Page 96 of Icy Pucking Play

"Not really."

"Too bad." She leans forward. "Because right now, I have two options in front of me. One is this brilliant feature that makes me actually care about hockey players as people. The other is...whatever this soulless thing is that you sent me at three a.m."

"The second one is more…"

"If you say professional one more time, I'm going to scream." She stands up, moving to sit on the edge of her desk. "Can I tell you a story?"

"Do I have a choice?" I know I sound like a smartass, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been through the wringer and don’t have anything left in me to deal with this.

"Not really." She smiles slightly. "You know I'm married to Gio DeLuca, right?"

"Of course.” Everyone knows that. It was the wedding of the century.

"I was a young, ambitious reporter determined to make a name for myself..."

"Lexi…"

"I got too close to my story with him. Everyone told me it was unprofessional. That I was compromising my integrity. That I couldn't possibly be objective." She picks up my original draft again. "Know what I learned?"

"What?"

"That sometimes the best stories come from the heart. From really knowing your subject. From caring enough to tell the truth, not just the facts."

I stare at the draft in her hands—at all the moments I captured because I was there, because I cared, because I...

Because I loved him. Because I loved all of them.

"I can't," I whisper.

"Can't what?"

"Can't write that version. Not anymore. Not after..."

"After Evan pushed you away?"

I look up sharply. "How did you…"

"Please. Everyone knows at this point." She hands me both drafts. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you going to let him dictate your story? Let fear win? Or..." She taps the original draft. "Are you going to tell the truth? All of it?"

"Even if it hurts?"

“That’s when it’s most important to lean in.” She moves back behind her desk. "Because here's the thing about truth, Sophie—it doesn't care about boundaries. About what's safe or easy. It just is."

"Like falling in love with your story subject?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

"Exactly like that." She smiles. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"

I look down at the drafts in my hands. At the difference between what's safe and what's real. What's professional and what's true.

"I don't know," I admit.

"Yes, you do." She starts gathering papers. "You're just afraid to admit it."

My phone buzzes again. This time I look:

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