Chapter 16 Sensationalist Crap
Chapter Sixteen
Sensationalist Crap
Do you believe in miracles? I do, and I think the Icehawks will pull this off somehow and win this round.
Next up, they have two games at home, and my money is on them to tie the series two-two before heading back to Colorado.
Why do I believe? you might ask. Call it a hunch, but when they came off the ice after their second loss in the playoffs, I didn’t see defeat in their eyes.
I saw determination. Add to that, their goalie is hot right now, and Lenkov’s slump appears to be over.
Buckle up, Icehawks fans, whatever the outcome, this is going to be a wild ride. —Aria at All Hockey News
~~Aria~~
One huge advantage of writing facts as opposed to sensational theatrics ends up being a plus for Noah. Gardenia has loosened up the rules, and the boys get to hang out—at her and Jakob’s place, not mine. Regardless, it’s a win for Noah and the twins.
I avoid Charles’s texts and calls the entire time I’m on the road trip. I don’t read his emails either. I don’t need to know what he’s saying. I know. He’s furious, and I can’t imagine how this is going to end. On the positive side, he’s been publishing my articles, so maybe he’s okay with them.
And maybe I’m the Princess of Wales.
I arrive back in Portland in time to attend the afternoon skate before game three tomorrow. I haven’t seen Drakos since that incident in the club, which I’m still not regretting even though I feel as if I should.
So what?
It was just sex. It meant nothing, even if it was the best sex I’ve ever had. I wonder what my sister would’ve said about that. I’ll never know.
Charles calls while I’m waiting for practice to start, and I leave my seat to go into the hallway where I have some privacy. Despite my hopes, I know this isn’t going to be pretty.
“Hi, Charles,” I say brightly, as if this isn’t going to be a contentious phone call.
“What is this boring crap you’re writing? Robert at the Scoop on Sports had all sorts of dirt that happened during those games. Why didn’t you?”
I hesitate. If he knew I had direct knowledge of the scuffle in the bar and didn’t report on it, there’d be hell to pay, not that there won’t be anyway.
“Because none of what he wrote happened.” I’m irritated because I was that person for the past two seasons.
“Since when does that stop you? Did you suddenly get a fucking conscience or what?”
“No, I’ve always had one, and I can’t compromise my integrity anymore. Besides, my last couple articles have been quoted on sports networks and by other sports news sites. I’ve brought new readers to All Hockey News.”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“I did. In the comment sections of the articles.”
“They won’t stay, and we’ll lose more readers than we gain. Go back to the tried and true, and stop trying to be a legitimate journalist. You’re a hack. Nothing more. Don’t attempt to rise above it, or you’ll be looking for another job.
“Will I? Maybe I’ll quit first.” The words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.
“You don’t have the guts, and if you think our readers come to us for informative sports news rather than sensationalist crap, you’re delusional.”
I recognize the moral crossroads I’m at. “Why not try this approach? You might be surprised how our readers respond.”
“I already know how they’re responding—with countless complaints. We promise them the inside scoop on all the teams, and you’re not doing the job I hired to you to do.”
“I can’t lie and embellish for you anymore.” I say the words with my heart pounding so hard, I can barely hear his response.
“Then you’re fired. I should’ve done it long ago. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, and I have a dozen competent writers salivating to take your place.”
I’m not exactly shocked. I knew the consequences of going against Charles. Truthfully, part of me is secretly cheering to be done with him and his unethical media company, but another part panics at the lack of an alternative job.
I search for an appropriate, yet professional, response and am about to voice my opinion when I realize he’s no longer on the line.
What’s done is done. Now I have to find ways to survive until I can procure another job. My bank account balance is in the three figures. I have bills due, and Noah may have to quit hockey. Yet I can’t do that to him. I’ll sell my body first—not really, but it’s a thought.
No longer having a reason to attend practice, I head down the hallway toward the exit when I meet Drakos.
He stops, so I do too. Our eyes meet, and my insides do a happy dance at the sight of him.
Throwing caution to the wind and jumping his bones sounds good right about now, but I have more personal pride than that. Or I hope I do.
“Not sure what’s going on, but your last couple articles have been exceptional.”
“Exceptional?” I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, so exceptional I’m getting a raise.”
“Good to see your efforts recognized.” He beams with pleasure. Obviously, my sarcasm is lost on him.
We stare at each other, and I know we’re both recalling that mind-blowing night in the club. I could use a little sexual distraction right about now, but hooking up again would only make things worse, and that’s the last thing I need.
“Well, maybe we could get a drink sometime?” He’s eager.
Almost like a little boy asking for a favor.
It’s hard to hate him when he’s like this, but I have to remember my valid reasons to not trust this man.
He is not a little boy. He’s a grown man who doesn’t take responsibility for his actions or his mistakes.
“Probably not a good idea.” Before I change my mind, I walk away from him.
I resist the urge to look over my shoulder until I’m standing at the elevator.
I sneak a glance. Drakos still stands in the same place I left him.
He’s staring and gives me a little wave.
I nod my head brusquely. Thankfully, the doors swish open.
I step inside this temporary sanctuary and press my forehead against the cool wall.
I stay like this until it stops on the parking garage floor.
Suddenly overtaken by emotion, I run for my car, slide into the driver’s seat, bury my head in the steering wheel, and proceed to lose my shit.
I don’t know how long I sat there and sobbed. Could’ve been minutes or an hour, but someone raps on my window. I’m startled and look up into the concerned eyes of Drakos, who’s leaning down and looking in my window.
I wipe the tears from my face, swallow back the sobs, and roll down the window.
“Did you lose something? Like your brain?” I insult him to distract from his vision of seeing me broken down.
“No, did you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m fine. Really. Just some sad news about a relative I don’t know really well.”
His brows knit together. He’s not buying what I’m selling.
“I have to go.” I abruptly roll up the window, causing him to jump back before his hand is squashed, and drive a little too fast from the parking lot.
The next day I take Noah to school and return home to lick my wounds.
Gardenia will give him a ride to practice, and I’ll pick him up there.
I eat half of a container of espresso walnut ice cream, drink a ton of coffee, and scroll through funny videos for an hour or two.
I’m wasting time because I don’t know where to go from here.
The guys play tonight, game three of the first round, and I won’t be there.
I love hockey. One of the downsides of having my press credentials revoked is not going to games.
I didn’t realize until now how much I’ll miss those games.
The truth is I have nothing better to do with my time than feel sorry for myself, apply for unemployment, and search for job opportunities.
I shake myself out of my funk and scan the job sites.
I find nothing that sounds remotely interesting, I’m qualified for, or that pays even close to what I’d been making.
Now more than ever, I must figure out what assets my sister left Noah.
There must be a logical explanation for the credit card fraud.
I just can’t figure out what, but my sister was financially solvent.
It’s long past time I discover what her finances are, especially since I have all the time in the world on my hands.
I sit down on the floor and start going through the boxes of mail.
I sort through the bulk of it, making piles of different things such as finance-related mail, bills, junk mail, and personal mail.
Once the piles are made, I tackle the first pile and open envelopes.
The first is a recent bank statement from a Vegas bank.
I frown as I stare at the minuscule balance in savings and checking.
I open another and another and another. Same story.
She’s spending way more than she’s making with a lot of cash withdrawals.
I turn to the stack of bills. Multiple different credit cards.
All maxed out. All overdue. The charges are primarily at clothing stores, bars, and casinos.
Did my perfect sister have a gambling problem?
Is that what all this is about? Is that really why she left Vegas?
I don’t find any record of deposits from the university for her paychecks. There has to be another bank account that’s unaccounted for. I spend hours going over everything. I have lots of questions and no answers. The only person who can answer them is gone.
I sit back and sigh. “Anna, what were you hiding?” I say out loud, as if she can hear me.
Grabbing my phone, I search for a number for the payroll office at the university. Perhaps they can shed some light on what’s up. I know they won’t be able to give me a lot of info, but maybe enough to steer me in the right direction.