Page 66 of Unleashed

“Malone’s not exactly subtle.” Coach’s gaze drifted back to Fred. “You know, when the iguana first appeared, I could have hunted down the culprit. Been the hard-ass everyone expected. Instead...” He shrugged. “Sometimes you just gotta roll with whatever life tosses your way.”

“Even if it means losing your office to a three-legged iguana in a captain’s jersey?”

“Even then.” He smiled as Fred settled onto the branch. “The real question is: what are you going to do with what life’s giving you?”

I pressed my thumb against my wrist, watching Fred adjust his tiny jersey with his one front leg.

Sitting on the edge of the single folding chair left in the room, I weighed Coach’s words with the same precision I used to edit footage.

“Sometimes following the playbook isn’t the answer,” Coach continued, his attention still on Fred. “Sometimes you have to adapt.”

Adapt or die. The entertainment industry’s unofficial motto. My fingers fidgeted with my Fitbit, adjusting the band while my mind raced ahead like tracking shots in an editing session.

“The playbook’s been working pretty well for certain people.” My producer brain cataloged the scene: Respected coach. Philosophical mood. Perfect lighting from the UV lamps. If I was still chasing ratings, setting up a scene like this would be gold. “Malone’s built quite the empire following his version.”

Coach snorted. “Yeah, but watch out for the hidden costs. You start compromising, telling yourself it’s just this once, this time is special. Next thing you know...” He shrugged, attention on Fred. “You wake up one day and don’t recognize yourself anymore.”

My chest tightened. The words hit too close to home—how many compromises had I made, justifying each one as necessary for my career? Until I’d become exactly what I’d once despised.

I already missed the way his eyes softened when he laughed. The quiet pull of his hand against my jaw that night in the rain. Even the three a.m. hockey fact texts.

But missing the good meant remembering the rest. The look he gave me when it all came apart—that sharp, hollow kind of hurt that said he’d never expected it from me.

I inhaled slowly through my nose, buying time while I processed. “The industry’s not exactly known for second chances.” My voice stayed steady despite the storm in my stomach. “When someone offers you a bridge back…”

“You cross to the other side.” Coach nodded. “But what happens when you realize they’re lighting it up behind you?”

The contract in my bag seemed to pulse with toxic energy. Three years of industry exile had taught me exactly how quickly a career could implode. But watching Jack’s face when he’d confronted me about the episode...

Fred chirped from his perch, adjusting his tiny jersey with surprising dignity. The absurdity of taking career advice while watching a three-legged iguana in hockey gear wasn’t lost on me. Just another day in the glamorous world of sports entertainment.

“You know what I see when I look at Fred?” Coach’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Adaptation. Innovation. Finding a new way forward when the old way doesn’t work anymore.”

My producer’s brain automatically framed the shot: Wise mentor. Metaphorical wisdom. Emotional resonance. Great, now I’m story-boarding my own existential crisis.

But I didn’t want to package this moment for consumption.

I didn’t want to hide behind my producer’s brain any longer. But the question was, was I brave enough to try something new?

“And if the new way means walking away from everything you’ve ever worked for?” The words scraped my throat raw.

“Then maybe it’s time to redefine what you’re working for.”

Simple words. Seismic implications.

I pressed my thumb against my pulse point, the steady rhythm grounding me as possibilities flashed through my mind. Career success didn’t have to mean selling my soul. Maybe there was another way—one that didn’t require betraying people’s trust or manufacturing drama for ratings.

My spine straightened as certainty settled in my bones. Time to write my own playbook. Assuming I could figure out how to do that without landing myself back in career purgatory.

The certainty coalesced like perfect camera focus. Sharp. Clear. Undeniable.

“Thank you, Coach.” I stood, smoothing my hands over the fabric of my pants suit. “For everything.”

My producer brain kicked into rapid calculation mode: Career trajectory. Industry connections. Financial implications. Each data point flashing through my mind like a ratings report. The math was brutal—walking away from Malone meant walking away from everything I’d spent three years fighting to reclaim.

I didn’t have to give Malone an answer right away.

My pulse stuttered against my thumb. Career suicide wrapped in professional integrity. How terribly inconvenient.

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