Chapter 22 Noelle
TWENTY-TWO
NOELLE
This isn’t the kind of meeting that happens in a cramped office with a dusty window.
This one takes place in a glass conference room overlooking downtown, my name printed neatly on an agenda that feels far too official for someone who still triple-checks her mascara in the rearview mirror.
Three producers. One executive. Coffee cups lined up like witnesses.
Danishes in the center of the table, untouched, like they know this isn’t a social call.
I think about how long it’s been since Matt had one.
I’m jarred from my thoughts when my boss leans back in his chair and says, “Your name got you in the door. But your skills? Those will make you a star on this network.”
A star. Me? Relief travels through me. Not just relief. Validation. I don’t have to be anyone’s sister or daughter to belong on the sidelines or at this table.
“We’re getting more texts and emails than ever about Noelle O’Ryan, the gorgeous reporter who knows her football. You’re our rookie sensation.” He pauses, fiddling with the agenda. “Rookie camps are over, so training camp begins, and you’ll make the same rounds as before.”
“When?”
“Starting this weekend.”
I was planning on taking a pregnancy test since I’m still sick to my stomach every morning, and I worry if all the pink tablets I’m taking will affect the baby, if there is one.
“Thank you, sir, but can someone else go to New Orleans? I know it’s horrible of me to ask since I haven’t been working here that long.”
The producers hold their breath like I’m asking for a month-long, all-expenses-paid trip to Greece.
My boss taps his fingers against the black lacquered table. “Noelle. This is your career, and even though I’ve been told about how your ex acted during rookie camp, you need to do this not just for us but for yourself.”
“Yes, sir.” I smile, nod, and thank them like a professional, but I dread seeing Brooks again, especially if I’m pregnant. “I’ll be there.”
By the time I hit the sidewalk, the Texas heat wraps around me, feeling like someone squeezing me too hard or too long.
My phone buzzes with a calendar reminder about the Canadian league championship game I just covered. The assignment was last-minute. The reporter originally scheduled for it landed in the hospital with the flu. It was a great distraction from the two things on my mind: pregnancy and Matt Stricker.
Being busy is a gift of distraction.
Busy keeps me from overanalyzing my feelings about my love life.
Matt’s been busy too. I noticed he went back to work early. Pretended I didn’t. Told myself it was fine we hadn’t connected because I’d been on planes, in stadiums, chasing stories with a headset pressed to my ear and adrenaline pumping through my veins.
We haven’t really talked in days. A text here and there. But now I’m home. Alone with my thoughts for the first time in too long.
Desperately needing cover from the heat, that’s when I see it—the library.
Not the familiar brick building I grew up going to on school field trips or the one on Dad’s campus when the boys were busy and I had to tag along.
This one is massive. All glass and steel and quiet confidence, like it knows it holds answers whether you’re ready for them or not.
The doors slide open, and the cool air causes my bare arms to pimple. Sunlight spills across long tables in the enormous lobby. People are tucked into corners of their own worlds. Some reading. Some on laptops. Others wander around, in just as much awe as me.
Without a plan, I roam the first floor. History. Architecture. Travel. I take the escalator to the second floor, hoping I can find the sports section. I’ve never been one to ask for help. I’m an O’Ryan, and we are wired to figure it out.
Then I freeze. Parenting. A section much larger than I would have ever anticipated. I’ve never thought about babies other than J.D. and Greyson having children of their own.
My stomach flips, sharp and sudden, like my body’s trying to tell me something my brain isn’t ready to hear. I tell myself it’s curiosity. Curiosity is normal. I’m a journalist, and journalists tell stories. Stories need context.
I reach for a book before I can talk myself out of it. *First Trimester Basics*. I stare at the cover with a grape inside a cartoon belly.
“You know those don’t bite,” a voice says gently.
I jump.
The girl beside me smiles, pushing her glasses to the bridge of her nose. “You wouldn’t believe how many women just stare.”
I laugh, a little breathless, unsure of why I’m here.
She tilts her head. “Research?”
“Something like that,” I say. “I just stumbled in here to get out of the heat.”
She hums like she doesn’t entirely buy it but won’t press. “I’m Clara.”
“Noelle.”
Clara isn’t like any of my so-called friends.
She talks quietly, lacking confidence. Her skirt hits mid-calf and makes her look frumpy, but her brown hair is thick and shiny.
I tell her I’m a reporter and one of the stories I’m working on is about a football player learning his ex-girlfriend is pregnant.
She nods her head and confides she comes here when the world feels loud.
It makes me wonder what feels loud. What is she going through?
Because most of us are just trying to keep our heads above water.
One minute you feel like your world is upright, and the next minute it’s upended.
Just a couple of weeks ago I was in a daydream with Matt, and now something has shifted between us. Men suck.
“If you’re ever here again, I’m usually in the thriller section. Sometimes romance.”
“My work is just around the corner, so if I’m here, I’ll look for you.”
When we part ways, I stare at the enormity of parenting books. I find the sports section, and, of course, there are two books facing forward about the Austin Armadillos. One features G and the other J.D. I check them both out to see what this writer has to say about my family.
Outside again, the sun feels warmer. Heavier.
I check my phone. No missed calls or messages, and I tell myself not to read into Matt’s silence.
Easier said than done.
By the time I get home, the silence presses in. My roommates are nowhere to be found. I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and wander from room to room, pacing back and forth.
Fake dating was supposed to be armor. Something sharp and temporary to get me through the fallout. But somewhere between pretending and surviving, it became the place I felt comforted and most alive.
I’m a woman, and I don’t have to wait for Matt to call. If something is wrong, I need to know. My thumb hovers over his name until I hit call. It rings long enough that I’m already bracing for voicemail, for the hollow click and the ridiculous sting of pretending I’m fine with it.
“Hey,” he says finally, his voice low and worn down—familiar enough to loosen something tight in my chest.
Relief hits first. Then nerves. “Hey,” I reply, suddenly hyperaware of how fast my heart is beating. “Are you busy?”
There’s a pause. Not long—but long enough to feel loaded. The kind that carries everything he isn’t saying. He’s not into me anymore. He had his taste and is ready to move on.
“I’m still at the facility,” he admits.
Of course he is. I imagine him there, refusing to slow down, choosing motion over stillness because stopping would mean thinking, same as me. “You weren’t supposed to be,” I say lightly, even though the words aren’t a joke and we both know it.
“I know.”
I lean against the pantry cabinet, staring at nothing. “I just got back into town.”
“Yeah?”
“I had a meeting today.” I wait, then add, “The boss said I’m going to be the star of the network.”
“I never had a doubt,” he says, and I can hear the smile he’s not letting fully form.
My heart ticks faster, unsure of whether to ask given how tired he is. “I was wondering… if maybe I could see you?”
There’s another silence, heavier than the last. His breath changes. I hear it through the line.
“Noelle—”
“I know you’ve been busy,” I barrel on, hearing the breakup tone in his voice. “And I have too. Canada was insane, and rookie camp, and everything just kept moving, and I didn’t want to be… I don’t know. A distraction.”
“You’re not,” he says immediately.
I close my eyes. “Then can I come by? Just for a bit. It’s important.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I’m not great company right now,” he says carefully.
“I didn’t ask for great. I asked for you.”
Silence stretches, tight and fragile.
Finally, he exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. You can come by. I’ll be home in an hour.”
Relief rushes through me so fast it almost knocks me over. “I’ll see you soon.” My nerves are shot, and he’s the only one who can calm them.
“Yeah,” he repeats, quieter. “I’ll see you.”
The line goes dead, and I stand there, phone pressed to my chest, knowing—without any dramatic reveal or gut-punch moment—that something has shifted. He’s pushing me away.
Being busy with my new career has protected me. But now? I’m walking straight toward the truth.
And for the first time, I’m not sure I’m ready for what I might find waiting for me on the other side of Matt’s door.