13 #3
‘But Mel,’ she said, steering back. ‘That photo?’
There was a beat, then Mel’s voice wobbled. ‘Oh…I’m so sorry. I threw out a heap of old photos recently. I did a big clean out before I moved. I…I don’t think I have it anymore.’
Blake’s heart plummeted. The rush of having something tangible gone. Just like that.
She opened her mouth, searching for something to say.
‘Unless,’ Mel cut in. ‘I probably took the photo on an old iPhone. Tash will tell you I can’t bear to part with much, the phone is probably in the junk drawer.’
Hope sparked in Blake sharp enough to hurt.
‘Hang on, let me check,’ Mel said, breathless now. There was a clunk of a drawer opening, rustling, muffled swearing.
‘If it’s here, it’s gonna take forever to restart.’
A series of slow clicks echoed down the line.
Mel let out a sharp gasp. ‘Oh my god,’ she whispered. ‘I have it. I have it!’
The studio froze.
‘You found it?’ Blake said, barely breathing.
‘I think so,’ Mel said, laughing breathlessly. ‘It’s…hang on. Do I send it to the number I called?’
Sam nodded.
‘Yep,’ Mack said warmly. ‘Just text it straight through to the studio line and our producers will grab it.’
‘Okay,’ Mel said, still breathless. ‘Sending it now!’
Behind the glass, Britt was already on her feet, waving both arms.
‘Got it!’ she mouthed triumphantly.
A sharp ping sounded as the image hit the system.
Sam pushed it up onto the producer screen. The loading bar crawled painfully slowly.
Blake’s whole body tensed with anticipation.
The photo appeared. Grainy, bad light, gloriously imperfect.
And right there.
Tash. Mel. Blake.
And Leo.
His face half-turned, his white T-shirt catching the fluorescent light, his gaze locked on her.
Blake pressed her hand against her chest, emotion flooding through her.
‘That’s him,’ she whispered.
For a moment, she just let herself feel it. The validation. The proof. He was real. Everything she’d been chasing, everything she’d remembered, it had really happened.
This was what Morgan needed, proof her father existed, that Blake hadn’t invented some fantasy to fill the gaps in their story.
She could almost smell the beer and hot chips from that day, feel the press of the crowd, hear Leo’s laugh mixing with the stadium noise.
‘That’s him,’ she whispered again.
Mack squinted at the screen. ‘Bloody hell. Looks like he was printed on a potato.’ He laughed, then twisted the knife. ‘You sure he still wants to be found? Because, babe, you haven’t exactly aged like a pinot.’
Before Blake could react, Sam hit the panel, crashing them out.
The ads slammed in, abrupt and jarring.
The ON AIR light dimmed.
Blake sat stunned for a second.
Then she turned, staring at Mack. Humiliated, furious. ‘This isn’t just about me,’ she said, her voice low and cutting.
She pushed back her chair, standing up as the emotion broke free. ‘I’m not chasing a love story,’ she spat out. ‘I’m trying to find Morgan’s dad.’
The airlock door slammed open.
Steve stormed in, red-faced, breathing hard. His usually polished appearance was dishevelled, tie askew, jacket unbuttoned.
Chelsea was right behind him, headset still half-on, trying and failing to catch his elbow.
‘What the hell are you doing?!’ Steve barked. ‘Take it down. All of it. Now.’
Britt spoke over her laptop. ‘It’s barely even live yet.’
‘I said take it down!’ Steve shouted, louder, his voice cracking. A vein pulsed at his temple.
Chelsea stepped forward, her voice cutting across the tension. Steady, sure. ‘That was radio gold,’ she said. ‘The sketch artist. The budding love story. The reunion. The photograph. Our first solid proof. And a real clue.’
Steve spun towards her.
‘Steve, you need to calm down,’ Chelsea said.
‘Don’t tell me to calm down!’ he snapped, wild-eyed. ‘The sketch’s gone viral. Now you’re pushing photos? Legal’s breathing down my neck!’
‘Steve, I spoke to Linda in Legal last week,’ Chelsea said. ‘There were no flags.’
Steve hesitated. Too long. His eyes darted away, then back. ‘Well, I’ve got legal on my back now,’ he spat. ‘It’s not about what’s posted. It’s about what it could become.’
‘You’re not making sense,’ Chelsea said coolly.
‘My office, 9 am,’ Steve barked. ‘The show’s pivoting tomorrow. Scrub everything.’
He turned on Britt, venom in his voice. ‘And if anything else goes up, it’s on you.’
Britt shrank back. Blake noticed her hands trembling. This wasn’t the first time Steve had targeted her.
Steve tore the airlock door open.
The heavy seal hissed as it slammed shut behind him.
Buzzing, stunned silence.
Britt sat frozen at her laptop. Sam turned back to his panel.
Mack gave a low whistle. ‘That wasn’t normal weird,’ he muttered. ‘That was…unhinged weird.’
Blake turned to Chelsea, adrenaline still coursing through her.
‘What the heck was that?’
Chelsea didn’t answer.
She stood staring at the door Steve had disappeared through, her mouth pressed tight. Something flickered in her expression. Recognition, maybe. Or suspicion.
Finally, she said, ‘That was a massive overreaction. I don’t know what’s up his arse, but that was shady as hell.’