off, his voice low. He steps back, putting some distance between us, and I immediately miss the warmth of his hand on my shoulder. “I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Meema...” He runs a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t sleep all night worrying about her. She wants to see me settled down, and with you. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how happiness can significantly improve her treatment outcome. I just... I need to do everything to get her through this.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words. For all his flaws—and there are many—Brooks’ love for his grandmother has always been his one redeeming quality.
Maisie. He’s doing this for her. And honestly, I should do this for her too.
We both love her, and that’s one critically important thing we have in common—wanting to see her on the other side of all this.
“I want that too, Brooks. So now we’re..
. what? Fake dating? For real?” I’m still not entirely convinced this isn’t some elaborate prank.
“Apparently.” He doesn’t look thrilled about it, but there’s a resignation in his voice that suggests he’s made peace with the decision. “And when Meema recovers, which she will because she’s the toughest person I know, we have a clean break. Mutual decision, no drama.”
The reality of what he’s saying hits me like a punch to the gut. “Brooks...”
“Don’t.” He holds up a hand. “This helps her and your career. That’s it.”
“But can we lie to her? I don’t think I can.”
“You can because it might save her life.” His eyes meet mine.
“Yeah.” I nod, the truth of his words dawning on me. “I’d do anything for that.”
“Then it’s done.”
“Okay.” The hugeness of what he just did—for me and Maisie—overwhelms me, and I have to fight back emotion when I say, “Thank you. Truly.”
Before he can respond, the door swings open again, and Donny appears, his face thunderous when he spots Brooks.
“Kingston,” he says, his voice tight. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Donny,” Brooks replies coolly.
“Is it true?” Donny’s gaze moves between us, accusation in his eyes. “You two? Together?”
Brooks tenses beside me, but I step forward, slipping my hand into his in a gesture that feels both foreign and oddly right. “Yes. It’s true.”
Donny’s face darkens as he stares Brooks down. “We’ve been in regular communication, and you never mentioned it.”
Brooks shrugs. “We were keeping it under wraps until I was here in Dickens. Now I am.”
“Right.” Donny storms out, slamming the door behind him, which rattles the cheaply framed diploma on my wall.
“So,” Brooks says after a moment, “that went well.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. “God, what are we doing? This is wild.”
“Completely wild.” The corner of his mouth twitches into a lopsided smile. “But it worked.”
“For now.” I sink into my chair, suddenly exhausted. “But we have to make this convincing, or I’ll lose everything. And if the media even gets a whiff that this is fake, you’ll be fried.”
“We’ll make it work, promise. And I don’t break promises.”
The weight of our commitment settles over me. A fake relationship with the man who’s been a permanent thorn in my side. The lies we’ll have to tell, the act we’ll have to maintain.
And worst of all, the knowledge that when this is over—when Maisie is better, God, I hope that happens—I’ll have to pretend to be heartbroken over losing someone I can barely tolerate.
“Jonah,” I mutter, and the next thought hits. “Oh! And he’s coming home this weekend.”
Brooks’ face does something complicated. “I’ll handle Jonah.”
“We should tell him together. He’s going to lose his mind over this. Fake or not.” I sigh. “We’ll tell him the truth. He loves Maisie, and he knows how much the sports anchor position means to me. He’ll understand.”
Brooks doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. “We’ll see.” He checks his watch, a sleek thing that probably costs more than my car. “I should go. I’ve got physical therapy in an hour.”
“We need to tell Maisie today. I’m helping her with the albums at three o’clock, and I have the evening off.”
He turns to leave but pauses at the door. “Okay. Let’s arrive home together. I’ll come pick you up after PT. Two forty-five?”
“Sounds good,” I say, still not entirely convinced this isn’t some fever dream brought on by stress and lack of sleep. “I’ll be at home. And again, thank you for this.”
He nods once, then leaves without another word, the scent of his cologne—light, woodsy, fresh—lingering in the air behind him.
I sit in stunned silence for a full minute, trying to process everything that just happened. My phone buzzes with a text.
ZOE: WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK? KINGSTON??? GET YOUR ASS TO MY DESK NOW!!
I groan, dropping my head into my hands.
ME: Come here because we have to close the door.
I have to tell Zoe everything because she’s my best friend, and she’ll know if I’m lying, anyway.