Page 73 of Wrong Score

He’s thinking over what I just told him and then speaks. “You’re sure it was her? Because I know her work. I’ve been following her stuff for awhile, and that article… that wasn’t her voice. I don’t know who wrote it, but it wasn’t Rowan.”

“What are you trying to say?” I demand, though his words dig under my skin.

“Bex, listen to me,” he says. “I’ve got contacts in the industry, and I heard from a friend of a friend in the IT department atThe Seattle Sunrisethat Rowan left a notebook behind when she went to talk to Charles after the Hawkeyes got back from Vancouver. Charles had access to it.”

I straighten, my grip tightening on the phone. The notebook. My mind flashes back to the notebook she always has on her, taking constant notes, the one she clutched like it held her entire career—because it did. And if I knew what that notebook contained, I bet Charles knew too. A chill runs through me.

“Charles used her notebook?” My voice is low, but the weight of the revelation presses against my chest.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Leo admits hesitantly. “He either wrote the article himself or had someone else do it using her notes. But from everything I’ve seen and heard, Rowan didn’t write it.”

The crack in my resolve widens. If that’s true, she didn’t betray me. But she still left the notebook behind, didn’t she? Still gave Charles the ammunition to tear me apart.

“Why didn’t she tell me about the notebook?” I ask, though the question is as much for myself as it is for Leo.

“She might not have known,” Leo offers. “Or maybe she thought you’d never believe her. I don’t know, Bex. All I know is that the Rowan I’ve been working with isn’t someone who’d do this to you.”

Something about what he’s saying feels right. I’d convinced myself that Rowan charmed me—that she was just another person trying to take something from me, even though I knew better than to think that about her.

“Even if you’re right,” I say slowly, “How the hell do I fix this?” I admit quietly.

“You start by talking to her,” Leo says simply. “Find out the truth before it’s too late.”

We say our goodbyes, but his words linger long after the call ends. I sit there, staring at the floor, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me. If Rowan didn’t write that article, then I’ve been wrong about her—about everything.

I need to see her, but we leave to head back on the road for the second round in the playoffs. I need to get my team past the next few days and then I can think about how to address this with Rowan.

Because if there’s even a chance that I’ve been wrong, I don’t know if I can live with myself for pushing her away.

Chapter Thirty

Rowan

The moment I step into Penelope’s apartment, the sound of excited chatter from the usual crew of friends fills the space. Penelope invited us all over to her place to watch the game. A tradition, as I’ve been told, that’s been around since before I started coming around. And though I no longer work with the Hawkeyes as the journalist on the exclusive, the girls have continued inviting me to all the usual events.

The moment I enter the living room I notice Tessa, Autumn and Cammy are already sitting in the large section discussing the new sushi restaurant that opened down the street, while the pre-game excitement heats up on the T.V. Popular retired hockey players are guest commentators giving their opinions for game seven of the second round. Whoever wins tonight goes head to head for the final round and the Stanley Cup.

Tonight is the night that we find out if the Hawkeyes will have another shot at the championship. It stings a little that I’m not out-of-town with the team but I’m happy to be gathered on her massive sectional with my friends, everyone in various states of excitement, anticipation, and, in my case, nerves.

Tessa tosses me a pillow to tuck behind my back as I settle deeper into the corner of the couch. "So," she says, narrowing her eyes playfully, "how’s life after Charles Albright?" she asks, her tone light, but I know she’s curious.

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Honestly, being unemployed is busier than I expected. Leo has been emailing me constantly, I’m helping with a collaboration between The Painted Easel and Harper's art exhibits, and I’ve been getting a crash course in what it actually takes to run a magazine. Turns out, it’s more than just editing articles and picking out pretty pictures,” I tease. Of course I knew it would be a lot of work.

“When will the job offer come? He can’t expect to keep you for free,” Penelope smirks, giving my arm a nudge.

I rub my lips together, unsure of how to admit this part. Once I tell them the truth, they’re all going to wonder why I haven’t packed my bags and moved to Liverpool. "Actually, Leo already made me an official offer last week. Full-time. Senior editorial position. It’s the kind of job you don’t turn down. Not to mention, it’s based in Liverpool, and they’re willing to work with me remotely in the short term.”

I can feel all of my friends stare back at me, dumbfounded by the offer, and probably all wondering why I'm not jumping with joy.

“Oh my God, Rowan, that’s incredible!” Brynn exclaims, leaning forward with wide eyes. “Are you going to take it?”

The room falls quiet, all eyes on me as I feel the weight of their question settle over me. I can almost see them waiting for me to declare my future, to know if I’m staying or packing up for the other side of the Atlantic.

I hesitate, fiddling with the pillow behind my back to distract myself. “I don’t know yet,” I say, and nibble down on my lower lip. “Things have gotten a little more complicated than I expected.”

Zoey glances over from the far end of the couch, her dark eyes sympathetic. “It sounds like you love what you’re doing with The Painted Easel and this new opportunity with Harper. What’s complicated about that?”

I open my mouth, the words lingering on the edge, but before I can answer, Isla appears, holding up a bottle of wine. “Does anyone need a top-off?” She looks around, her gaze pausing on me with a knowing smile. “Rowan? Do you need a glass?”

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