Chapter Thirty
When I picked up Ben’s FaceTime call a week after Connecticut, I couldn’t tell if his expression was angry or sad, but I knew
for a fact that whatever had him breaking our agreed-upon low-contact scenario with just three weeks left until Italy couldn’t
be good. We’d mapped out a communication strategy that worked for both of us; occasional texts and nothing more until I was
post-events in Italy and he’d locked down his position at The Score.
“Sorry for calling,” he said, his eyebrows pinching closer. “Is now an okay time to talk?”
My mouth went dry. I was on the couch after a grueling day, strapped into my massage compression pants. It was supposed to
be my recharge time, not processing whatever had Ben all stressed out.
“What’s wrong?” My stomach twisted preemptively.
I came up with a million scenarios as I waited for him to say something.
“So, the trailers for your show are going to start airing tomorrow. I, uh . . . need to go over some stuff with you.”
His face went even more pained. It didn’t compute, because Ben always managed to find the sunshine in every scenario.
“You know that you and I were on the same page about the story we were telling, right?”
The joy of seeing him kept bubbling up inside me despite all the red flags from what he was saying. My body repeatedly tried
to remind me that it was Ben, yay, you’re happy! The tingly, excited feelings went to war with whatever worry was creasing his face.
“I do,” I answered in a shaky voice. “Why? Did something happen?”
He nodded, his expression tightening even more. “They changed my edit. Without my knowledge or permission.”
I felt my face collapse into a frown that matched his. “But I was there for like eighty percent of filming and I was totally
comfortable with everything. The only part that was dicey was the solo interview you did with my parents.”
“Which I managed like a conductor.” Ben leaned closer to the screen and lowered his voice. “And I deleted any footage that
was questionable. Let’s just say that your mom won’t get all of the airtime she’s hoping for, because a good part of her interview
disappeared. Somehow. Which is a major editorial transparency breach.”
“Wait, are you serious?”
He nodded, looking grim. “I didn’t get rid of anything that could change the narrative. I was just making sure that your story
remained yours, the way you want to tell it.”
“But isn’t that like, tampering? Can you get in trouble for it?”
“If they find out, yeah, I could. There’s probably something about content ownership in the contract I signed, plus there’s
possible reputation damage to me if it gets out. Neil, Hailey, and I agreed to keep the deletions to ourselves.” He paused.
“After a conversation about their own little ethical breach.”
“You threatened to expose them?” My head started spinning at the developing soap opera.
“God no, no threats. I just pointed out how we were all sidestepping the rules in our own ways.”
I much preferred him Mister Rogers–ing them to a conclusion over strong-arming them.
“So how bad is it? The edit?”
He frowned as he considered it. “I’m going to be honest; the trailer sucks. It starts with the Switzerland falling footage,
and you crying. There’s a cut to your mom and Carol looking very unhappy.”
I could picture the moment he meant. My entire body started trembling. “Fuck.”
“And then there’s the ominous voice-over they used.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, it’s not great. But don’t worry too much, because the show itself isn’t as shit as it could be given the way they positioned
it in the trailer. They wanted me to do voice-over to include more 2022 backstory and I refused, so they cut it in anyway
with captions.”
I started spiraling, trying to sift through the competing emotions inside me. Anger at myself for believing that the show
wouldn’t retrigger me, fear about how it would make me look as I headed into the most critical weeks of my career, and worry
about what Ben had put on the line to keep his promise to me.
“Are they upset at you?”
He gazed off-screen. “I’m not sure. Communication has been limited. But we signed a contract so I’m still going to Italy.”
He paused to give me a half smile. “Wahoo.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
He jerked backward. “For what? I owe you an apology for letting it get out of my hands.”
“But you broke rules for me. And you’re putting your future with the show on the line . . .”
“Listen, I was very clear about my angle for the story, and they agreed to it. I used my own experiences as an example of
how challenging this type of coverage can be, especially so close to the games. They had no problem with how I pitched it.
So it all comes down to the fact that I was honest and they weren’t.”
We both fell silent, staring at each other through the screen.
“Should I skip it?” I finally asked him. “Mel and I were planning to have a little watch party with Zoey.”
His jaw flexed. “Hard to say because there’s still so much good in it. I’m really fucking proud of what we made. It’s a strong show. But . . .” He swallowed hard.
“Say it,” I demanded.
“Quinn, what happened in Switzerland was awful, but it is part of your story. And while I wouldn’t have presented it the way they did, it’s still something that had to be acknowledged.
Like it or not, you’re living a comeback story.”
He paused to check in with me and I managed a nod.
“If you can tolerate four minutes of bullshit out of sixty minutes of brilliance, then I think you should watch,” he continued.
“Because every other part of the show is beautiful and inspiring. And so is your story.”
My eyes welled up. “Thank you.”
His face went soft with concern for me. “Remember, the trailers are sensationalized to get people to tune in.”
I sniffled and nodded.
“You okay?” Ben asked.
“I don’t have a choice. I have to be,” I answered. “It’s the athlete’s way, right?”
“The harder the battle, the sweeter the victory,” Ben agreed.
There he was, coming in with the coach-y dad-isms again. Shockingly, I didn’t hate it.
“I miss you,” I blurted out. “I keep thinking I’m going to come out of a spin and spot you in the players’ box sitting by
Mel.”
“Wow.” He exhaled hard. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“You made it fun. So did Neil and Hailey. You guys work well together.”
He let out a rueful snort. “Yeah, we’ll see for how long.”
My stomach dropped at yet another unexpected reveal. “Did word get out about them or something?”
“No, not at all. I mean because their tenure is safer than mine. They’re employees.”
Once again we were reminded that we were each facing future-defining battles.
“They’d be stupid not to hire you.”
“I happen to agree,” he chuckled. “But I guess we’ll have to see.”
We both fell silent again.
“Are you feeling ready?” Ben asked. “In a good headspace?”
I sat up a little straighter. Despite all the rest of the bullshit I was about to face, I’d still managed to protect my peace.
“I am. I feel phenomenal. I’m ready.”
Another beat.
“I know you are,” Ben replied, his face shifting back to the warmth I was now so familiar with. “And I can’t wait to watch
you win.”