Chapter 24 #2
“I want you on the record about you and Noah.
Set the timeline straight, in your own words.
Tell me what really happened with the kiss during probation, when things between you ended, when it started again, all of it.
You give me the relationship story, I leave the kid alone.
Nobody hears Riley Collins's name from me.”
“You're blackmailing me.”
“I'm trading. I have one story or the other. Your call on which one I run.”
I think about Riley in the hotel lobby, sliding the coffee toward me.
“Would you have done that for anybody on the team? Or just him?”
Three weeks of barely speaking to anyone, and the first thing he asked if I'd protect him.
I think about the bartender on tape.
I think about Noah. About the timeline. About what's already public and what I can still control.
Riley's nineteen.
Noah's already taken his hit. The story about us is going to run no matter what I do. I can't undo that.
But Riley hasn't been hit yet. And he doesn't have to be.
“When?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Tomorrow. Noon. The coffee shop on Fifth.”
“How do I know you'll keep him out of it?”
“You don't. You take my word.”
“Your word means nothing.”
“Then take this.” He finally meets my eyes, and for the first time in this conversation I'm not sure what I'm looking at.
“I don't want to write that story. I don't get off on outing nineteen-year-olds.
I want the bigger piece. The redemption arc.
Yours. That's the story that gets me the byline I want.
The kid's just leverage. Give me what I need and I throw the other story away.”
I almost believe him.
That's the worst part.
“Get out of my apartment.”
“Tomorrow at noon, Danny.”
He shows himself out.
I stand in the middle of my living room for a long time, breathing, thinking. Then I pick up my phone and almost call Noah.
I almost call him.
I don't.
He ended things. He told me to stay away. And if I tell him about this, he'll call me a fucking idiot and tell me not to do it. He'll say Alex is bluffing. He'll say we figure it out together.
And I don't know if he's wrong. But I do know this…if Alex isn't bluffing, and I do nothing, Riley's career is over before it started.
Because of me. Because of what Alex saw in our locker room. Because of a story Alex is writing about me.
Some things you don't talk about. You just watch out for the people who need it.
I put the phone down.
Tomorrow at noon.
The coffee shop on Fifth is half-full at noon. Alex has a corner booth in the back. His recorder is out, his notebook open, and two coffees sit on the table.
I slide into the seat across from him.
“On the record?” he asks.
“On the record.”
He clicks the record button.
“For the tape, this is Alex Naylor of the Chicago Tribune speaking with Danny Masterson on—”
“Skip it.”
He smiles slightly. “When did your relationship with Noah Enver begin?”
“After my probation period concluded. Same as the team’s official statement.”
“There’s video of you two kissing at a bar in Detroit during the season. Was that the first time?”
“No. We kissed once during probation. He pulled away. He told me it couldn’t happen and he meant it. We didn’t see each other outside of professional obligations for the rest of probation.”
“And after probation?”
“After probation we both made an adult decision to be together.”
“With him as a senior employee of the team and you as a player.”
“With both of us as adults who weren’t violating any policy.”
Alex writes something down. Doesn’t look up. “Some would argue the appearance of impropriety—”
“Some can argue whatever they want. The team’s compliance officer cleared the relationship before we made it official. The league knew. My agent knew. Coach knew. There was nothing hidden.”
“Coach Enver knew?”
I pause for a half-second too long.
“Noah told him before we went public to colleagues.”
“Before. Not when it started.”
“There was nothing wrong with the order. Noah was a professional handling it professionally.”
“And the kiss during probation?”
“Was a mistake we both walked away from. It didn’t change my discipline.
I served every game of my suspension. I did every hour of community service.
The league made the disciplinary decision, not Noah.
Anyone who suggests Noah influenced my discipline doesn’t understand how league discipline works. ”
“You sound rehearsed, Danny.”
“I sound clear. There’s a difference.”
He smiles again. Writes something down. “Last question. Did you love him?”
I sit with that while I look out the window then back at the recorder. “I love him.”
“Present tense.”
“Present tense.”
Alex clicks the recorder off.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it.”
I stand up. “Riley Collins.”
“Won’t appear in the piece. You have my word.”
“Your word.”
“It’s all you’ve got.”
I leave the coffee shop.
Once I get in my truck, I keep replaying the conversation. Every answer. Every word. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I didn’t give him anything that should hurt Noah.
Then I think about the way Alex smiled when I said, “the team’s compliance officer cleared it.” I think about the way he wrote something down when I said, “Coach Enver knew.” I think about the way he asked, “before, not when it started?”
I think about a journalist who spent eight months sleeping next to Noah Enver and learned exactly how to listen for the gap between what’s said and what can be implied.
And I drive home with the slow, sick feeling that I just made the worst mistake of my life.