Chapter 6 #2
“Wow, man. Must have been hard. Especially if she was in uniform.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Was she?”
“Don’t be a prick.”
“Sorry. Okay, being serious.” He mimes zipping his mouth closed.
It makes me want to punch his lights out.
As if he knows he’s skating a fine line to violence, he loses the smirk. “What happens now? You write the feature and the two of you exorcism-bang in the locker room?”
“Still being a prick.” I down the rest of my beer as the Bruisers score.
The bar collectively groans and I watch the replay while trying not to think about the image Brad’s comment has conjured up. Which, to be honest, isn’t far from one that’s been vying for my attention since Tuesday morning.
“No more cheap digs. Promise.” Brad blinks, full sincere. “So what does happen now?”
“I don’t know. Sav doesn’t want me writing the article. Asked me to walk away.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Okay, fair. But what about the article?”
“Welcome to my million-dollar nightmare.”
“What do you mean?”
I double down in the bracing-myself stakes.
“Well, I can hand it off to someone else, but if I do, I’m not getting anything else to write for a while.
And worse, I’ll be losing out on more than having a feature in print.
” I keep my eyes trained on the hockey as a fight breaks out.
Gloves drop. Punches are thrown. Kinda perfect for what I’m about to share.
“Whoever writes the article is being gifted a juicy upgrade to features reporter—the role I’ve been working toward these past two years.
I pass this over and I’m not getting the promotion. ”
He gasps. “Fuck.”
“Yep.”
“But you’re a super-talented writer. Why aren’t they just giving you the promotion?”
“Aw, shucks. You think I’m a super-talented writer?”
“Of course.”
“Shame you’re not my editor, buddy.” I slouch in my seat with a sigh. “I’m screwed. Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.”
Brad straightens and then reaches over, clasping my shoulders. “Listen, what I’m about to say comes with all the love, bro, but I think you need to hear it. Don’t be a dick and throw this opportunity away. The promotion is yours by rights. You need to find a way to make it work.”
I try to ignore the way his words twist like a knife in my gut. “How? I broke Savannah’s heart. I owe her this.”
He shakes his head. “You did what you had to. Her dad gave you no choice, remember?”
“But Savannah doesn’t know anything about that. As far as she’s concerned, I’m the bad guy here.”
“So fess up. Make up. Move on. Write the article. Get the promotion.”
“Dude, this whole toxic optimism with a to-do list thing may work for your life, but it really isn’t that straightforward for me. I can’t tell Savannah. You’re forgetting who owns the Herald. I won’t just be missing out on a promotion; it’ll be the death of my entire career.”
“So find another paper that’s outside Aiden Archer’s empire.”
“How? He owns every successful media outlet in this city, he’s taking over Toronto, and now his company owns a massive amount of the country’s telecoms. Changing careers would be easier.
” I chuckle, low and resigned. “And none of that accounts for what would happen to Savannah if I told her the truth about why I had to walk. He was going to cut her off. I couldn’t be responsible for that then and I can’t be responsible for that now. ”
Brad narrows his eyes, processing, absentmindedly twisting his bottle across the table, leaving a trail of condensation. “I think I see the problem here.”
“Well, it’s not a hard fucking problem to see.”
“No. The biggest of the problems.”
“Which is?”
“Bro, you’re caught in the middle because you’re still head over heels in love with her. And now you’ve found her again, there’s no hope in hell of you actually walking away without dredging up all the heartache you went through last time.”
Bingo. The truth of Brad’s words hits deep just as another opposition goal finds the net. The ’Cades are having as shit a night as me.
“So what do I do?”
Brad nods. In his element. Giving advice is his superpower.
“Listen, she’s angry because you hurt her.
Totally understandable. And you can’t tell her the real truth about what happened because her dad’s some scary motherfucker.
Yep. Get that too. So focus on what you can do.
Use some of that infamous Holt charm—which, for the record, you have in spades—and get back into her good books.
Apologize your ass off. And when you think you’ve apologized enough, apologize a whole bucketload more.
Tell her how you feel, like really feel.
Be honest and there’s a chance you can make this right.
For you, and Savannah, and at the same time, for your career.
You’re moping around over not getting the girl or the promotion—well, fuck that.
Go after both.” He sits back, folding his arms across his puffed-up chest as if he’s just come up with a plan for solving climate change.
I swallow the rush of hope surging through me. “Sounds great, bro, but there’s still the issue of her dad. He won’t be happy about any of this.”
“Take him out of the equation, for now at least. When you were together, she was heading into his world, meaning he held all the cards. That’s not the case anymore.
She’s walked away of her own accord so maybe he doesn’t have so much power anymore.
Fuck, he’s probably disowned her already.
Maybe he won’t give two shits about you being back in her life. ”
I slump forward. Time to scramble Brad’s head as much as mine.
“Sure, but sadly, there’s one small problem.
For that to play out, Savannah needs to have told her old man about her change of career.
” I pause for maximum impact. “Problem is, he still thinks she’s working on her thesis at grad school. ”
Brad’s face falls.
I stand. “Whisky?”