Chapter 25
NOAH
I’m sitting in my office at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning, trying to focus on damage control for the ongoing media shit show, when my world slides off its axis.
My phone buzzes on the desk.
First, it’s a text from my father.
Have you seen the Tribune article?
Then I get a text from Marshall.
My office. Now.
Finally, I get a text from Alex.
Looks like your ex threw you under the bus. Karma’s a bitch. Check it out.
A link follows. I grit my teeth and click on it.
Fuck.
Chicago Tribune: Inside the Masterson Scandal - Player Speaks Out on Relationship with PR Director
By Alex Naylor
My hands shake as a cloud of red stains my vision.
In an exclusive interview, Oakland Raptors forward Danny Masterson opens up about his relationship with team PR Director Noah Enver, revealing details that contradict the organization’s official statement and raise serious questions about professional boundaries, conflict of interest, and whether Masterson received preferential treatment during his probation period.
I keep reading, anger clawing at my insides. It gets worse.
“Noah helped me see that I could change,” Masterson said in our interview Monday afternoon. “The clinics made me realize I wanted to be better. He believed in me when no one else did.”
According to Masterson, his connection with Enver developed during the two-month probation period following his assault on a fan at Puck Fest. While the official statement claimed the relationship began after probation concluded, Masterson’s account suggests otherwise.
Asked whether the relationship had personal undertones during the probationary period, Masterson said the team’s compliance officer “cleared the relationship before we made it official” and emphasized that “Coach knew” before any public disclosure.
The casual mention of Coach Enver’s awareness raises new questions about how high the knowledge of the relationship extended within the organization, and when.
I slap a hand against my forehead. No. Danny wouldn’t have said it like that. He couldn’t have.
But there’s his name. His quotes. His fucking words twisted into something that makes us both look guilty.
I keep reading.
Multiple team sources, speaking on condition of anonymity, corroborate that Enver gave Masterson unusual levels of personal attention during the probation period.
“Most PR directors would have delegated community service supervision to junior staff,” one source said.
“Noah insisted on handling everything personally. He was at every clinic, every media training session. People noticed.”
Another source noted that Enver and Masterson were frequently seen in private conversations, often with Enver’s office door closed. “It raised eyebrows,” the source said. “But no one wanted to say anything because Noah’s the coach’s son.”
My stomach roils.
The article goes on. And on.
Alex details every interaction he tracked. Every time Danny and I left the arena separately. Every clinic. Every meeting. He frames it all as evidence of an inappropriate relationship that started during supervision.
Then comes the kill shot.
When asked directly about physical contact during probation, Masterson confirmed, “We kissed once during probation. He pulled away.”
Masterson maintains the relationship did not become physical until after his probationary period concluded.
However, the admission of physical contact during a period in which Enver was responsible for supervising Masterson’s compliance with league discipline raises substantive questions about the line between professional supervision and personal involvement, questions made sharper by Enver’s official statement last Saturday, which made no mention of the earlier incident.
I close the laptop. My hands are shaking.
Then I do what I’m supposed to do. What every PR director in a crisis does. I work the problem.
I call my contact at the league office first. Tom Reardon, head of communications. We’ve worked together on three crisis statements over the past year. He’s a friend. Or close to one.
He picks up on the second ring. “Noah.”
“Tom. I need five minutes.”
“I can’t talk to you right now. You know I can’t talk to you.”
“The Tribune piece is wrong. The relationship started after probation. There was one kiss during, but nothing else, and I pushed him away. I’ve got dates. I’ve got my own statement. I can corroborate—”
“Noah.” He cuts me off. “I believe you. That’s not the problem. The problem is you put out an official statement on Saturday saying it began after, and now there’s a contradiction in print. The league doesn’t care which version is true. We care that there’s a contradiction.”
“So I issue a clarification—”
“You can’t issue a clarification. You’re the subject.
Anything you say at this point reads as self-defense.
Marshall has to issue it. And Marshall’s not going to issue it because then he’s the one publicly defending you, and he can’t afford to do that either.
” He pauses. “I’m sorry. I really am. But this isn’t a PR problem you can spin out of.
The clock ran out the second the article posted. ”
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
“What would you do?” I ask.
“If I were you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d get ahead of Marshall. Resign before he asks. Better optics. Easier to find work after.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Take care of yourself, Noah.”
He hangs up.
I sit there for a long minute. Then I open a fresh document and try anyway.
I draft a longer statement - three paragraphs explaining the timeline, including dates, stating that the kiss was a single incident I rejected and disclosed to no one.
I read it back. Every sentence reads like a man trying to save his own ass.
Every justification reads like a confession.
Tom was right. There’s no statement that fixes this.
I delete the document.
My phone rings. It’s Marshall.
Shit. I got sidetracked reading about how my career is about to implode.
“Noah. My office. Right now,” he says in a tight voice.
“Yes, sir. I’m on my way,” I say.
I hurry through the arena in a daze. Staff members avoid eye contact. Everyone’s seen the article.
Everyone knows.
Marshall’s office door is open. He’s behind his desk with his phone pressed to his ear, looking like he’s aged ten years overnight.
“I understand. Yes. We’re handling it. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and gestures for me to sit. “That was the league. They’ve read the article.”
“It’s not—“
“Don’t. Just don’t.” He scrapes a hand over his face. “Is it true? Did the relationship start during probation?”
“We kissed once. That’s all. Nothing else happened until after—“
“That’s not nothing, Noah. That’s a conflict of interest. That’s you compromising your professional judgment while supervising a player under disciplinary review.” He leans forward. “Your statement said the relationship began after probation concluded. That was a lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie. The relationship…the actual relationship…started after. The kiss was a mistake. I pushed him away. We didn’t—“
“The league doesn’t care about semantics.
The reality is that you lied in an official statement.
” He picks up a piece of paper. “I have the league’s director of operations on one line, our legal team on another, and the PR crisis firm we hired demanding to know how a PR director created a PR nightmare. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice as hollow as the hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
“Sorry doesn’t fix this.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m being pressured to terminate you. The league wants action. Sponsors are threatening to pull funding. The organization’s credibility is on the line.”
My chest tightens. “You’re firing me.”
“I don’t want to fire you, Noah.” He slides the paper across the desk. “So I’m asking you to resign. It’s better for everyone. Better optics. You leave on your own terms, we release a statement accepting your resignation, and we all try to move forward.”
I stare at the resignation letter.
“And if I don’t resign?”
“Then I have no choice but to fire you. It’ll make it harder to find another job.” He’s not being an asshole, just stating the facts. But it doesn’t sting any less. “This is me trying to help you, Noah. Pick the resignation.”
I pick up the paper and read it.
I, Noah Enver, hereby resign from my position as Director of Communications for the Oakland Raptors, effective immediately.
I take full responsibility for my actions and the appearance of impropriety that resulted from my relationship with a player under my supervision.
I apologize to the organization, the team, and the fans for any damage caused.
“What about Danny?” I ask.
“What about him?”
“He’s suspended fifteen games. His reputation is destroyed. The team—”
“Masterson made his choices. He gave an interview to a journalist known for sensationalism. He admitted to a relationship that started during probation, contradicting your official statement. He’s dealing with his consequences. You need to deal with yours.”
My hand shakes as I sign my name at the bottom.
“I’m sorry it came to this,” Marshall says. “You’re good at your job. But you let your personal feelings compromise your judgment. And now we all pay the price.”
“I know.”
“Clean out your office. HR will be in touch about final paperwork. And Noah?” He looks at me. “You’re a good person. You made a mistake. Don’t let this define you.”
I stand up, walk back to my office, and start packing.
I pile my files up and drop them into a cardboard box that suddenly appeared while I was gone. I add the coffee mug my father gave me when I got hired and the Raptors jersey signed by the team.
I’m on my way out when my father appears in the doorway.
“I heard what happened,” he says. “I’m sorry, Noah.”
“Really?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice, even though I know I don’t have any right to be angry at Dad. I made my own choices without regard for anyone else. “You told me to decide what I could live with. Turns out I can’t live with any of this.”
“Noah—”
“I ended the relationship to protect everyone. To salvage what I could. And it didn’t matter. I still lost my job. Danny still got suspended. Your reputation is still damaged. The team’s still missing playoffs.” I put down the box. “I sacrificed everything for nothing.”
“You didn’t sacrifice for nothing. You did what you thought was right.”
“And look where that got me. Unemployed. Humiliated.” I shake my head. “Did you see the article? Danny gave Alex an interview. He told him we kissed during probation and gave him everything he needed to destroy us both.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“No. And I’m not going to.”
“You should. Hear his side—”
“His side is in the Chicago Tribune for everyone to read.” I pick up the box and head for the door. “I need to go.”
“Where?”
“Home. Away from here. I don’t know.”
He steps aside without a word.
I stalk through the arena one last time. Once I’m at my car, I dump the box in the backseat and slump in the driver’s seat.
My phone buzzes, and with a heavy heart, I open the text from Danny.
Noah, please call me. I need to explain—
I delete it without reading the rest.
Another text comes through immediately.
Alex twisted everything. That’s not what I said. Please—
Again, I delete it. Then I block his number.
I can’t do this. I can’t hear his excuses or process any more bullshit today.
I get home in a daze then walk inside like a zombie. I collapse on the couch and close my eyes.
My phone rings. Over and over and over.
My father.
Marshall.
Carter.
I grab my phone and turn it off.
The silence is deafening.
Twenty-four hours ago, I had a job. A career. A relationship with someone I loved.
Now I have nothing.
I ended things with Danny to protect everyone. I released a statement to control the narrative. Dammit, I did everything I thought was right.
It all fell apart anyway.
This must be what rock bottom feels like.
And I’m completely alone.
I press my hands against my forehead, thinking about the last time Danny was here. He was standing in my living room, telling me I picked what was safe over fighting for us.
He was right.
I was so afraid of the consequences that I didn’t even try to fight the battle. I just cut and ran, ending things before they could get worse.
Except they got worse anyway.
I have nobody to blame but myself.
Danny told Alex everything. The compliance check. My father finding out. The kiss.
He didn’t lie. That’s the worst part.
He just told the truth to the wrong person.
Maybe he wanted me to hurt as much as he was hurting.
It definitely worked.
Marshall wanted the dust to settle.
Instead, everything burned and I’m stuck in the middle of the inferno.