Page 82 of Power Pucking Play

James Brookes looks exactly like I remember, yet somehow older. More lines around his eyes, more grey in his hair. But still that same confident stance, that air of someone who knows exactly who he is and what he wants.

"Alexandra," he says, and I wince at the formal use of my full name. "This is...unexpected."

He extends a hand, and I take it hesitantly, feeling the familiar callouses on his palm. "Hi, Dad." My voice cracks on the last word, and I clear my throat.

My father raises an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away as he motions for me to sit.

As I do, I can't help but notice the array of awards lining the walls. Pulitzers, Emmys, accolades I've only dreamed of. Is this what success looks like? Is this what I've been chasing all these years?

"So," my father says, settling behind his desk. "To what do I owe this surprise visit? Last I heard, you were making quite a name for yourself atSports News Now."

There's a hint of pride in his voice, and it hits me like a sucker punch.

All these years, and he's been keeping tabs on me?

"I...I need some advice," I admit, hating how small my voice sounds. "About work. And...life."

He leans back, studying me. "I see. And what seems to be the problem?"

Where do I even start? How do I explain Gio, the feature, the mess I've made of everything?

"I met someone," I begin, the words tumbling out. "A hockey player. I was supposed to be writing a feature on him, but...things got complicated."

My father's graying eyebrows furrow. "Complicated how?"

"We...got involved," I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "Romantically. And now everything's a mess. My boss is furious, the story's in jeopardy, and I...I don't know what to do."

I expect judgment. Disappointment. A lecture on journalistic integrity and professional boundaries.

What I don't expect is the knowing look that crosses my father's face.

"Ah," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I see. And now you're wondering if you should choose love or your career."

I nod, suddenly feeling like a little girl again, seeking her father's approval.

He sighs, folding his hands on the desk. "Alexandra, let me tell you something. In this business, there's no roomfor sentimentality. Your career, your reputation. That's what matters. Everything else is just...noise."

I feel my heart sink. Even as I'd hoped for different advice, I'd known deep down this is exactly what he'd say.

"But what about happiness?" I ask, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "What about having a life outside of work?"

He waves a hand dismissively. "Happiness is fleeting. But success? That lasts. Look at me," he gestures to the awards surrounding us. "I've achieved everything I set out to do. And yes, there were...sacrifices along the way. But in the end, it was worth it."

I stare at him, really seeing him for the first time.

The empty office, devoid of family photos. The lines of loneliness etched into his face.

Is this really what I want for myself?

"So, you're saying I should choose my career over love?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, a sad smile playing on his lips. "It's the smart move, Alexandra. The safe move. Love...love is unpredictable. Messy. But your career? That you can control."

I stand abruptly, a strange calm settling over me. "Thank you, Dad. You've been...very helpful."

He blinks, clearly surprised by my sudden movement. "I have?"

"Yes. I love my career. And I plan on keeping it." I nod, already heading for the door. "But you've shown me exactly what I don't want to become."

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