Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“And credibility,” he adds, “isn’t only about what you choose to show. It’s about what you choose to disclose. Context and perception matter, but bottom line… I trust you to tell the story that needs to be told.”
His words echo in my head.
Honesty.
Credibility.
Responsibility.
While Patrick has given me his utter trust, my awareness acute to everything I’ve been carefully not naming.
And suddenly, I’m aware of the quiet omission I’ve been carrying.
I’ve never thought of myself as dishonest. I don’t manipulate truth and I don’t protect people because I like them, nor do I bury things because they’re inconvenient.
But omission isn’t neutrality—it’s a choice. And choices have weight.
Patrick isn’t accusing me of anything. That’s the problem.
He’s extending trust, and trust demands reciprocity.
I feel the conflict clearly now—the professional instinct to protect the integrity of the work, colliding with the personal instinct to protect someone who has, unexpectedly, begun to matter to me. Crosby didn’t ask this to be complicated, but I made it that way the moment I let personal bleed into public.
Patrick’s confidence in me makes the decision unavoidable. “I’m seeing Crosby Hale,” I say calmly. “It’s recent and it’s very casual.”
Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up so fast, I barely register the movement, only the look of shock that’s left behind. “Um… okay.”
“Your speech about integrity in my work… I think I need to disclose that relationship. I believe I can keep work and personal separate but if you feel it’s a conflict of interest for me to continue to portray the team—”
Patrick raises his hand. “First, I don’t care who you’re seeing, and second, I don’t question your integrity knowing about you and Crosby. I know you stand behind your work and you’re not going to ruin your reputation in the industry because of the involvement.”
“You sound so sure of that,” I drawl, a bit skeptical that he could have such unwavering confidence in me.
“I am sure of that,” he says, but then leans forward to stare at me in such an intense way, I find myself squirming. “But what are you going to do if you become part of the Wildfire story?”
Now it’s my turn to blink in surprise, because that’s not an angle I had considered. “I won’t be,” I say quickly. “Like I said… it’s casual. Has nothing to do with the team.”
Patrick settles into the cushions again, drapes his arm over the back. “If I may play devil’s advocate, you say this has nothing to do with the team, but Crosby is part of the team. What you and he do affects who he is as a person, which translates into who he is as a teammate. It’s not a bright line you can stay on one side of.”
I consider that, my gaze drifting off to the bank of windows that overlooks the back parking lot. This relationship is new, light… fun. It shouldn’t have an effect on Crosby as a player or me as a filmmaker, but I do have to allow room that I could be wrong.
My eyes pull back to Patrick. “If anything happens that would affect Crosby, the team or my work, I’ll simply end it.”
“It’s that easy for you?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.
“It’s that easy,” I assure him, even as my conscience tells me that’s a lie.
“What about for Crosby?”
My stomach flips over because he’s talking about Crosby potentially getting hurt, which could greatly affect the team. And it’s not the team I really care about in this moment, but Crosby’s heart.
“I’d never do anything to hurt him. He’s such a great guy and I really respect him.”
“I believe you,” Patrick says solemnly.
He doesn’t say anything else and it’s implied… it doesn’t mean I still won’t hurt him.
Patrick slaps his thighs and stands up. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting with Oliver to get to. I appreciate you disclosing the personal relationship with Crosby.”
“I wouldn’t feel right not to,” I say as I rise. “Transparency matters.”
“It does,” he agrees. “And for what it’s worth, Crosby’s a private man. Guarded. If you’re going to be part of his life, I imagine you already know that.”
“I do,” I say.
“Then we’ll proceed as planned. Keep me looped in if anything shifts.”
“I will.”
♦
The Blue Line restaurant isn’t very busy as it’s a little early for lunch. Cherry’s in a booth in the back corner by the windows that overlook the rink.
She waves, smile bright and immediate. “Juno! Over here.”
I glance around, clocking the other players, and I’m grateful not to see Crosby. I’m not doing anything wrong by meeting with Cherry and I fully intend to tell him about this, but I don’t want to catch him off guard.
I take the seat across from her and glance down at the plate before her that has a croissant with the very end eaten. “Not any good?”