Chapter 30
Juno
I stand in the doorway to Patrick’s office for a second longer than necessary. I’m hesitant to enter because once I do, my fate is sealed.
“Come in,” Patrick says from his desk without looking up, already knowing it’s me standing there.
There’s a moment of indecision. I can walk away, tell him never mind, I don’t need to see him, and I can go back to figuring out how to fix this mess.
But the realist in me knows that this is the only way, so I cross the threshold and close the door behind me.
Patrick nods toward one of the guest chairs, and I settle into it, my hands resting in my lap, fingers laced together so tightly my knuckles ache.
He didn’t offer me the comfort of the couches where we’ve had friendly conversations, so he understands this is about serious business.
I don’t fidget. I’ve learned how to look calm when everything inside me is splintering.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m stepping away from the project,” I say, amazed at how level my voice is because inside, I’m a quivering mass of sadness. “It’s not feasible for me to stay on.”
Patrick’s expression remains unreadable. He studies me the way he always does—like he’s reading the space around my words, not the words themselves. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me why.”
“I’m too close,” I reply, choosing to keep it simple. “And I crossed a line.”
His brow furrows slightly. “That’s not the same thing as being incapable of course correction.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my fingers to relax. “But I don’t trust myself to make it.”
Silence stretches between us. I wait patiently for him to say, “Okay… I understand.”
Instead, he asks, “Is this about Crosby?” My chest constricts.
I don’t want to talk about this because everything is so raw. I find myself nodding, my answer a mere whisper. “Yes.”
“And the incident at The Blue Line?” he follows.
I can’t even be shocked he knows about it. Cherry and Crosby’s fight was loud and abrasive, everyone in the restaurant with a front-row seat. It was picked up clearly on camera, and I know because I’ve watched the footage several times.
“Yes.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the desk before lifting back to me. “Why do you think you should leave because of what happened between Crosby and Cherry?”
That tightens my chest, but I don’t flinch.
“There are too many reasons, but I’ll give you the best. Because I can’t be objective about it.
I chose to film that interaction because my gut told me it could be important.
And it might be, but regardless, it was apparently unforgivable to Crosby. And that’s why I need to leave.”
Unforgivable. That’s where we stand. I tried to call him last night, but he didn’t pick up. I tried again this morning, and he’s clearly ignoring me.
“I’m sure he’s mad, Juno,” Patrick says carefully. “But you and I both know you weren’t doing that to chase spectacle. You were doing your job, and I’m sure he’ll understand that, given time.”
“That doesn’t change how it felt,” I say. “To him.”
Patrick’s eyes soften a fraction. “You care about him.”
I swallow. “Enough to know I can’t do this halfway.
The second reason I must step away from this film is that I will never include that scene or the conflict between Crosby and Cherry in the final film.
I can’t do that to him, and because I can’t do that to him, that makes me a terrible documentarian.
I should be able to remain objective and I can’t.
I’m letting personal feelings dictate my work, and that goes against all my principles.
You need someone here who can report the full story. ”
“I see,” he murmurs.
I reach into my bag and slide a small notebook onto his desk. “Evan will stay on as lead field producer. I’ve already spoken to him and he’s willing to continue.” I pause. “I’ve also put together a short list of directors who could step in and take over creative. People I trust to do right by you.”
Patrick doesn’t touch the notebook. Instead, he leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. “Juno,” he says carefully, “do you know what I hear right now?”
I look at him, guarded. “What?”
“I hear someone who’s been abandoned before,” he says, “and is deciding to walk away first this time.”
My breath catches involuntarily, shocked he’d bring up the brutal reminder of my past. “That’s not—” I start, then stop.
Because it is.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Patrick continues. “And I’m not minimizing the situation. But I do think you’re reacting from a very old place.”
I stare down at my hands, the skin stretched tight over my knuckles that are now white because I’m clasping so hard. “That old place kept me alive.”
“I know,” he says. “But it’s not serving you now.”
I look up to meet his gaze. “I can’t lose my integrity.”
“And I don’t want you to,” he replies. “But walking away from something meaningful isn’t the same thing as protecting it.”
I don’t answer.
Patrick sits back again, thoughtful. “I’m not asking you to stay. Not permanently. Not blindly.” He pauses. “I am asking you to take one week.”
“One week,” I repeat flatly. “For what reason? I’m still not going to include this conflict between Crosby and Cherry, and that is true to this team.”
“Fuck the conflict,” he says, and I blink in shock.
“I don’t care about that, and you can rest assured, I’m going to handle that with Miller.
He’ll either get his wife under control, or he can head down to the minors.
I don’t have time for that shit. So really, there’s going to be nothing for you to include in your documentary. It will be moot by the end of the day.”
My jaw drops, both amazed and slightly terrified at the decisive way this man cut through all the bullshit.
I actually feel a little sorry for Miller, but Patrick is doing the right thing.
Take this fiasco with me and Crosby out of the mix, and he’s got a problem he’s clearly getting ready to nip in the bud.
“Juno,” Patrick says, and my eyes lift to his. “Take a few days and let the emotional temperature drop. Then come back and talk to me again—before you make a final decision.”
I consider that. A week feels like both nothing and everything.
“And if I still want out?” I ask, because even if the documentary itself isn’t compromised, my relationship with Crosby is and I’m not sure I can stay here, day in and day out, seeing the man I lost.
“Then I’ll respect that,” Patrick says.
I nod slowly and rise from the chair. “Okay. I’ll take some time, but I’m going to be honest. I’m really not feeling this anymore. I think… things are ruined.”
“Maybe,” he says, standing from his chair. “But maybe not.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “Where will you go?”
I’ve given this some thought. “I have a personal matter I need to deal with,” I say, and that sounds sort of right. “Family. I might take the time and handle that.”
His expression changes—not surprise, but concern. “Do you need anything?”
“No,” I reply. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
Patrick comes around the desk, extending his hand, and we shake. “I’ll touch base with you next week,” he says. “Take care of what you need to take care of.”
“Thank you.”
I open his office door and step into the quiet hallway, the echo of my footsteps the only sound as I walk away.
One week. Plenty of time to go see my mother, although I’m not quite sure what that will accomplish. It’s been nagging at me, although she hasn’t called again since that first message. Do I need closure, or do I need to run farther away from the man who doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore?