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While Bryce is the last person in the world who deserves fair consideration, I discover to my alarm that there is a kernel of truth in his question.

I like all these guys now, from the uber-cool Vik to the desperate Bergy.

I’m not sure if I could fairly report on a hockey controversy.

And would anyone with a complaint against the hockey team believe that I’m unbiased?

I sway a little. I feel nauseous with all the emotions swirling in me.

Bryce crosses his arms. That smug smile is fully back. See, you have to admit I’m right. Will you resign? Or do I have to fire you? A resignation would look better on your résumé, he urges.

Bryce Myrtle, manipulating every detail of his life since he could talk . I summon up all my defiance for one last protest. I raise my voice so that everyone can hear.

A good editor-in-chief would acknowledge the excellent work I’ve been doing and try to brainstorm ways around the problem, instead of issuing ultimatums based on zero evidence. I haven’t done anything wrong, so if you want me gone, you’re going to have to fire me.

He finally scowls, since I haven’t crumbled in the exact way he wanted. Fine. You’re fired. And your access to the Messenger portal is terminated immediately. His implication being that I’d post some essay protesting his general ass-hattery and conniving bullshit.

Aren’t you going to call security to escort me out of the building? I ask.

Bryce leans in and lowers his voice so that even the most dedicated eavesdroppers—and make no mistake, everyone in this room is listening to us—can’t hear.

You do know that there’s one easy way to resolve this, don’t you? Dump the hockey player. Why is someone as smart as you dating him anyway?

While I could list all the ways that Jack is a better boyfriend than Bryce, it’s pointless. So, I don’t even bother answering him. Instead, I leave before my fragile self-control shatters into a thousand emotional fragments.

I surf home on a wave of straight-up rage, which doesn’t ebb until I’m in my room.

Once the door clicks shut behind me, I collapse face-down on my bed.

My phone is buzzing with notifications, but I ignore it.

Surely I can take one hour to process how my career prospects are collapsing before I have to face reality.

Although I feel completely justified in everything I said to Bryce, I have to acknowledge that there is, technically, a conflict of interest. But I’m sure I could find conflicts for everyone on staff—except perhaps Bryce, whose entire life is the newspaper.

It’s so unfair. Besides, is there even any point in trying to get my editorship back if Bryce will keep trying to undermine me in new and horrible ways?

Yet, I know I haven’t been swayed by dating Jack. In fact, I worry that I’ve done the opposite, making sure he didn’t get featured or mentioned too much.

There’s a knock at my door. I’m tempted not to answer, but it could be a resident emergency. I drag myself over to the door and open it.

Hey, Andy. It’s Jack, with his big, goofy smile, looking sweet and adorable. How could anyone think that he’s part of a media manipulation? I burst into tears. He immediately envelops me in a tight, protective hug. Andy! God, what’s wrong?

I’m sobbing too hard to answer. Jack backs me into the room, then sits on the bed with me on his lap. He strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head as I cry and cry. Finally, my tears morph into wet hiccups, and I relax into Jack’s protectiveness.

When I finally meet his eyes, he looks so worried. My tears must have shocked him.

Are you okay? he asks softly.

I wipe at my face and answer, I got fired from the newspaper.

What? How is that possible? You’re the best writer and editor they have. Besides, isn’t it a volunteer position?

I haltingly explain what happened, everything except for the last cruel thing that Bryce said. Jack reacts very satisfactorily, cursing Bryce and praising me in all the right places. Jack is the one person who knows how much work I put into learning about sports.

His eyes narrow as he growls, That Bryce is such a piece of work. He’s jealous of all your success—and of us too.

I stroke Jack’s arm, which is still wrapped around me.

I know it’s not the end of the world, but it does hurt my chances of finding a newspaper job after graduation.

Of course, I still have my older writing to show, but now I’ll have to explain away my firing.

And what will happen to the expanded sports section?

He can’t take away everything you’ve accomplished, Jack states. And other people will vouch for your editing skills. I know Jacob can be a pain, but he’s a good guy underneath.

Maybe there’s something else I can do? I could volunteer at the student writing centre. That’s sort of like editing… Then I groan, because it isn’t really the same.

Jack squeezes me closer. What can I do to make you feel better? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything—chocolate, chips, wine? Do you want to watch some reality shows? Or do you want to come over to our house and take a hot bubble bath? I’ll stand guard at the door so nobody bugs you.

I can’t help but smile at all his offers. How are you so knowledgeable about girl soothing?

He chuckles. With my sisters, it was a matter of survival.

I kiss the nearest part of Jack, his chest. You’re a sweetheart. But I don’t want anything right now. My unhappiness is beyond the reach of chocolate. It’s dinner time, but I’m not hungry.

I’ll just go to bed early. Things will look better in the morning.

Jack lifts my chin to inspect my face and make sure I’m actually better.

Okay, you get ready for bed. I’ll be right back. By the time I’ve changed into my flannel pajamas and washed my face he’s returned with an array of snacks from the vending machine.

I can’t sleep if I’m hungry, he explains as he arranges them on my bedside table.

Then he plugs in my kettle to make me tea.

As I watch him tidy everything I dropped when I got back, I feel a warmth inside.

Jack can’t change what happened, but he can make me feel better.

I’ve always been fiercely independent, but having a broad shoulder to lean on is a huge comfort.

I’ve been dumb to push Jack away out of fear when he’s been so loving.

I snuggle under my covers and let him fuss. When he places a mug of tea on my bedside table, I open one eye. Thank you.

His expression is beautifully tender. No problem. Tea is always my mom’s solution to everything. Although she does say to brush your teeth right after to prevent staining.

I chuckle. Jack is like the anti-Bryce—bringing sweetness and joy. He pulls the afghan over me, but the warmth I feel is all due to his attention.

Anything else I can do for you? he asks.

No, I’m okay.

The bed sags as he climbs in beside me. He cradles me in his arms. A wave of powerful emotion washes over me—how much I feel for Jack.

I’m sure he’s just comforting me, but I check anyway. I’m not up for anything tonight.

I know. I just want to hold you until you fall asleep.

You’re sweet, I murmur. I want to say more, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. I’m too wrung out. When we tell each other how we feel, it should be a perfect moment. I close my eyes and let my emotional exhaustion take over.