Page 110 of Puck Fest
I don’t spin it or try to make myself look better. I just lay it out.
Sam listens without interrupting.
When I finish, he’s quiet for a moment.
“That’s a hell of a situation,” he finally says. “And I want you to know I’m not here to judge your personal life. That’s your business. What I care about is whether you can do the work. And whether you actually want to.”
“I want to work. I’m good at what I do?—”
“I’m not talking about being good at PR. I’m talking about whether you want to do PR.” He gestures around his office. “This organization runs on storytelling. We tell the stories of kids who need support, communities that need resources, players who want to give back. That’s communications. But it’s not about spin or damage control. It’s about truth.”
“Are you sure? Because from where I’m sitting, you spent two months hiding the truth. Then when it came out, you tried to control the narrative instead of just being honest.”
The words sting because they’re accurate.
“You’re right,” I say. “I was so focused on managing perception that I forgot about just... being real. Being honest. Even with myself.”
“So what would you do differently?”
I think about Danny. About the statement I released without talking to him first. About ending things to protect everyone when maybe the brave thing would have been to fight for us.
“I’d be honest from the start, even if it’d be messy. Even if it’d be hard. I’d trust that the truth is better than a carefully crafted narrative.”
Sam nods slowly. “That’s what we need here. People who can tell real stories. Who can connect with communities authentically.” He pulls out a folder. “I don’t have a full-time position open right now. But I could use someone for project-based work. Event coordination, storytelling campaigns, communityoutreach. It’s contract work. Not salaried. Probably not what you’re used to.”
“It’s more than I have now.”
“Fair enough.” He slides the folder across the desk. “Look this over. Think about it. If you’re interested, we can set up a trial project. See how it goes.”
I take the folder. “Thank you. Really.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This work is harder than corporate PR. It’s messy. It’s emotional. It doesn’t pay as well. But it matters.” He stands. “And Noah? Whatever happens with your career, you should probably figure out what’s happening with your personal life. Because unresolved shit has a way of bleeding into everything else.”
He walks me to the door. “Think about the offer. And maybe think about whether you actually want to be done with Masterson. Because it doesn’t sound like you are.”
We shake hands. I leave his office feeling something I haven’t felt in two weeks.
Hope.
Maybe I can rebuild. Maybe this is a chance to do something that actually matters instead of just managing optics.
Maybe—
I push through the front doors and nearly run into someone coming up the steps.
Danny.
We both freeze.
He’s in jeans and a Raptors hoodie, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. His eyes widen when he sees me.
“Noah.”
“Danny.”
We stand there on the steps of Play It Forward, staring at each other, and all the hope I felt thirty seconds ago evaporates.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
