Chapter 12
NOAH
I thought when I left Chicago, I’d left my past buried there, too.
Turns out, your worst decisions always rear their ugly heads, even if you’re thousands of miles away.
Hey Noah. Heard you’re in Oakland now. We should catch up.
I stare at the screen, and my stomach drops.
Alex Naylor. Sports journalist. The guy I dated for eight months a few years ago. The guy who taught me never to mix my personal and professional lives.
The guy I hoped I’d never hear from again.
I don’t respond and just delete the text. I try to push it out of my mind, but my phone buzzes again an hour later.
Come on. It’s been three years. Can’t we be adults about this?
Then another.
I’m in town covering a story. Let’s grab coffee tomorrow.
And another.
I know you’re seeing these. Don’t ignore me, Noah.
I sit on my couch in the dark, a glass of whiskey in hand, trying to figure out how to make this go away.
Alex doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s a persistent bastard. If I ignore him, he’ll show up at the arena. He’ll start asking questions. He’ll dig until he finds something and then he’ll use his poison pen to create a story. Just like he did in Chicago.
And the last thing I need is Alex Naylor anywhere near my team.
Gritting my teeth, I stab his number into my phone and wait.
“Noah. Knew you’d come around.” He sounds pleased with himself when he answers. Like he broke me. Again.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want to see you, just like I said in my texts. It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” I say in a terse voice.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ve changed. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Just meet me for coffee.”
“I don’t really care if you’ve changed, Alex. You’re not my problem anymore.”
“Ouch,” he says. “Look, I’m trying to make amends here, okay? Just coffee, I promise.”
My lips stretch into a tight line. He’ll keep pressing until he gets what he wants. Meeting him gives me the opportunity to shut him down. and I let out a sharp sigh. “Fine. One coffee. Tomorrow. Then you leave me alone.”
“Deal. There’s a place near the arena. Blue Bottle on Polk. How does ten work?”
“Fine.”
“Looking forward to it.”
He hangs up, and with a roll of my eyes, I pour myself another drink.
The next morning, I show up at Blue Bottle at exactly ten. Alex’s already there, sitting at a corner table with two coffees and that easy smile that used to make me think I could trust him.
I know better now.
“Noah.” He stands and moves in like he’s going to hug me.
I sit down before he can. “Let’s get this over with. I know you’re here for more than redemption.”
“Still direct. Some things don’t change.” He sits back down and pushes one of the coffees toward me. “You look good. This city agrees with you.”
“What do you want, Alex?”
“Can’t I just want to see an old friend?”
“We’re not friends.”
“We were more than friends once.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Three years. Not that long.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I heard you landed the Raptors job. Director of Communications. Big step up from the firm in Chicago.”
“It’s a good position,” I say shortly.
“Bet your dad’s proud. Being the head coach with his son running communications. That’s a nice family business you’ve got going.”
The jab lands exactly where he intended. “I report to the GM, not my father.”
“Sure. But still, it must be nice, having that kind of access. It’s a great insider connection.”
“I got the job based on my qualifications.”
“I’m sure you did.” Alex leans back. “So. The Raptors are having a solid season. That Masterson situation must’ve been fun to handle.”
“It was handled appropriately.” I fold my hands together and rest them on the table.
Alex nods. “I read about it. Player assaults a fan at a charity event, gets a slap on the wrist. Two games, community service. Could’ve been way worse.”
“The league reviewed all evidence and made their decision.”
“And you managed the PR. Personally, from what I heard. Lot of one-on-one time with Masterson. Media training, community service supervision, all that.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s my job.”
“Right. Your job.” Alex watches me carefully. “I’m covering Friday’s game. Thought I should let you know. Wouldn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Why would they be awkward?” I ask.
“Because last time we worked in the same arena, things didn’t end well.”
That’s an understatement. “That was your choice. You betrayed my trust.”
Alex shrugs. “I reported a story. There’s a difference. And you know how hard it is to make a name for yourself in this business. I had to do what I did.”
“You took private information I shared with you and turned it into a headline that destroyed someone’s career. That makes you a low life piece of shit.”
“And fucking amazing at my job.” Alex leans back. “Devin Edwards is fine now. Coaching in the AHL.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“I didn't decide anything. I reported a story that was true.
Devin Edwards was a player on the Blackhawks dealing with mental health issues that affected his performance.
That's a public-interest story, Noah. Fans were paying for tickets. Sponsors were paying for visibility. Everyone in that arena had a stake in the truth.”
“It was private.”
“Nothing about a professional athlete's performance is private.
That's the deal they signed when they took the contract.” Alex's voice goes quieter, almost gentle, which is somehow worse.
“I know you don't see it that way. I know you think we should protect them.
But you and I do different jobs. Yours is to make them look good.
Mine is to tell people what's actually happening. We can't both be right.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? Why don’t you tell me what you really want to say, Noah?”
I lean forward. “The point is that I need you to stay away from my team. Don’t dig into my players. Don’t go fishing for stories. Cover the game and leave the city.”
“I’m a credentialed journalist. I have every right—“
“You have the right to cover hockey. You don’t have the right to exploit personal information for clicks.”
“Is that what you think I do?”
“That’s what I know you do. You did it to Edwards. You used information I gave you in private, during our relationship, and turned it into front-page news.”
“He was struggling with mental health issues that were affecting his performance. That’s news.”
“It was private. He confided in me as his PR rep. I mentioned it to you in confidence.”
“There’s no such thing as private when you’re dating a journalist, Noah. I thought you understood that.”
“I understood that I could trust you. I was wrong.”
Alex’s expression hardens. “You’re still mad about this. After three years.”
“You destroyed his career. His endorsements pulled out. The team questioned his stability. Fans turned on him. All because you wanted a story.”
“I wanted the truth. That’s what journalists do.”
“That’s what opportunists do.”
The door opens, and I glance up.
Masterson walks in. And my heart damn near stops when his green-gray eyes tangle with mine.
He’s in jeans and a Raptors hoodie, hair perfectly tousled, clearly just grabbing coffee before heading somewhere. He sees me immediately, and his eyes slide to Alex sitting across from me at this intimate corner table.
Something shifts in his expression and he moves toward our table.
Alex notices him too and grins. “Danny Masterson. Small world.” He stands up and shoves his hand at Masterson. “Alex Naylor, Chicago Tribune. I’ll be covering your game Friday.”
Masterson shakes his hand, but his eyes don’t move from mine. “Nice to meet you.”
“Noah and I were just catching up. We used to date. Back in Chicago.” Alex says it casually, like it’s no big deal. He turns to me with a triumphant smirk on his face. “Well, it was good seeing you, Noah. We should do this again. And nice meeting you, Danny. Looking forward to Friday’s game.”
He leaves, and I’m left sitting here under Masterson’s suspicious stare.
“You dated a journalist,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “A long time ago.”
“He looked cozy with you. Was he looking for a scoop on something?” His eyes narrow. “Or someone?”
I shoot out of my chair. “It wasn’t like that at all. I’d never talk about you to the press.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs and twists away. “I need to go.”
“Masterson—”
But he’s already walking out.
I grab my jacket and follow him out onto the street.
“Masterson. Wait.”
He doesn’t stop.
“Danny.”
He finally stops and turns around. The pained look on his face makes my gut twist.
“What?” he mutters.
“It’s not what it looked like in there.”
“What did it look like?”
“Like I was having coffee with an ex who happens to be looking for a story.”
“And was it?”
“No. Alex showed up in Oakland He wanted to meet to smooth things over between us. I said no. He kept pushing. I agreed to coffee just to get him to back off.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a journalist who specializes in digging up dirt on athletes and turning it into headlines. And I don’t want him anywhere near you or the team.”
Masterson studies me, waiting for me to keep going.
I sweep a hand through my hair. “Look, when we were together in Chicago, I was managing a player who was going through personal issues.
His name was Devin Edwards. He was a center for the Blackhawks, twenty-six years old, second year in the league.
He came to me eight months in because his anxiety had gotten bad enough that he couldn't sleep before games. He was throwing up in the tunnel before warmups. I helped him work with the team to get him connected to a sports psych and adjust his media schedule so he had a buffer. He started playing better. He was happy.”
I take a breath.
“I told Alex about it one night. Not as a story.
Just venting. The way you tell your boyfriend about a hard week at work.
Three days later, the Tribune ran a front-page piece about Devin's ‘mental fragility.’ There were quotes from anonymous sources, speculation about whether he could handle the league.
Within a week, his endorsements pulled out.
The team stopped giving him play time. By the end of the season he was in the AHL. He hasn't played NHL hockey since.”
Danny's jaw tightens. “Jesus.”
“That's why we broke up. That's one of the reasons I left Chicago. And that's why I don't want Alex anywhere near you.”
“So you met him for coffee to tell him to back off.”
“Yes.”
“And he brought up me specifically.”
“He’d read about the Puck Fest incident. Then he asked questions about the community service and the media training. He’s fishing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. That you’re on probation and I’m managing your rehabilitation. That’s it.”
“And he bought that?”
“I don’t know. Alex’s good at reading people. He sees things.”
“What things?”
I look at him, and I can’t say it. How can I admit that Alex might see what I’ve been trying so hard to hide? That I feel something for Masterson that goes beyond professional obligation?
“Just...be careful around him. Don’t give him anything he can use.”
“I know how to handle journalists, Noah.”
“Not ones like him. Alex’s different. He’ll act friendly, ask casual questions, and make you think you can trust him. Then he’ll turn everything you said into a story.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I am.”
Masterson looks at me for a long moment. “That why you keep everyone at a distance? Because someone you trusted burned you?”
“That’s part of it.”
Masterson narrows his eyes. “What’s the other part?”
I can’t answer that. I can’t tell him that the other part is standing right in front of me. That I’m terrified of letting anyone in because the cost of being wrong is too high.
“I need to get to work,” I say, avoiding the question.
“Right. Work.” Masterson folds his arms over his chest. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re having coffee with your ex to rekindle anything. I think you’re terrified he’s going to find out something you don’t want him to know.”
He stalks away before I can respond.
I stand there on the street, watching him disappear around the corner.
He’s right. I am terrified.
Terrified that Alex will dig deep enough to find what I’ve been hiding. Terrified that everything I’ve worked for will blow up because I can’t control how I feel about Danny Masterson.
Terrified that the walls I’ve built aren’t high enough to keep the truth from getting out.