Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
T he newsroom of SportsZone was a chaotic whirlwind of noise, fluorescent lights, and the constant hum of overworked computers. Sarah sat at her desk, staring at the blank document on her screen, the cursor blinking at her like it was taunting her. She tapped her pen against the desk, her mind stuck somewhere between frustration and guilt.
The Top Ten Most Overrated Hockey Players . She had finished the article days ago, but the taste it left in her mouth was bitter. Sure, it would get clicks—people loved drama, especially when it involved their favorite players—but it wasn’t exactly groundbreaking journalism. And to be honest, she didn’t love the critical tone. Her mind drifted to Travis, as it so often did these days. She pictured him reading the headline, the hurt flickering across his face. She hadn’t named him in the article, of course, but even so, it felt personal.
“Earth to Sarah.” Danielle’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Her coworker was perched on the edge of Sarah’s desk, a mug of coffee in one hand and a mischievous smile on her face.
“Hey, sorry,” Sarah said, setting her pen down.
Danielle tilted her head, studying her. “You okay? You look like you just found out your favorite team lost in overtime.”
Sarah forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”
“Uh-huh,” Danielle said, clearly unconvinced. She sipped her coffee, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, if you need something to cheer you up, Jess is about to pitch some wild ideas in the meeting. I heard she’s been scouring the tabloids for inspiration.”
Sarah groaned, rubbing her temples. “Great. Just what we need—more trashy stories to add to the pile.”
“Hey, trash sells,” Danielle said with a shrug. “And we need the views. Advertising’s been down, and Jess is panicking.”
Sarah didn’t respond. She already knew the drill. Clicks meant revenue, and revenue kept the lights on. It was a vicious cycle, one that often left her feeling like she was part of the problem rather than the solution.
“Meeting in five,” Jess called out from across the room, her voice cutting through the noise like a whip.
Danielle hopped off Sarah’s desk. “You ready for this?”
“Not even a little,” Sarah muttered, pushing back her chair.
They made their way to the conference room, where Jess was already waiting, her phone in one hand and a stack of printouts in the other. Jess was the kind of boss who thrived on chaos. She wore heels like they were part of her DNA, and her sharp, no-nonsense demeanor could make even the most seasoned reporters squirm.
“Alright, let’s get to it,” Jess said as the team filed in and took their seats. She tossed the printouts onto the table, the headlines bold and sensational: Hollywood Starlet Caught Cheating! NFL Scandal Rocks the League! Hockey’s Hidden Party Scene!
Jess pointed to the hockey headline. “This. This is what we need more of.”
Sarah’s stomach tightened.
Jess leaned forward, her gaze sweeping the room. “We’ve been playing it safe for too long. Our competitors are running circles around us because they’re not afraid to get their hands dirty. If we want to stay relevant, we need to stop tiptoeing around these stories and start digging deeper.”
Danielle raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you looking for, Jess? More scandals? More drama?”
“Exactly,” Jess said, her tone brisk. “I want stories that make people stop scrolling. Stories that get people talking. And we all know where those stories come from.”
She turned to Sarah, and the weight of her gaze was like a spotlight.
“Hockey,” Jess said. “You’ve been sitting on the sidelines, Cooper. You’ve got the connections, the access. You’ve been giving us these tame little articles, but I know there’s more out there. The real dirt. The stories that will blow the lid off this whole ‘golden boy athlete’ narrative.”
Sarah’s throat felt dry. “I’ve been covering the stories that matter,” she said carefully.
Jess raised an eyebrow. “Have you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve been holding back. The coaches might be scrambling to clean up their players’ messes, but that’s not enough. The public deserves to know the truth.”
“Which truth?” Sarah asked, her voice sharper than she intended. “That some players make bad choices? That they’re human?”
Jess’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get defensive, Cooper. This isn’t about protecting anyone’s feelings. This is about accountability. If these guys are out there partying, using drugs, acting like they’re untouchable, then we have a responsibility to expose that.”
“And ruin their lives in the process?” Sarah shot back.
Jess leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “If their lives are ruined, that’s on them, not us. They made the choices. We’re just reporting the facts.”
Sarah wanted to argue, but she couldn’t find the words. Jess wasn’t wrong—at least, not entirely. But it still didn’t sit right with her. Yesterday she’d have agreed one hundred percent. But after spending time with Travis…It felt like more of a betrayal than before.
“I want a new hockey story on my desk by the end of the week,” Jess said, her tone final. “Something big. No more threats, no more tiptoeing around the truth. I want the story.”
The room was silent as the team filed out, the tension palpable. Sarah stayed behind, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“Jess,” she said, her voice low.
Jess looked up, her expression softening slightly. “I know you don’t like this, Sarah. But this is the job. It’s what we do.”
Sarah hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll get you the story.”
Jess smiled, satisfied. “I knew I could count on you.”
As Sarah walked back to her desk, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She’d spent years building her reputation as a hard-hitting journalist, someone who wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions. But this felt different.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see a text from Travis.
Just checking in. How’s work?
She stared at the message, her chest tightening.
She didn’t reply.
At her desk, Sarah stared at her computer screen, her thoughts spiraling. The logical part of her knew Jess was right—there were stories out there, stories that needed to be told. But the human part of her couldn’t shake the image of Travis, couldn’t ignore the voice in her head telling her that this wasn’t who she wanted to be.
Danielle appeared at her side, her expression curious. “You okay?”
Sarah hesitated, then shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Danielle leaned against the desk. “Look, I know Jess can be intense, but she’s not wrong. People eat this stuff up. And if you don’t write it, someone else will.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” Sarah stared at her toes, not really knowing how she wanted to move forward.
“No,” Danielle shrugged. “But it’s the reality we’re living in. You just have to decide if you’re okay with it.”
Sarah sighed, rubbing her temples. “What if I’m not?”
Danielle didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
By the end of the day, Sarah felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She gathered her things and headed out, her mind still racing.
As she stepped into the cool evening air, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages. Travis’s text stared back at her, unanswered.
She hesitated for a moment, then opened the message and began typing.
Work is… complicated.
She stared at the screen, debating whether to send it. But before she could, another message from him popped up.
Hope it gets better. Let me know if you want to talk.
Her heart ached at the simplicity of his words. He didn’t ask for details, didn’t push her. He just offered to listen.
She didn’t deserve him. Not after everything. Not after what she was about to do.
With a sigh, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and started walking. The city lights blurred around her as she made her way home, her mind circling the same question over and over.
Could she really do it? Could she write the story Jess wanted, knowing what it would mean for the people involved?
For Travis?
She didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.