I doubt Callaghan will speak to me again.
He just confessed to me that people only use him for what he can do for them. And then he sees that video. It looks like I was using him.
Maybe I was.
Not intentionally, of course.
But I did have inside information because of my personal relationship that I considered sharing. I may have only considered it for a split second, but the thought crossed my mind, at least long enough to record that video.
How could I have been so impulsive and stupid?
Ophelia and Xavier will never trust me if they even want anything to do with me.
And let’s face it, can I really work for an organization that trades on ruining other people’s lives with salacious gossip? Just because it’s about athletes doesn’t mean it’s what I want to do.
I want to be in sports. Broadcasting from the sidelines. Running analytics. Being there to witness great plays that go down in history.
I don’t want to spread rumors about people.
If I turn down this job, there’s no guarantee I’ll get another one. I have no appreciable body of work other than ClikClak. I’m much older than the average sports reporter starting out. And let’s face it, I’m a woman, and I’m not built like a supermodel.
That’s four strikes.
I’m out.
“Hey—oh my God, what happened? Where’s Cally Entay?” Carlos stops abruptly when he walks into my bedroom.
“I fucked up. I ... I really ... I can’t ...” I sputter through the sobs that are now overtaking my whole body. There is no way to articulate how badly I messed this up.
There will be no coming back from it.
I can’t take the job forThe Looking Glass. I can’t be one of those people. But even if I don’t take it, Callaghan will probably never give me the time of day to explain it to him.
He’ll never trust me.
He thinks I’m just like everyone else in his life.
