Chapter 27
NOAH
The job rejection emails start coming in on day three of my search.
Thank you for your interest, but we’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.
While your qualifications are impressive, we don’t feel you’re the right fit for our organization at this time.
We appreciate your application, but the position has been filled.
I’ve applied to twelve PR jobs in two weeks. Sports teams, tech companies, non-profits. Any companies that need communications directors.
Eight rejections. Four no responses.
My head falls into my hand.
My reputation is destroyed. One Google search brings up the Chicago Tribune article. The videos. The resignation announcement. Fucking everything.
No one wants to hire the PR director who created a PR nightmare.
The phone rings as I stare at another rejection.
I glance down. It’s Dad. We haven’t spoken much since I cleaned out my office. Our conversations have been brief, and rightly so. He’s probably still processing. Still disappointed.
I almost don’t answer.
But I do.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Noah. You busy?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good. I want to introduce you to Sam Hartley. You know, he runs Play It Forward, the youth sports nonprofit in Oakland. They do community outreach, clinics, and mentorship programs.”
“Yeah, I know who Sam Hartley is.” He’s only the best quarterback in the NFL and he happens to play for the Oakland Saints. He’s also married to Brixton Scott, front man for Sin City. I’d have to live under a rock not to know who he is.
“Right. Well, I reached out to him and told him about your situation. He’s willing to meet with you to talk about potential opportunities.”
My chest tightens. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But you’re my son and you’re struggling. So I did it anyway.” He pauses. “The meeting’s Thursday at two at Play It Forward headquarters in Oakland. You interested?”
I should say no. Should tell him I don’t need his help, that I can find my own job.
But the rejection emails speak for themselves.
“Yeah. I’m definitely interested.”
“Good. I’ll text you the address. And Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“Sam’s a good guy. Be honest with him. Don’t try to spin what happened. Just tell him the truth.”
“Okay.”
“And maybe... maybe this is a chance to do something different. Something that isn’t about protecting an organization’s image but actually helping people.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Just show up and see what happens.”
He hangs up.
I stare at my phone, at the rejection emails, at the mess my career has become.
Maybe my father’s right. Maybe this is a chance to do something different.
Or maybe it’s just another dead end.
On Thursday afternoon, I drive to Play It Forward’s headquarters. It’s in a renovated warehouse in Oakland, with huge windows and a brightly painted exterior.
Inside, kids are everywhere. There’s a clinic in progress in the main hockey rink. Ten-year-olds are running skating drills as coaches give them pointers. Parents fill the stands, watching and cheering.
It’s chaos. But a good kind of chaos.
A woman at the front desk directs me to Sam’s office. I knock once I get there.
“Come in,” he calls out.
Sam stands up from his desk, towering over me. He’s pretty massive but the smile on his face is nothing but welcoming.
“Noah Enver.” He shakes my hand. “Good to meet you. Your dad spoke highly of you.”
“Even after everything?” I say with a half-smile.
“Especially after everything.” He gestures to a chair. “Sit. Would you like some coffee? Or water?”
“I’m good.”
We sit. Sam leans back and studies me.
“So. Your dad gave me the overview. But I’d like to hear it from you. What happened?”
I take a breath.
Then I tell him. All of it.
The probation supervision. The feelings that developed. The decision to keep it secret. The kiss during probation that we both knew was wrong. The relationship afterward. The videos. The statement. The resignation.
The whole fucking story.
I don’t spin it or try to make myself look better. I just lay it out.
Sam listens without interrupting.
When I finish, he’s quiet for a moment.
“That’s a hell of a situation,” he finally says. “And I want you to know I’m not here to judge your personal life. That’s your business. What I care about is whether you can do the work. And whether you actually want to.”
“I want to work. I’m good at what I do—”
“I’m not talking about being good at PR.
I’m talking about whether you want to do PR.
” He gestures around his office. “This organization runs on storytelling. We tell the stories of kids who need support, communities that need resources, players who want to give back. That’s communications.
But it’s not about spin or damage control. It’s about truth.”
“Are you sure? Because from where I’m sitting, you spent two months hiding the truth. Then when it came out, you tried to control the narrative instead of just being honest.”
The words sting because they’re accurate.
“You’re right,” I say. “I was so focused on managing perception that I forgot about just... being real. Being honest. Even with myself.”
“So what would you do differently?”
I think about Danny. About the statement I released without talking to him first. About ending things to protect everyone when maybe the brave thing would have been to fight for us.
“I’d be honest from the start, even if it’d be messy. Even if it’d be hard. I’d trust that the truth is better than a carefully crafted narrative.”
Sam nods slowly. “That’s what we need here.
People who can tell real stories. Who can connect with communities authentically.
” He pulls out a folder. “I don’t have a full-time position open right now.
But I could use someone for project-based work.
Event coordination, storytelling campaigns, community outreach.
It’s contract work. Not salaried. Probably not what you’re used to. ”
“It’s more than I have now.”
“Fair enough.” He slides the folder across the desk. “Look this over. Think about it. If you’re interested, we can set up a trial project. See how it goes.”
I take the folder. “Thank you. Really.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This work is harder than corporate PR.
It’s messy. It’s emotional. It doesn’t pay as well.
But it matters.” He stands. “And Noah? Whatever happens with your career, you should probably figure out what’s happening with your personal life.
Because unresolved shit has a way of bleeding into everything else. ”
He walks me to the door. “Think about the offer. And maybe think about whether you actually want to be done with Masterson. Because it doesn’t sound like you are.”
We shake hands. I leave his office feeling something I haven’t felt in two weeks.
Hope.
Maybe I can rebuild. Maybe this is a chance to do something that actually matters instead of just managing optics.
Maybe—
I push through the front doors and nearly run into someone coming up the steps.
Danny.
We both freeze.
He’s in jeans and a Raptors hoodie, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. His eyes widen when he sees me.
“Noah.”
“Danny.”
We stand there on the steps of Play It Forward, staring at each other, and all the hope I felt thirty seconds ago evaporates.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Youth clinic. They asked me to help out.” His jaw tightens. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a meeting. About a job.”
“That’s good since my interview got you fired.”
“You gave the interview. Alex twisted it. But you gave him the ammunition.”
“I was trying to defend us,” he says.
A sudden surge of anger floods me. “By telling him we kissed during probation? By contradicting the statement I released?” My voice rises.
“Do you have any idea what that did? The league investigated. Marshall had no choice but to ask me to resign. Everything I tried to prevent happened anyway because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut! ”
“I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?” Danny steps closer. “You released a statement ending our relationship without even telling me first! I found out we were over from Instagram.”
“Because I was trying to control the damage—”
“You were trying to control everything! Like you always do.” His voice echoes across the parking lot. People are starting to look. “You decided when the relationship started. You decided when it ended. You decided what story to tell. I never got a say in any of it.”
“You got a say. You chose to talk to Alex.”
“Because you shut me out! You blocked my number, ignored my texts, and released that statement like I was a problem you needed to solve instead of someone you claimed to love.”
“I did love you.”
“Past tense. That’s perfect.” Danny lets out a sharp laugh. “You know what your problem is, Noah? You’re so busy protecting everyone else that you forget to actually fight for what matters. You gave up the second things got hard.”
“Things didn’t get hard. Things got impossible. There was no way forward that didn’t destroy everyone—”
“So you destroyed us instead. You chose the safe option. The controlled option. The option where you get to look like you did the right thing even though you broke both our hearts!”
“I was trying to save your career.”
“I didn’t ask you to save my career. I asked you to fight for us,” Danny seethes. “But you couldn’t do that. Because fighting is messy. Fighting means you don’t get to control the outcome. So you just... gave up.”
“I gave up?” My voice cracks. “You punched someone at a team event. You got us exposed! You gave an interview that got me fired! And you’re saying I gave up?”
“Yeah. I am. Because when things fell apart, I tried to fix it. I tried to reach out. I tried to explain. And you blocked me.” He steps back. “You made your choice, Noah. You chose your father’s career. You chose the organization. You chose everyone except me.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. And you know what? I’m done. I came here today because Tate thought it would be good for me to do something productive. To stop wallowing. But seeing you?” He shakes his head. “This was a mistake.”
He turns to walk back down the steps.
“Danny, wait—”
“No.” He doesn’t turn around. “You were right to end it. We can’t survive this. We can’t survive you being too scared to fight for what you want. So just... stay away from me, Noah. We’re done.”
He walks away.
I stand there on the steps of Play It Forward, watching him go, and all I can think is that he’s right.
I gave up.
I controlled the narrative, released the statement, did everything I thought was right.
And I lost him anyway.
I get in my car and drive home.
The folder Sam gave me is sitting on the passenger seat. Contract work. Project-based. A chance to rebuild.
But all I can think about is Danny’s voice saying you chose everyone except me.
He’s right. I did.
And now I’m sitting with a job offer I should be grateful for and the certainty that I made the biggest mistake of my life.
Not getting involved with Danny.
Not falling in love with him.
But giving up on him when things got hard.
Choosing control over courage.
Choosing protection over fighting for what mattered.
My phone’s on the kitchen counter. I could call him. Could try to explain. Could tell him he’s right and I’m sorry and I wish I’d fought harder.
But he told me to stay away.
And maybe that’s what he needs.
Or maybe I’m doing it again. Choosing the safe option. The one where I don’t have to risk getting hurt again.
Later that night, I sit in the dark and wonder if I’m ever going to be okay without fixing what I broke.