Chapter 21 #2
And suddenly, I’m aware of the quiet omission I’ve been carrying.
I’ve never thought of myself as dishonest. I don’t manipulate truth and I don’t protect people because I like them, nor do I bury things because they’re inconvenient.
But omission isn’t neutrality—it’s a choice. And choices have weight.
Patrick isn’t accusing me of anything. That’s the problem.
He’s extending trust, and trust demands reciprocity.
I feel the conflict clearly now—the professional instinct to protect the integrity of the work, colliding with the personal instinct to protect someone who has, unexpectedly, begun to matter to me.
Crosby didn’t ask this to be complicated, but I made it that way the moment I let personal bleed into public.
Patrick’s confidence in me makes the decision unavoidable. “I’m seeing Crosby Hale,” I say calmly. “It’s recent and it’s very casual.”
Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up so fast, I barely register the movement, only the look of shock that’s left behind. “Um… okay.”
“Your speech about integrity in my work… I think I need to disclose that relationship. I believe I can keep work and personal separate but if you feel it’s a conflict of interest for me to continue to portray the team—”
Patrick raises his hand. “First, I don’t care who you’re seeing, and second, I don’t question your integrity knowing about you and Crosby. I know you stand behind your work and you’re not going to ruin your reputation in the industry because of the involvement.”
“You sound so sure of that,” I drawl, a bit skeptical that he could have such unwavering confidence in me.
“I am sure of that,” he says, but then leans forward to stare at me in such an intense way, I find myself squirming. “But what are you going to do if you become part of the Wildfire story?”
Now it’s my turn to blink in surprise, because that’s not an angle I had considered. “I won’t be,” I say quickly. “Like I said… it’s casual. Has nothing to do with the team.”
Patrick settles into the cushions again, drapes his arm over the back.
“If I may play devil’s advocate, you say this has nothing to do with the team, but Crosby is part of the team.
What you and he do affects who he is as a person, which translates into who he is as a teammate.
It’s not a bright line you can stay on one side of. ”
I consider that, my gaze drifting off to the bank of windows that overlooks the back parking lot. This relationship is new, light… fun. It shouldn’t have an effect on Crosby as a player or me as a filmmaker, but I do have to allow room that I could be wrong.
My eyes pull back to Patrick. “If anything happens that would affect Crosby, the team or my work, I’ll simply end it.”
“It’s that easy for you?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.
“It’s that easy,” I assure him, even as my conscience tells me that’s a lie.
“What about for Crosby?”
My stomach flips over because he’s talking about Crosby potentially getting hurt, which could greatly affect the team. And it’s not the team I really care about in this moment, but Crosby’s heart.
“I’d never do anything to hurt him. He’s such a great guy and I really respect him.”
“I believe you,” Patrick says solemnly.
He doesn’t say anything else and it’s implied… it doesn’t mean I still won’t hurt him.
Patrick slaps his thighs and stands up. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting with Oliver to get to. I appreciate you disclosing the personal relationship with Crosby.”
“I wouldn’t feel right not to,” I say as I rise. “Transparency matters.”
“It does,” he agrees. “And for what it’s worth, Crosby’s a private man. Guarded. If you’re going to be part of his life, I imagine you already know that.”
“I do,” I say.
“Then we’ll proceed as planned. Keep me looped in if anything shifts.”
“I will.”
?
The Blue Line restaurant isn’t very busy as it’s a little early for lunch. Cherry’s in a booth in the back corner by the windows that overlook the rink.
She waves, smile bright and immediate. “Juno! Over here.”
I glance around, clocking the other players, and I’m grateful not to see Crosby. I’m not doing anything wrong by meeting with Cherry and I fully intend to tell him about this, but I don’t want to catch him off guard.
I take the seat across from her and glance down at the plate before her that has a croissant with the very end eaten. “Not any good?”
“Oh, it’s delicious,” she says. “But I’m watching my figure, so obviously I can’t eat the whole thing.” She pushes the plate toward me. “Would you like the rest?”
I have had The Blue Line’s croissants and I personally know they have a pastry chef on staff. They are indeed delicious. “Thanks,” I say, pulling the plate the rest of the way.
“I love this place,” Cherry says, gesturing around us. “It feels so electric being right here in the middle of it all. I love being so immersed within the team.”
Nothing surprising in that statement.
“So… why don’t you tell me a little bit more of the… what did you call it… the Wildfire Family Collective?”
She nods enthusiastically while I chew on the croissant. “It’s such a cute name, right? Yes, because we’re a family, and well… Collective sounds so professional. It will translate well into social media. I’ve already set up an Instagram page, and next up is TikTok.”
I swallow hard and regret not bringing my water bottle with me. “I was intrigued by the things you said you’d do, especially the crowdsourcing. Tell me more about that?”
Cherry waves an impatient hand. “Yes, yes… that will be one of the things we do, like helping some of the moms with babysitting, but I think the more important issues are shedding light on the behind-the-scenes sort of look. The fans will love seeing how the wives support their men, and that’s really what inspired the social club. ”
“And the parents and siblings, too?” I ask.
“I mean… yes, if they want to join. But really… it’s the wives who do everything.”
“But a lot of the guys aren’t married,” I point out.
“Yes, and we’ll take care of them all,” she coos.
Internally, I don’t buy her altruistic promises for a second. I’ve watched women like Cherry my entire career. They don’t build community to share power—they build it to centralize attention.
“I think it’s smart,” I say neutrally. “You’re creating a support service.”
Her smile widens. “Exactly. And structure. People respond to structure.”
I nibble on the croissant and Cherry launches into the details without prompting. Care packages. Themed events. Holiday gatherings. “I’ve got a wonderful Halloween party already in the mix, complete with a photographer.”
“Sounds nice,” I say.
“We’re the power behind the men,” she says with a giggle, like she’s shared a profound statement.
I tilt my head. “That’s an interesting way to frame it.”
She beams, taking it as agreement. “Right?”
I let a beat pass. Not documentarian silence—womanly curiosity silence.
“So,” I say lightly, “how did you end up spearheading this?”
She laughs. “Oh, I’ve always been like this. A connector. A leader.” Then, as if remembering why she’s here, “I suppose being married to Miller helps. People are drawn to fame, and doors open to fame.”
There it is. The core personality of this woman.
A thought strikes me, and I know by my next question, I’m going down a rabbit hole that won’t benefit my film at all. It will only satisfy my curiosity. “And before that?” I ask.
Her expression flickers briefly. “Before?”
“Before Miller,” I clarify.
She exhales a small, amused breath. “Ah. Yes. You’re talking about Crosby. Well, that was… different.”
I watch her carefully now. This most definitely isn’t about the film but my personal nosiness about this woman and what does she have that Crosby could have wanted.
She twirls her straw. “Crosby was very intense,” she says with a fond smile. “Wonderful in his way, sexy as hell in bed.”
I internally wince because I know that to be true, and I hate that she shares such knowledge with me.
“But,” she continues, “he’s not exactly built for partnership.”
I tilt my head because that does not track. “That’s not how I’d describe him,” I find myself saying, then instantly regret it.
I shouldn’t know that information, but Cherry doesn’t seem to notice.
“He struggled with attention,” she continues in a dramatic tone. “Publicity. Expectations. I’m very comfortable in that space and he’s not.”
I smile faintly. “Yes. You seem to be.”
She laughs again, pleased. “It caused friction. He preferred everything secretive. Which is fine—but eventually you realize love shouldn’t feel like hiding.”
There it is. The revisionist history.
I think of Crosby’s voice. Calm and thoughtful, like the way he listens. The way he chooses words.
“He values discretion,” I say evenly. “That’s not the same thing as secrecy.”
She pauses, then nods like I’ve flattered her. “Exactly! That’s what I used to tell him. He couldn’t get past it.”
I shake my head, a little dizzy from her whipping back and forth in her description of Crosby, none of it accurate in my opinion.
She recovers smoothly. “Of course, we’re both happier now. Everything worked out exactly as it should.”
I don’t contradict her and realize I’ve had enough of Cherry. I ignore the last of the croissant, sliding out of the booth. “I really hate to cut this short, but I forgot I’ve got a meeting with Evan. We can continue this some other time.”
Cherry’s face crumples with disappointment. “Oh… well, I have so much more to say. Maybe you can come to one of our gatherings sometime. Observe the dynamic. The real influence happens off camera.”
“Maybe,” I reply. “I’ll have to see if it will work naturally into the theme, which is still developing.”
She rises too. “I’m so glad we finally connected. Maybe we could get a drink sometime?”
Not in a million years. “Gosh… I’m so busy, but if I ever get a few free minutes…”
I let it hang out there implying I might call, but I never will.
As I walk away, I don’t look back—but I can feel her watching.
Many of my suspicions have been confirmed. Cherry doesn’t miss Crosby. She misses the audience she had when she was attached to him and she’s striving to get that back.
And that makes her far more dangerous than heartbreak ever could.