But the whole time I was there, through every interview and every press scrum and every late night filing stories on deadline, my mind kept drifting back to Mexico City. To Dominic.
In another life, we’d said.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window and close my eyes, letting myself feel the weight of it. I miss him.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, startling me out of the spiral, and I glance at it expecting Dara or maybe my mom checking that I landed safely.
Instead it’s a voicemail notification from Harrison.
I stare at the screen. After I’d reported David, Harrison had assured me he was taking it seriously, and a few weeks later David was put on probation. Progress, but not resolution. Then right before Phoenix, Harrison had pulled me aside and told me to hang tight, that he had something in the works. He wouldn’t say more than that, but the look on his face told me to be patient.
A voicemail from him at this hour suggests the wait is over.
I set down my wine glass and press play.
“Brooke, it’s Harrison. I know you’re traveling, but I wanted to reach you as soon as possible. There’s been a development with the David situation, and I’d like to discuss that opportunityI mentioned. Call me back when you get this, please. Doesn’t matter how late.”
I stare at the phone for a long moment, then dial his number before I can overthink it.
He picks up on the second ring. “Brooke. Thanks for calling back so quickly. How was Phoenix?”
“Exhausting but worth it,” I say, settling onto the couch and tucking my legs underneath me. “Hell of a series and that rookie is going to be a superstar. What’s going on?”
“David,” Harrison says, and I can hear him settling back in his chair, the creak of expensive leather coming through the phone. “Remember when I told you I was taking your complaint seriously? I meant it. But I’ll be honest with you, Brooke. David’s been here a long time. Untangling someone like that from an organization takes more than one incident, no matter how egregious.”
“So nothing’s changed,” I say flatly, frustration rising in my chest.
“Actually,everything’schanged.” Harrison sighs. “He did it again. Worse this time. Burned a source publicly, named someone who’d been promised anonymity in a piece about referee corruption in the NBA. The source is threatening legal action, the league is furious, advertisers are pulling contracts. It’s exactly the kind of disaster that finally gives the board the ammunition they need to act.”
I let out a slow breath, because it’s David’s arrogance finally catching up with him, that same dismissive attitude that made him think he could publish my notes without permission, the same belief that rules were for other people and consequences were for lesser men. Dara is going to lose her mind when I tell her.
“So what does this mean?” I ask.
“It means David is being transitioned to a consulting role,” Harrison says, and I can hear the corporate speak for what it is. Not fired, because men like David are never quite fired, but irrelevant. Powerless. Done. “Which creates a vacancy at the top of the masthead. And I want you to fill it.”
I almost drop my wine glass. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Senior Editor,” Harrison says. “Not just David’s old position. We’re restructuring, expanding the role. More authority, more budget, more control over the direction of the entire publication. You’d have final say on which stories we pursue, which writers we hire, how we allocate resources across the magazine. You’d be shaping what sports journalism looks like at one of the most respected publications in the industry.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. This isn’t just a promotion. This is everything. The corner office with the view of Bryant Park. My name on the masthead in a font size that actually means something. The power to greenlight the stories that matter and kill the ones that don’t.
But more than that, it’s the chance to fix what’s been broken for so long. All those years watching David hand the big breaking stories to the same handful of writers who looked like him while questioning everyone else’s sources and credentials. All those times he called me dramatic for having legitimate grievances, or assumed I got access because I flirted my way in.
“The compensation reflects the expanded scope,” Harrison continues. “We’re talking a significant increase. And there’s something else I want you to consider.” He pauses. “David was old school, needing to be physically present because his authority depended on people seeing him exercise it. But we’re open to a different model for whoever takes this role. Remote work when it makes sense. Travel for the stories that matter. The flexibility to be based wherever you need to be, as long as the work gets done and the magazine keeps thriving.”
My throat tightens. I’ve had recruiters from other publications dangling exactly this kind of flexibility for years, trying to lure me away. I never even considered it.The Sporting Standardis the top of the mountain, the place I clawed my way to and refused to leave no matter how frustrating David made things. I’d just accepted that this was the tradeoff: prestige and platform in exchange for the old-school grind.
“Brooke?” Harrison’s voice cuts through. “You still there?”
“Yes. Sorry. I’m just...” I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “This is a lot to take in.”
“I know it’s sudden,” he says. “And I know you just got off a plane. But I wanted you to hear it from me before the rumor mill got spinning. You’ve earned this, Brooke. You’ve been carrying more weight than your title reflected for years, and it’s time we fixed that.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m very interested. I just need a day or two to wrap my head around the logistics.”
“Of course,” Harrison says. “I’ll email you with the specifics, and take until end of week. Call me when you’re ready.”
We hang up, and I sit there in the silence of my apartment, the city lights blurring through the rain-streaked windows. Senior Editor. The authority to shape the magazine instead of just writing for it. The chance to mentor the next generation of journalists who are fighting the same battles I fought, and give them the support I never had. The opportunity to build something bigger than my own byline, something that will outlast my career and make the industry better for the people who come after me.
