28. A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing #3
She ponders me for a moment, turning up her aquiline nose that seems like it was built solely for looking down on other people. Her expression is disturbingly writ with apathy—as if I’m inconveniencing her with this little tidbit of information.
I don’t know how I expected her to answer, but what she says only manages to dredge up more panic in my potpourri of emotions.
“Lake, this is amazing work. We need to publish the article now,” she replies.
I burst out into a putter of nervous laughter before I can stop myself, because, of course, her first priority would be to exploit everything happening behind the scenes in hopes of driving more traffic to the newspaper.
Not to ignore it, not to de-escalate it, but to paint the targets on our backs a brighter shade of red by headlining it all over the internet for millions of people to see.
A leviathan of an article lurking in the bioluminescent-dappled depths of an unexplored sea.
After I realize that this is definitely not a laughing matter, I compose myself. “This could affect a lot of people. People who aren’t a part of this.”
“What did you expect me to say, Lake? You’re sitting on a gold mine of information.
We’re journalists. We report on everything that happens—the good, the bad, the ugly.
This is what people want to see. People deserve the truth.
People want to revel in the social suicide of others so they don’t have to think about how painfully unfulfilling their lives actually are. ”
“This isn’t just cheap entertainment. These are people’s real lives we’re playing with.”
“Yeah? Maybe Buford Montgomery shouldn’t have committed a fucking crime, then, if he was so concerned about protecting his reputation.”
If this was a hockey player on a different team, I’d have no qualms about doing the right thing, but Buford’s actions will have repercussions that will make everyone associated with him look bad. Including Sutton.
“I can’t publish the article,” I whisper, my voice tinged with guilt, my patchwork memories from the last twenty-four hours coalescing into a bigger picture of siren lights and crime scene tape.
My pulse takes flight; my eyes dart to the door. Tamara isn’t the kind of person you say no to. She gets whatever she wants, and she doesn’t care who she has to stab in the back to make it happen.
“If you won’t do it, you’ll lose your job. And I know how much you want to be editor in chief next year after I graduate.”
Losing the chance to run the newspaper and actually make a difference sucks, but the alternative is to alienate myself from all my friends.
“You’ll ruin the Mustangs’ reputation forever. They’re playing in the Frozen Four this weekend, Tammy. Do you know how many news outlets will be swarming the games?”
“A ton, which is exactly why now is the perfect time for the newspaper to break the story. This is the job, Lake. Either you move forward with the article, or your career at the newspaper is over. When you accepted this assignment, you agreed to report on anything regarding the team, disregarding your personal attachment to anyone involved. You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment, and that makes me question if you have the backbone to be a journalist.”
I stand up abruptly, shoving the legs of my chair against the carpet grain. “I do have the backbone to be a journalist, but this will affect the Mustangs as a whole. It will affect Sutton.”
“Sutton was a means to an end, remember? Your career is permanent. Relationships aren’t. You need to ask yourself what’s more important.”
“I didn’t use Sutton to get dirt on his teammates,” I hiss.
Tamara’s conviction rains down on me with no break in sight. A minute muscle twitch under her eye, a purse of her bright-red lips.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
A growl crawls up my throat, and I have to clench my fists to refrain from hitting something. All the while, Tamara’s self-righteous equanimity keeps poking at my sanity, waiting for me to lose my cool. Like a child’s incessant finger inciting a dog’s vicious bite.
Hurting Buford would hurt Sutton, and I’d never do anything to hurt the love of my life. Ever.
But if someone else was in my position, I’d tell them to be honest—to defend what is right. I’m directly contradicting my own beliefs.
You’ve preached about doing the right thing ever since Audie died. You’ve continuously abided by the unspoken law to give a voice to the voiceless and shine a light on the duplicity that teems in the dark. Even if you don’t want to publish this article, you know you have to.
This story is going to get out. You can’t stop it. Are you going to be the one at the keyboard, or are you going to play dumb and pretend like you had no idea this was coming?
This isn’t my fault.
No? You should’ve spoken to Sutton about it before it unraveled into something you couldn’t control. You should’ve taken the appropriate steps to amend this whole situation in private. You’re just as much at fault as Buford.
That’s not true. I—I can fix this. I can make things right again.
If you’re going to be a coward, at least stand by your principles. It doesn’t matter what you do, Sutton will never forgive you.
And maybe he shouldn’t.