Page 70 of Power Pucking Play

I motion in the direction of my office, walking toward it with Sophie at my side.

"Sure," she says, her dark bob bouncing as she follows. "Well, the good news is, not everyone believes it. There's a lot of speculation, but without concrete proof..."

"And the bad news?"

She bites her lip. "Charlie's on the warpath. He's been asking for you all morning. And...well, there's been some talk about reassigning the De Luca piece."

My heart drops. "Reassigning? To who?"

"No one specific yet," Sophie says quickly. "But I did overhear some of the higher-ups talking about maybe switching gears entirely. Focus on a different player possibly."

I lean forward, a mix of dread and desperate hope churning in my stomach. "Like who?"

Sophie's eyes light up, oblivious to my internal turmoil. "Well, there's been some buzz about Evan Daniels. Like I told you before, he's got a pretty interesting backstory. Single dad, came back from a career-threatening injury...could be a good angle."

The awe in her voice is almost comical. I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"That does sound interesting," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "But what about De Luca?"

Sophie shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe they'll give it to someone else, or maybe they'll just scrap the whole story." She pauses and looks at me with concern in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lexi. I know how much this piece meant to you."

Finally reaching my office, I sink into a chair, suddenly feeling every one of my thirty-one years. "Tell me about it. I don't suppose there's any chance this will all blow over by lunch?"

Sophie winces, and I have all the answer I need.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. A fresh start, a new subject.

No complicated feelings. No ethical dilemmas.

Just a straightforward story about a player overcoming adversity. It sounds...simple. Safe.

But then Gio's face flashes in my mind.

His smile. His laugh. The way he looked at me this morning.

And my chest aches with a longing I can't afford to feel.

"It's a good idea, Soph," I say, forcing a smile. "I'll...I'll think about it."

Before she can respond, my phone buzzes. It's a text from Charlie's assistant. "Charlie wants to see you. Now."

"Showtime," I mutter, standing up. "Wish me luck?"

Sophie nods. "You got this. You're the best damn reporter we've got. Charlie knows that."

I wish I shared her confidence.

The walk to Charlie's office feels like the longest of my life. Each step is a reminder of every line I've crossed, every rule I've broken.

By the time I reach his door, my palms are sweating and my heart is racing like I've just run a marathon. I take a deep breath and knock.

"Come in," Charlie's gruff voice says from inside.

I push the door open, my hand shaking slightly.

He looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable as always. Charlie Holcomb is a man who looks like he was born in a three-piece suit, perpetually disgruntled and always two seconds away from a heart attack. Today, his face is an alarming shade of red that clashes horribly with his thinning grey hair.

"Sit down, Brookes," he barks, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

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