Now “something big” was here, and my stomach clenched like I was waiting on a bad call.
I slipped out of bed. Tucker stirred a little but didn’t wake, just rolled onto his back, one hand brushing the spot where I’d been.
I paused for a second, watching him through the light leaking through the blinds. His mouth was parted, his brow smooth for once—no game face, no swagger, just Tucker. The version of him nobody else got to see. I felt something twist in my chest, low and quiet.
Somehow, I forced myself to walk away. It only took a few minutes to rinse off and change my clothes, and another twenty to make it downtown where thePortlandia Pressoffices were. The entire elevator ride up to the twenty-second floor, I kept replaying Melody’s message in my head, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. “Something big” could mean anything in this business—a surprising trade, sex scandal, catastrophic injury. But I’d been doing this long enough to know opportunity and danger came dressed in the same suit.
The newsroom was quiet when I walked in—just a couple of editors nursing coffee and glaring at their screens like the headlines had personally offended them. Most of us worked in the field, so it wasn’t unusual for the office to be empty.
When I rounded the corner, Melody was already up, standing at the window with a mug in her hand, the skyline stretched out behind her. The corkboard behind her desk was cluttered with game programs and media credentials from a dozen World Series, a credit to her tenure in and passion for the industry.
She looked up when I walked in, eyes bright behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
“Please, I was here last week.”
“I remember.” She rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly. “Melody Jr. here has been craving more of those beignets you brought back from New Orleans.”
I smiled. The Roasters had swept their series in New Orleans, and Tucker and I had celebrated with beignets and blow jobs.
“I got a call yesterday,” she said. “Miami Herald. They’re on the hunt for a new sports editor. Young blood, someone who knows the players and the politics. Someone with a voice.”
I blinked.
“They asked for you by name, Brock.”
A laugh stumbled out of me, part disbelief, part panic. “That’s . . . that’s incredible. I didn’t even know they were hiring.”
“They weren’t. Not officially.” Melody’s gaze sharpened. “Look, between the paper and your podcast, you’ve been turning heads. I knew it was only a matter of time until somebody swept in and made you an offer. And trust me, it’s agoodoffer.”
I swallowed.
She leaned forward. “Plus, you’d be running an entire department, which means full editorial control. I think you’d kill it, Brock, but I also think you’ve got to be honest with yourself about what you want. This job would mean relocating. New city, new league. You’d lose a lot, but you’d gain more.”
She didn’t need to say it—the thoughts and questions were already racing around my mind at a thousand miles per second. Starting fresh in a new city, three-thousand miles away from friends and family, would be a major change, but I had done it before. Could I do it at thirty-four, though?
Could I do it withouthim?
This was everything I had worked for, everything my family expected of me—except for my father; no promotion would ever be enough for dear old Dad. The decision should have been easy, and yet all I could think about was Tucker. More specifically, what this could mean for us.
If there even was anusto speak of.
How was I supposed to walk away from the thing I hadn’t meant to fall into, but somehow couldn’t stop wanting?
Melody’s voice softened. “You don’t have to decide today, but they want an answer by the end of the month.”
Two weeks wasn’t much, but I’d take it.
I nodded. “I appreciate it, Mel.”
Somehow, I made it back to the atrium. The elevator ride down felt like floating underwater—muted, distant, like the world had taken a few steps away from me and left me in slow motion. I barely registered the chime of the doors opening onto the lobby, the polite smile from the security guard, or the gust of wind that hit me the moment I stepped outside.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should have turned left toward the parking garage. Instead, my feet carried me straight ahead, out onto the busy sidewalk, where the city buzzed around me in complete disregard of the storm raging in my head.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, staring blankly at the passing cars and the blur of people weaving around me. Everything felt too loud and too far away all at once—I longed for the safety of my comforter and Tucker’s arms.
And maybe a honey-drizzled goat brie.
I shoved my hand into my pocket just as my phone vibrated against my thigh.
