“Corner office CEO of the whole damn placeHarrison?” Dara says, her eyes going wide. “I’m shocked. David’s been around so long I was worried nothing was ever going to happen.”
“Same here,” I say. “But Harrison at least seemed to be taking it seriously. It could all just be bullshit corporate ass-covering, but he seemed sincere and said he’d get back to me. I have no idea what about, but he went on and on about how valuable I am to the organization.”
“Well, you are valuable,” Dara says, nodding approvingly. “I guess threatening to quit over that shit ended up making some waves.”
I laugh. “Probably helped that I was genuinely pissed and not bluffing. I have enough connections that I could go anywhere, and they know it.”
Dara grins at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “I can’t wait to see how this develops. Maybe they’ll finally fire his useless ass and we can all stop pretending he does anything around here.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I say, raising my coffee cup to her in a toast.
My phone buzzes against the desk and I glance down at it automatically, expecting another congratulatory email. Instead, Dominic’s name fills the screen.
Dominic:The official celebration for the fight is tonight. Roman’s team rented warehouse space in Chelsea. 7pm. I’ll send you the address. You should come.
I stare at it for a second, not quite believing what I’m seeing. Dominic Midnight texting me something that isn’t actively hostile, andvoluntarilyinviting me somewhere. Wonders never cease. I should check outside for flying pigs.
Dominic:And the article was good. Thanks.
Dara leans over my shoulder and reads the screen. “Well, well, well,” she says. “I didn’t know you two were speaking much after the mind-blowing sex.”
Dara was the first person I confessed to about my night in the gym with Dominic, theonlyperson I confessed to. “Ineversaid it was mind-blowing,” I say, pulling my phone away from herprying eyes. “And we’re not really speaking. I mean, we aren’tnotspeaking, but we aren’t...” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. “Forget it.”
Dara laughs. “That’s convincing. And you never had to say mind-blowing. I could tell from the way you walked into the office the next day like you’d just discovered a new religion.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “But in any case, you should go tonight.”
“It feels weird,” I say. “With the whole Miles PED situation hanging over everything.”
“I take it he hasn’t gotten back to you?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Shockingly, ‘Hey, remember when my article destroyed your career and your coach’s career, can we chat about that?’ didn’t exactly inspire a quick callback. I’m probably his least favorite person on the planet, right up there with the USADA officials who suspended him.”
“And I take it you don’t trust Dominic’s answer,” Dara says, “so you feel like Miles Webb, disgraced former UFC fighter and confirmed PED user, is the only person whose word you can believe?”
I’m silent for a moment, turning my coffee cup in my hands. “I’ve spent the last fifteen years believing with everything I have that Dominic is a lying son of a bitch. I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of that, so... honestly, that’s a question for a therapist with a lot more degrees than either of us have.”
Dara laughs. “Fair enough. And what exactly are you hoping to get out of this call from Miles, assuming he decides to give you the time of day? Because if I remember him from the coverage back then, he didn’t exactly come across as the soul-searching, reflective type. I have zero respect for cheaters who drag everyone else down with them when they get caught.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Accountability,” I say. “And I don’t even know what I want him to tell me. Part of me wants him to confirm what I wrote fifteen years ago and tellme Dominic knew about the PEDs all along and I was right to publish what I published.”
“Because then your conscience is clear,” Dara says.
“Exactly,” I say. “I could go back to hating Dominic without all this guilt gnawing at me. And I could go back to my comforting, tidy little narrative where he’s the villain and I’m the journalist who told the truth.”
Dara tilts her head, watching me. “And the other part of you?”
I take a long sip of my coffee before answering. “The other part of me hopes Miles tells me Dominic was innocent.”
“Which would makeyouthe villain,” Dara says.
“Which would make me the villain,” I say. “But it would also mean Dominic is who I’m starting to think he might be. Someone who maybe deserves better than what I gave him.”
“That’s a heavy thing to carry,” Dara says, her voice softer now. She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “If Dominic knew, you reported the truth and your conscience is clear. If he didn’t...”
She trails off, not needing to finish.
“Then I helped ruin an innocent man’s career because I was too angry to dig deep enough,” I say.
“Well, that isn’t entirely true,” she says, considering. “You never accused him outright. You had the assistant coach all but confirming Dominic knew, the fighter keeping silent and being highly suspicious, and in all that you still only reported their words, not your own speculation.” She tilts her head back and forth, weighing it. “Bad, yes, but you didn’t fabricate anything. You reported what your sources told you.”
