Chapter Thirty-Eight
Maggie
Janowicz calls me into his office, and I take a steadying breath. Somehow, I’ve managed to break the biggest sports story of the year.
The newsroom is a flurry of hushed conversations and clacking keyboards as I make my way down the dimly lit hall.
The sound of my flats echoes off the tile, each step fueling the nerves twisting in my stomach.
This is it. He’s either going to offer me the dream job with better pay—or the same pay.
Either way, I need to figure out what I actually want before I sit down in front of him.
The moment I step into his office, the distinct smell of stale coffee and lingering cigarette smoke hits me.
Janowicz is perched behind his desk, a crooked, unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
His desk is a chaotic mess of papers, coffee mugs, and an ashtray that hasn’t been emptied in weeks.
“How’s your sister?” I ask as I take a seat in the worn, lumpy chair across from him. It creaks under my weight.
He shrugs, his eyes scanning a folder in front of him. “Family is... family.”
I nod, understanding that sentiment all too well. The silence hangs heavy between us, so I cut straight to the point. “Did you like the article?”
Janowicz leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes sizing me up like he’s still deciding how he feels about me. “It was good.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Good?”
“You broke a story.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Not the story I sent you to write, but at least you didn’t come back empty-handed.”
The way he says it makes my chest deflate. “So, you would’ve preferred I wrote a hit piece about a snowboarding legend supposedly climbing to the top with illegal substances?”
He shrugs again, this time more dramatically. “Would’ve sold more papers.”
My stomach twists. What kind of journalist do I want to be? Someone who chases dark leads at any cost? Or someone who tells stories that remind people of their shared humanity?
“You were fed bad information,” I remind him firmly. “If I’d written that story, you’d have put this entire paper’s credibility at risk.”
He waves me off with a deflated groan. “We’d have slapped the word allegedly on it. Keeps the lawyers happy.”
The man I once admired feels like a stranger in this moment. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and square my shoulders. “What’s next?”
Janowicz rests his elbows on his cluttered desk. His gaze narrows like he’s sizing up a chessboard. “That depends, Cooper. You hungry for more stories like this? Or are you gonna keep getting soft?”
His words settle into the air, and I realize he’s not asking me about my next assignment. He’s asking me who I am. Who I want to be. And for the first time, I know the answer.
“I want to write real stories,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension in the room like a blade.
“I’m done chasing useless leads across the state just because you think there might be a story.
We have a full staff of reporters who can handle that.
I’ve been here for five long years. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I’ve…” I pause.
I’ve fallen in love. Got cheated on. Left. Fallen again. Somehow, I’ve kept myself afloat on a salary that barely covers gas, driving a car that starts with a screwdriver. I deserve more—more than this job, more than this moment.
“You what?” Janowicz raises one wiry eyebrow, leaning forward slightly.
“I’ve proven myself time and time again,” I continue. “I get to work early every morning, and I’m usually one of the last to leave. I’ve given more of myself to this paper than anyone else out there in that newsroom, and it’s about time that you acknowledge that.”
He leans back in his chair, studying me with an unreadable expression. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve earned a promotion and a pay raise,” I reply, my voice steady despite the nerves thrumming beneath my skin.
Janowicz lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You landed this story because you slept with the guy.”
My cheeks flame as my jaw drops. “What?”
“You don’t think Odie told me?” He lets out a humorless chuckle before his face hardens.
“You’re a hard worker, Maggie. Nobody’s denying that.
But you’re lost. You have no direction. And I’m not talking about your career.
Let’s face it, you’ve been floundering for years.
You were living in your ex-boyfriend’s grandmother’s house—”
“Granny flat,” I interrupt sharply. “Not her house.”
He waves me off, his expression pitying. “Do you know why you’re the first one here every morning and the last to leave?”
I shake my head. “Because I’m passionate about what we’re doing here.”
“No,” he says, quieter now but no less cutting. “Because you’re afraid.”
The words hit me like a gut punch, knocking the air out of my lungs. “No,” I argue weakly, though the sound wavers with the weight of his accusation. “I’m not afraid.”
But even as I say it, I feel the familiar knot of self-doubt twisting in my chest. How did this conversation go so sideways? How did it shift from me asking for a promotion to Janowicz dissecting my entire life?
He shakes his head slowly, the pity in his gaze burning through me. “You’ve been running, Maggie. From one thing to the next. From one story to the next. You think if you stay busy enough, you’ll outrun whatever it is you don’t want to face.”
I sit there, stunned and silent, the words I’d planned to say drying up in my throat. Because maybe there’s a sliver of truth in what he’s saying.
“My personal life is none of your business,” I say steadily despite the fire simmering under the surface.
Janowicz nods. “No, it’s not.”
“Then can we get back to the promotion?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back to what I came here for.
He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “You’re promoted to senior writer, but there’s no pay raise.”
I blink, feeling the words hit me like a slap. “What?”
“It’s not in the budget,” he says with a shrug, offering me a weak, almost apologetic smile. “Newspapers are a dying breed, Maggie. Be grateful for the title.”
“What about the website?” I counter, desperation creeping into my voice. “Doesn’t that bring in revenue?”
He exhales heavily, like I’ve asked him to solve world hunger. “It brings in enough to pay the IT guy to fix it when it crashes every other week. That’s about it.”
I lean back in my chair, the reality of the situation settling over me.
This place has always been a dead end. A safety net.
A crutch I’ve used to avoid thinking too much about my messy past or planning too far into an uncertain future.
It’s been comfortable, but safe doesn’t get me anywhere.
Safe doesn’t challenge me, doesn’t push me toward the life I want to build.
Safe keeps me right here, and right here isn’t where I want to be.
“I have a job offer,” I say suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. It’s not a complete lie. Jack did offer me a position at the Windwood Times, and even though it was said in passing, maybe it’s exactly what I need.
Janowicz raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“I do,” I reply, my confidence growing. “At a paper that values its writers. A place where I can tell the kinds of stories that matter.”
He studies me for a long moment before letting out a resigned sigh. “Then you should take it.”
His words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I just stare at him. “You mean that?”
Janowicz shrugs. “You’ve outgrown this place, Maggie. If you’ve got an opportunity to do something better, something bigger, you’d be a fool not to take it.”
I don’t know whether to feel relieved or hurt by his bluntness. “Thanks, I guess?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continues, his tone gruff but not unkind. “You’re a damn good writer. But this paper… it’s not what it used to be. And you… you’re hungry for more. You should go after it.”
I nod slowly as his words sink in. He’s right. As much as it hurts to admit it, he’s right. This place isn’t where I’m meant to be anymore. And maybe it is time to step into the unknown. To take a chance on myself, on my future, on something new.
“Thanks, Janowicz,” I say as I stand. “For everything.”
He gives me a small smile, one that feels almost fatherly. “Good luck, Maggie.”
As I leave his office, I feel a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me—fear, excitement, and a flicker of hope. I don’t know what’s waiting for me in the next chapter of my life, but for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to find out.
I make my way over to my desk, the place I’ve called home for the past five years, and start clearing it out.
The years flash before me as I sift through stacks of old notes and dog-eared notepads.
Each one carries a memory—late nights chasing deadlines, early mornings fueled by bad coffee, and stories I poured my heart into.
This desk, with its scratches and coffee stains, has seen me at my best and worst. It’s hard to believe I’m saying goodbye.
Odie wanders over, a perplexed look on his face. “What are you doing?” he asks, confused.
I click my tongue, throwing a worn notebook into a box. “Leaving.”
“What?” He sounds genuinely shocked. “You didn’t get the promotion to senior writer?”
I glance up at him, offering a faint smile. “I did.”
“But you’re leaving?”
I pause, my hands stilling as I face him. “Why did you tell Janowicz I slept with Liam?” The hurt seeps into my voice. I never thought Odie, someone I trusted, would betray me like that.
“I…” Odie frowns, his usual bravado faltering. “He wanted to know how you managed to get the real story out of him, so I jokingly said it must have been those late nights you spent with him.”
“Is that what everyone thinks of me?” I ask, each word tinged with pain. “That I only got a good story because I slept my way into it?”
Odie looks around nervously, ensuring no one else is listening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
“You’ve been a great friend to me,” I say, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “But this… this was not cool.”
“I know.” He hesitates before adding softly, “What are you going to do?”
I exhale, my decision solidified. “Stop playing it safe.”
Odie nods, his expression a combination of regret and understanding. “You want me to help you take your things to your car?”
I shake my head, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. “No. I want to do this on my own.”
I pack the last of my belongings into my bag, tucking it under one arm.
Before I leave, I take one final look around the newsroom.
The hum of keyboards and ringing phones fills the air, the same noise that’s been my soundtrack for years.
A few colleagues glance up and offer small smiles, but they’re too busy with their own underpaid grind to care that I’m leaving.
When I step outside, the brisk afternoon air hits me, and I breathe it in deeply. It feels like a new beginning, even though the weight of what I’m leaving behind presses on my chest. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar form leaning against my battered car.
Liam.
He straightens when he sees me, pushing off the hood as he strolls toward me with that easy confidence that makes my heart race. His eyes lock with mine, and in them, I see everything I’ve been missing—warmth, comfort, and something that feels a lot like home.
“I was going to call,” he says, his voice low and full of emotion, “but I needed to see you.”
“Liam?” I whisper, surprised and a little breathless. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t respond as his mouth crashes against mine. The box in my arms slips to the ground, forgotten, as I melt into him. His kiss is everything I didn’t know I needed—fierce, tender, and full of promise.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and he whispers, “I couldn’t wait any longer.”
I smile up at him knowing I couldn't wait any longer, either.