“Are you centering yourself?”
“No.”
“Are you confessing because confession feels clean?”
The question makes me go still. “No.”
“Good. Then keep only what the reader needs to understand how access was used. Cut the rest.”
“I already did.”
“Do it again.”
I hate him.
I love him.
“And Peyton?”
“Yeah?”
“If there is anything personal compromising your judgment, this is the moment to tell me.”
My hand tightens around the phone.
Ryan at my door.
Ryan over me, asking the one question that mattered.
Ryan leaving before morning because staying is a language neither of us knows yet.
“My judgment is clear,” I say.
It is not the whole truth.
It is the professional truth, and tonight that will have to hold.
Gil exhales. “Send it when it is ready. I will make the legal pass ugly if I have to.”
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet.”
He hangs up.
I go back to the draft.
My father calls before I can start cutting.
I let it ring.
Then I answer, because apparently tonight is for bad decisions with consequences.
“Tell me you are not writing about Hartley and the team in the same piece,” he says without hello.
I close my eyes. “Hello to you too.”
“Peyton.”
