Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
NOW
I can’t do a profile.
Not on him.
“It’s a pretty good deal, Paula. Great for your extra-curricular project. Even better if you still plan on going into sports journalism after graduation. I heard you’re into soccer, anyway? The thing is practically made for you.”
Eddie had been trying to rationalize my stern No s away for a while now. I’d taken up pacing like a mad woman in front of the park bench he still sat on.
I shook my head before it fell back again. I continued pacing, eyes on the sky. “I can’t.” And I didn’t care how pathetic it sounded. “You know I can’t.” My gaze slid to him, pity meeting me in his.
Lately, it seemed that’s all I found in anyone’s.
I wondered whether that’s what I’d see once I told my parents about this mess. That I’d thrown away their dream for me, then ruined my own because of a man, of all things.
“Look,” Eddie said tentatively, getting up. “I know you guys have history. I know you don’t like to talk about what happened, and I honored that when I didn’t ask about his involvement with what happened with your last article.”
The one that had messed it all up. Me and Henry. Me and the Post .
Standing opposite me, Eddie’s hands were on my shoulders, and I wasn’t sure if he was going for reassuring or intimidating. I wasn’t sure if he knew, either. “But I need you on this, Paula. There’s no way around it.”
My head shook again, kind of like a little kid who was about to throw a tantrum. “It’s this or nothing.”
The words settled in while the smile on Eddie’s lips fell. His hands dropped from my shoulders. “And since I can’t, and won’t , allow the latter, you’re going to have to do this.” His already small lips thinned into a straight line. “I wish there was another way. I really do.”
That sentiment seemed genuine. Like he wanted someone else on this as desperately as I did.
“So why me?”
Eddie shrugged. “Look,” he sighed again. “The HBU soccer team wants this article about Pressley. The school’s marketing team wants this article. The Post does, too. Forget about why and how, Paula. Think about what! What could come from it. What it might do for you. It’ll put you on the radar.”
Again , I added silently. It would put me on the radar again.
“Between you and me.” My editor lowered his voice when someone passed us. “A bigger magazine has already expressed interest. If you do a good job, they might pick up the story. Consider the optics! For you. For the Post .”
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I ignored the coppery taste in my mouth. Even with the chirping of the birds, the wind rustling through the newly green trees and distant chatter filling my ears, the silence between us felt deafening.
“For your sake,” Eddie huffed. “I’m going to pretend you have a choice in this. Sleep on it, then come see me with your decision in the morning.” Before he left, he added, “But don’t think the actual decision hasn’t already been made for you.”
Then, a smile replaced the worried frown on his lips, and he made his way back inside the building.
Lunacy , I thought as I slumped back onto the wooden bench. Cruelty. A really, really bad joke. From Eddie. From the universe.
Anything, but not real life.
I could probably do an article on my ex. A profile, though? One-on-one time. Shadowing. Once again being wound up in Henry Pressley’s routine—scheduling my days by how well my plans fit into his.
And yet, I couldn’t let him be the reason I passed on an opportunity like this, either.
I groaned when I realized Eddie was right. If there was external interest already, this could be huge for anyone involved. And perfectly timed to throw me back on the radar—just in time for graduation—when all that mattered were job offers and freelance gigs to keep me afloat and my parents off my back.
But out of everything Eddie could’ve given me, did it have to be this?
You cried,” Maeve assessed as soon as I’d appeared in the door to her room. The redhead sat against the headboard of her bed, legs pulled toward her body and a book in the hands she had lowered.
If there was one sign Maeve had her life together, it was her room. Not a single piece of rogue clothing scattered across her floor; the makeup on her vanity was neatly organized and the white walls were filled with motivational quotes in different shades of pink, enclosed in wooden frames.
“Did I?” The mascara had already smudged under my eyes, but I wiped at them anyway. “I don’t know what to do, Maeve.”
Her lips quirked in sympathy, furrowed brow relaxing. “That’s nothing new.” Beckoning me over with a pat on her bed, she scooted to one side. “Come here, honey. What is it?” The southern drawl in her tone always became heavier with concern.
“I don’t know,” I groaned, stomping over to let myself fall on top of her white bedding. Before she could say anything, I amended, “I mean, I do.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Eddie finally gave me something I can write the extra-curricular about. An article. An amazing article, really.” Which, in itself, was good news. The best of news.
“Paula!” Maeve hummed in appropriate excitement, her voice a pitch higher when she bumped my shoulder with hers. “That’s incredible!” Confusion laced into her tone when she added, “Isn’t it?”
“So incredible,” I agreed truthfully. My head fell against her metallic bed frame with an ironic huff. “The best. It comes with all these opportunities. A chance of being picked up by bigger press and all that. Eddie thinks it could put me on the radar—put the Post on the radar. He’s ecstatic.” I snorted. “Or at least his equivalent to that.”
Maeve nudged me again, and when I finally looked at her, my eyes still a little red and puffy, she was very clearly trying to figure out the but in this. I suspected not even my psychic best friend could figure that one out.
She considered me for another second. “And what does Henry have to do with that?”
Never mind.
“How—?”
“Paula,” she sighed as if I should know better. “You’re proudly presenting your Henry-scowl. Don’t expect me not to pick up on that.”
I gasped. Mostly in faked outrage. “I’m not—” I tried to argue.
“You were wearing it on Saturday, too, by the way.” Her eyes twitched. “When you came back from hurling your guts out. You’re an awful liar.” I really wanted to laugh at that—my failed attempt to hide anything from her—but even the amusement in her tone did little to take my edge off.
I shook my head quickly, waving her off. “Completely different thing. We would digress.” I forced the memories of Henry’s hand around my wrist—of his face so close, his expensive cologne lingering—out of my mind.
Those only made my predicament clearer. “It’s on him,” I said to snap out of it.
“What?” Maeve asked ironically. “The fact you haven’t gotten a single good article in a year? Yeah, that’s on him.” She huffed in annoyance. “We’ve been blaming him for just as long. So?”
“No,” I whined, although true. Kind of. Not really. “That’s not what I mean. It’s on him,” I repeated. “The article. It’s a profile. About Henry Parker Pressley.”
If I weren’t so caught up in this, I’d marvel at the scene of Maeve being surprised by something. It did not happen often. “For real?”
“For real.”
“Oh my God.” Her brown eyes flicked up to mine, the furrow in her brow deepening. “It’s like a cruel joke. Eddie doesn’t give you anything for a year, and when he finally does, it’s this ?”
I was so glad she was sharing my sentiment. It was a cruel joke! Only that I must’ve missed the punchline and it had turned into my life.
“But…” Maeve continued slowly, features softening. “What do you mean you don’t know what to do ? What’s there to consider?”
“Well.” My arms flailed around wildly. Apparently, it did nothing to explain. “You know. It means spending time with him, travelling around. Being really close. Like, really, really close.” Her expression didn’t shift at all. So, I doubled down. “For several weeks. I don’t know if—”
“If what ?!” she cut in harshly. “If that’s worth it? If your career—your dreams are worth that?” Her head tilted slightly, and I was once again faced with pity. “Come on, Paula. You don’t mean that.”
But I did! Didn’t I?
A defeated sigh escaped me, and I deflated. My head landed on her shoulder, and Maeve didn’t so much as flinch.
“I kind of thought you wouldn’t want me to do it,” I confessed. “You know, with the whole NCA thing.”
The No Contact Agreement had been her idea, after all.
Maeve laughed airily. “Paula,” she said solemnly. “We don’t sacrifice our dreams for men. They’re never worth it.”
I sat up. “But—”
“You’re getting a second shot here! Not everyone has the chance for do-overs.”
I knew she was right, I just didn’t want to come to terms with it yet. “But this will be a lot of contact, Maeve,” I repeated unhelpfully. “Kind of defeats the whole purpose of No Contact. Right?”
Her lip twitched a little higher. “Henry shouldn’t even be a part of this equation, love. He’s just a subject. Like any other. You do what’s necessary, then you write a killer article, and move on.” She squeezed my hand tightly. Just once before letting go again.
A nervous laugh slipped past my lips.
Treat Henry like any other subject . I huffed at the thought, not quite sure if I could. Because I knew him, and I knew us, and, most of all, I knew me.
And me missed him terribly.
I shook my head quickly. “You’re right,” I conceded. “God, you’re right. Of course you are.” I smiled, not quite sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. “I should be excited about this, not anxious about him. Fuck Henry.”
Maeve raised an eyebrow. “Not literally, though.”