23. Miles
23
MILES
I stand offstage, my heart thudding in my back as I listen to the assistant trainer's trembling voice. The press conference room is packed, cameras flashing and reporters leaning forward, hanging on every word.
“I-I planted drugs in Miles Garrett's locker,” Josh confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “Miles is innocent.”
The room erupts into chaos. Questions fly from every direction, but I can barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. Vindication fills me.
As it turned out, Josh’s family had run into some problems with tuition and medical bills. We promised they would be protected if he came forward, and I offered my accountants to go over his finances and see if they could help.
Harlan steps up to the podium, his face a mask of controlled fury. “In light of this new evidence, Miles Garrett has been fully exonerated and any pending investigations fully suspended.”
More shouting, more questions. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths. It's over. It's finally over.
I step up to the microphone, and the room falls silent.
“I want to thank everyone who stood by me during this difficult time,” I say, my voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. “My teammates, my family. Your support meant everything.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I'm grateful that the truth has come to light, and I’m glad to rejoin my team and focus on what matters most—winning games and bringing another championship to this city.”
The questions come fast and furious: How does it feel to be exonerated? Am I ready for the playoffs?
I answer as best I can, but my mind is already on getting back to what I love.
As the press conference winds down, I feel a presence at my side. It's James, his expensive suit impeccable as always.
“Garrett,” he says. “Glad things turned out the way they did. In fact, this whole comeback could play well for the team.”
“Tell you what.” I flash a grin. “You play whatever games you play upstairs. I just want to play ball.”
I’m heading past the owner a few paces when my guys ambush me.
Rookie’s first, engulfing me in a bear hug. “I knew you were innocent!” he cries, his enthusiasm infectious. “I told everyone who would listen!”
Atlas gives me a solemn fist bump.
Jay claps me on the back, his eyes shining with pride. “Welcome back.”
Even Clay offers me a one-armed hug and a nod.
I take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Thank you.” My voice is thick with emotion. “For believing in me, for standing by me.”
What happened made me realize how fragile all of this is, how quickly it can all be taken away. But it also showed me the strength of this team, of this brotherhood.
“Tomorrow, we're not just playing for a win. We're playing for each other. For every doubt we've overcome, every obstacle we've faced. We're playing to show the world what we're made of.”
That's when I see Brooke standing at the back of the room. She’s beautiful in a black dress, her hair pulled up on top of her head. Our eyes meet, and a thousand unspoken words pass between us. I make my way toward her, brushing off reporters with polite “no comments.”
“You did it,” she says when I reach her.
I shake my head. “ We did it.”
I scoop her up in my arms and spin her around. She laughs, her arms going around my neck.
“Couldn't have gotten through this without you,” I murmur when I set her down.
“I’m sorry I brought Kevin to you.”
“In a weird way, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had the chance to be your fake date. Then your real date. Then your roommate.”
“I am a pretty great roommate,” she laughs. “Though I have some ideas for redecorating.”
“Mmmm. We could go home and talk about them.”
“Aren’t you needed here?”
The buzzing activity behind me agrees with her.
“Nope. I’m all yours.”
brOOKE
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and artisanal pastries envelops me as I step into La Bohème. I scan the space, looking for the ideal spot.
There it is—a cozy nook near the back, bathed in natural light from a large window. The rustic wooden table is flanked by plush velvet armchairs in deep emerald green.
I’m settling into one of the chairs, pulling out my tablet when the bell above the door chimes.
Nova strides in, her pink hair twisted into a topknot. Her eyes light up when she spots me.
“Hey! This place is amazing,” Nova gushes, sliding into the chair across from me.
“You found the last great café, so I owed you one.”
“You said this was a work talk and not only a social talk. What did you want to meet about?”
I place both hands on the table. “So. I went back to the owner of Coastal Gallery and told him I screwed up. That you were willing to do a new floral painting for him if he wanted, and I advised you against it.”
Nova’s eyes widen. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did. I explained how important your new direction is to you. He was impressed at your willingness to create something new to fit his requirements, and said he’d give you another chance if you did.”
Her breath whooshes out. “I’ll think about it.”
Surprise works through me. “Think about it,” I echo. I expected her to jump at the chance, and I was ready to do everything in my power to make the show go off smoothly this time.
“Honestly, Brooke? I’m so grateful you did that, but while this has been going on, I’m getting more convinced that I want to move forward, not backward. Even though some people won’t follow me in this new direction, that’s okay. I’m going there anyway, for me and the people who will. I don’t want to go backward.”
“Okay then.” I grin, relief spreading through my chest. I’m proud of my friend for making her own choices and standing up for herself. Either way, this will be her call and I’ll have her back. “I also invited someone else to join us for coffee. You’re going to kill me, but I wanted it to be a surprise because I didn’t want you to stress about it.”
Nova's excitement is palpable. “Who?”
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
The café's atmosphere seems to shift as Elise walks in. She's the epitome of effortless chic in a crisp white blazer over a silk camisole paired with tailored black trousers and sky-high stilettos.
“You didn’t!” Nova hisses, recognizing the designer immediately.
“Just be yourself. You're a force of nature,” I whisper back.
I stand to greet Elise, and Nova follows suit. “Elise, thank you so much for joining us.”
Elise's smile is warm as she shakes my hand. “The pleasure is all mine.” Her gaze shifts to Nova, and I see a spark of interest in her eyes. “And you must be Nova. I've heard wonderful things about you.”
Nova's cheeks flush slightly as she shakes Elise's hand. “It's incredible to meet you. I'm a huge admirer.”
Elise settles into the remaining chair.
We order our drinks—an almond milk latte for me, an espresso for Elise, and a chai tea for Nova.
“All right, ladies,” I say. “While I genuinely wanted a chance for you two to meet, because you’re both incredible artists with a unique vision, I’m not going to lie. I thought there might be room for a collaboration.”
“Nova, why don’t you tell me more about your art?” Elise prompts. “What excites you right now? Fashion is a seasonal industry, and while we try to create products that are as evergreen as possible, trends do matter.”
Nova nods, sitting up straighter. “My new work is about color and space. I want to create pieces that make people feel confident, that tell a story.”
Her confidence grows as she speaks, passion infusing every word.
Elise leans forward, engrossed.
As Nova delves into her new ideas for how to get her work to a broader audience—a series of limited-edition prints, collaborations with up-and-coming street artists, plans for a small clothing line—I watch Elise's reactions carefully. The fashion mogul's eyes sparkle with interest, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head.
“These are fantastic ideas,” Elise says. “What's holding you back?”
Nova hesitates, and I give her an encouraging nod. “Change is hard,” she admits. “I have a loyal following, but gallery owners don’t want me to deviate from what made me popular. I don’t want to compromise my values or artistic integrity.”
Elise nods thoughtfully. “I faced similar challenges when I was starting out. The key is to stay true to your vision while finding ways to make it accessible to a broader audience.”
As Elise shares her insights, I find myself furiously scribbling notes. The conversation flows from challenges to solutions, from broad concepts to specific strategies. Before I know it, we're deep in a brainstorming session about potential collaborations between Nova and Elise's brand.
“This might be crazy, but I would love to see my art on garments. What if we did a limited-edition clothing line?” Nova suggests, her excitement palpable. “Something that combines your styles with my aesthetic?”
Elise nods enthusiastically. “I love that idea. We could do a capsule collection, maybe tied to a specific theme or cause, and we could amplify it with a coordinated social media campaign, leveraging both our platforms.”
“Ooh, and what about pop-up events?” I chime in. “We could do simultaneous launches in key markets—New York, LA, London, Tokyo—make it a global event.”
The energy at our table is electric as ideas bounce back and forth. Nova and Elise riff off each other, their different perspectives and experiences creating a perfect synergy.
As I help them flesh out the details of their ideas, I'm struck by how natural this feels. For so long, I struggled with my identity, trying to be something I thought others wanted me to be. Helping people I care about, whose visions I believe in, succeed is way more gratifying.
“Well,” Elise says as the meeting winds down, glancing at her watch, “I hate to say it, but I have another appointment in half an hour.”
Nova nods, a mix of excitement and nervousness on her face. “This has been incredible. I can't thank you enough for your time and insight, Elise.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Elise replies warmly. “I haven't been this excited about a potential collaboration in years. Brooke, can I trust you to draw up a preliminary agreement for us to review?”
I nod, feeling a surge of pride. “Absolutely.”
As we stand to say our goodbyes, Elise surprises us both by pulling Nova into a hug. “I have a feeling this is the beginning of something special.”
After Elise leaves, Nova turns to me, her eyes shining. “Brooke, I can't believe that just happened.”
I smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I can.”
“But…” her face falls. “If this actually happens, it’s going to be a lot of work. Do you have more hours to help me? I have more than enough money from my sales, and obviously, I’ll compensate you like a publicist.”
My chest squeezes. “As long as it doesn’t get in the way of our friendship.”
As we leave the café, stepping out into the April sunshine, I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. This is what I want to do, not for the fame or the money, but for moments like this—moments when I can help talented, passionate people connect and create something meaningful.
I may not be the one in the spotlight, but I’m finding my place.
When I knock on the door of Chloe’s office, it takes her a second to glance up from her computer. “Look who it is.”
She gestures to the chair opposite her desk.
I’m feeling more than a little guilt as I step inside and drop into the chair.
“I don’t know if the offer’s still on the table”—it’s been almost a month since she put it out there—“but I’m going to have to decline it. I really appreciate you thinking of me and believing in me, because if I’m being honest, there are times when it’s hard to believe in myself. But… long-term, I want to work for myself. So, I’m going to start building that even if it’s hard.”
“You’re going to be an influencer again?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to run PR for Nova, and maybe I’ll take on another few creatives if they’re the right fit.”
I recently heard back from Vivaro, who said they had completed their internal investigation and found no wrongdoing on their part. After emailing the group of women for whom I was speaking, I retained a lawyer and sent a letter outlining what was owed to the group. The influencers were paid out in less than twenty-four hours.
Two of the women have already asked if they can hire me to help them going forward.
Chloe’s eyes sparkle.
“You’re not mad,” I read.
“No. I figured you would pass on the Kodiaks job, but giving you an opportunity here gave you a chance to think it over.”
“How did you know I was agonizing over this?”
Her shoulder lifts. “Jay and I talk.”
I lean forward in my seat, bridging my hands. “You do?”
There’s been so much focus on my personal life lately that I’m not missing the chance to turn it around on somebody else—especially when those somebodies are my very private brother and the badass, professional woman who broke his heart when they were still kids.
Chloe folds her arms. “Occasionally.”
“Occasionally, like, late at night you call him or he calls you? Or are these in-person conversations?”
She rises from her chair to walk me toward the door. “You need to go.”
“Not at all, I’ve got all day.” My grin is wide enough that Chloe shakes her head.
“Then I need to go.”
She knocks the ID badge off her jacket, and we both bend to pick it up.
“You’re not going to forget this are you?” she murmurs.
“Are you kidding? I need a new project, and I’ll have you know I make an even better matchmaker than I do a publicist.”