Page 77 of The Boyfriend Zone

Ahead of us, Zach and Nate had already fallen into their familiar pattern of bickering, though now it was underlaid with a warmth and fondness that was impossible to miss.

"—can't believe you wore that hideous scarf," Nate was saying, gesturing to the bright orange monstrosity wrapped around Zach's neck. "It looks like a traffic cone threw up on you."

"Says the guy whose entire wardrobe is various shades of pretentious black," Zach retorted, tugging the scarf higher. "Some of us aren't afraid of a little color in our lives."

"There's color, and then there's visual assault," Nate sniffed. "That thing should come with a warning label."

"You love it," Zach insisted. "Admit it. You find my bold fashion choices charming and endearing."

"I find them concerning and possibly indicative of undiagnosed color blindness," Nate countered, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "Have you considered getting your eyes checked? I know a good optometrist."

"My eyes are perfect," Zach declared. "How else would I appreciate the full glory of your eye-rolling? It's truly Olympic-level, you know. I've never seen anyone put so much whole-body commitment into expressing disdain."

"I have a lot of disdain to express," Nate replied dryly. "Living in a world where people voluntarily purchase and wear traffic cone scarves requires it."

Lucas and I exchanged amused glances as their banter continued, the familiar rhythm of it now a comfortable backdrop to our own quiet contentment. His hand found mine again in the darkness between streetlights, a brief, warm pressure that conveyed everything words couldn't.

Being back on the ice had felt like coming home, it was true. But this—walking beside Lucas, surrounded by friends, the future opening before us—this felt even better.

Chapter 24: Lucas

"There's no story here, Lucas," Mia insisted, peering at me over the rims of her reading glasses. "A vague implication from a rival school's paper hardly warrants a full response."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the printout of the offending article sitting between us on her desk. The piece, published in Dartmouth's student newspaper, had caused a minor stir on social media with its thinly-veiled suggestion that at least one athlete at our university had played while seriously injured earlier in the season.

While it didn't name Sean specifically, anyone who'd followed our hockey season could connect the dots. The article questioned both the ethics of the athletic department and, indirectly, my own reporting on the situation.

"It's not about whether there's a story," I argued. "It's about journalistic integrity. This guy is basically accusing me of covering up something newsworthy to protect the athletic department."

"And you want to... what? Defend yourself?" Mia raised an eyebrow. "You know better than that, Lucas. Let bad journalism die its natural death. Engaging only gives it oxygen."

She wasn't wrong. The rational part of my brain knew that responding would only draw more attention to accusations that were already fading from the news cycle. But the personal part of me—the part that had agonized over how to cover Sean's injury ethically without exploiting him—bristled at the implication that I'd failed journalistically.

"I'm not suggesting a direct rebuttal," I clarified. "But maybe an editorial on the complexities of reporting on student athletes? The balance between public interest and personal privacy?"

Mia considered this, tapping her pen against her desk. "That could work," she conceded. "A thoughtful piece on journalistic ethics rather than a defensive reaction. But remember, this isn't just about clearing your conscience, Lucas. It's about serving our readers."

"I understand that," I assured her. "I just think there's value in addressing the broader issues this raises."

"Alright," she nodded. "Draft something up and we'll see. But Lucas?" Her expression softened slightly. "Make sure you're doing this for the right reasons. Not just because someone took a cheap shot at your boyfriend."

Heat rose to my cheeks. "That's not—"

"It's at least partly that," Mia interrupted, though her tone was kind rather than accusatory. "Which is human and understandable. Just make sure the journalist in you is driving, not just the boyfriend."

I left her office with mixed emotions, the article still clutched in my hand. Was I overreacting? Making a professional issue out of something that was really personal? I was still mulling it over when I reached my apartment, finding Sean already waiting outside my door.

"Hey," he greeted me with a quick kiss. "Everything okay? You look stressed."

I hesitated, then handed him the article. "This came out in Dartmouth's paper yesterday. It's been making the rounds online."

Sean scanned it quickly, his expression darkening as he reached the key paragraphs. "Well, this is subtle," he commented dryly. "Just vague enough to avoid a libel suit, but specific enough that everyone knows who they're talking about."

"Yeah," I sighed, unlocking my door and leading him inside. "Mia thinks we should ignore it, let it blow over. And rationally, I know she's right, but..."

"But it pisses you off," Sean finished for me, settling onto my couch. "Because you were careful and ethical in how you covered it, and this guy is implying otherwise."

"Exactly." I dropped beside him, gratified by his immediate understanding. "I'm thinking about writing an op-ed. Not directly responding to this, but addressing the broader ethical questions around reporting on student athletes and injuries."

---