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I stared at her, my heart sinking. I understood where she was coming from. Lying about my fitness was not only wrong, but dangerous.

Still…

“It’s the last game of the season. The team needs me.”

“And I need you to do the right thing,” she said, her gaze locked on mine. “Don’t play.”

31

Dakota

Trace’s words had been plaguing me since we last spoke. If he had said that to me at the beginning of the season, I would’ve believed him. I was selfish. I didn’t care about these guys and what they were going through back then. But that wasn’t the case anymore.

I cared about him, and by extension, his team. It was a part of him, as journalism was for me. And when I wasn’t beating down his door for a story, he didn’t complain about the path I chose.

So how could I do the same for him? How could I stay true to myself by releasing this information, but do it without hurting Trace or his career?

It was a question that haunted me for quite a while, and I simply couldn’t come up with a good enough answer. So I decided to do the craziest thing I could think of, and that was exactly why I was standing outside Penny Donovan’s dorm room like some kind of insane stalker.

“Coming!” Penny called after I subtly knocked on the door.

The smell of roasting onions and garlic wafted out to me. She was in the middle of cooking dinner. My bad timing made me feel worse about the unplanned intrusion. I didn’t want to bother anyone with my stupid problems, especially not the second-in-command supervisor on my project.

But I didn’t know what else to do or where else to turn. As Tara pointed out so effortlessly—I had no friends. I had to come up with alternative arrangements.

Penny opened the door wearing only a pair of white tracksuit pants and a cropped top. Her feet were bare, and her hair was tied into the signature messy bun I had gotten used to over the last few months.

“Dakota?” The shock on her face made her laid-back aura feel out of place. She tensed instantly, and I didn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” I picked mindlessly at a loose thread on my sleeve as I stared at the floor. “But I’ve hit a wall with my article. I… I don’t know who else to turn to.”

There was a beat. Probably Penny weighing up my admission, and the cost of helping me.

“Come on in,” she said finally, and stepped aside. “I’m dying to know what has that wonderful brain of yours tied into knots.”

I spotted her couch and sank into it, realizing a little too late how odd it must’ve looked. As if I were a patient in a shrink’s office, about to launch into a confession of life-changing proportion. In a way, that description felt strangely accurate.

Penny didn’t say anything, and simply took her place in the armchair beside me.

“I’m in a deadlock,” I said, frustration curdling in my gut. “Adler’s breathing down my neck for my in-progress report on this article, and even though I have enough dirt on Delaney to bury him twice over…”

I trailed off, my words dying somewhere between the cold facts I knew was right and the messy feelings creeping in. Guilt. That was one of them. Simmering, relentless guilt.

“But…?” Penny prompted. “It sounds like you have a front-page-A-plus on your hands, so why the hesitation? Why does it look like you’re about to throw up on my favorite sofa?”

I met her gaze, choosing my next words carefully. “If I drop the hammer, Trace gets caught in the blast.”

There. I’d said it. Out loud.

I clasped my hands together to hide the shaking that had started up in them.

There wasn’t much I could do about the burning sting of tears in my eyes, though. I just swallowed hard and hoped they’d stay put.

A slight frown clouded Penny’s face. “And? If he was stupid enough to tango with the devil, then that’s on him. You’re doing nothing wrong by reporting the truth.”

“Except it’s not that cut and dried.”

“Why not?”