He doesn’t even falter, in step or breath. He says only, “I’m sure going to try.”
Seventeen
It’s either a miracle or a sixth sense that coaxes my eyes open just after two in the morning, because I would have assumed I’d be wrecked for at least forty-eight hours after what Alec did to me. But even though it’s pitch-black in the room, I’m suddenly wide awake.
Alec is curled around me, his cheek pressed against the back of my neck. Deep, steady breaths glide over my skin. When he leaves, I want to capture this feeling and wear it in a locket around my neck. But the thought doesn’t send me spiraling into sadness. I feel confident that we’ll try to make this work, and that we might even succeed.
A pulse of residual adrenaline kicks to life in my bloodstream when I remember that we can publish the story today. Without a doubt, no matter what else comes in my lifetime, the hunt of this story will remain one of the most satisfying of my career. But the deeper my feelings for Alec become, the more conflicted I am about remaining involved; I am as excited about getting it out into the world as I am about passing the entire thing over to Ian and Billy to handle from here on out. Journalism is a field plagued by the increasing assumption that morality is dead. In school, we are taught a very large number of things journalists shouldn’t do, but rarely are we told there are things we absolutely don’t do. Sleeping with Alec always fell in that deeply gray area.
That’s it, I think. I’ll finish this, hand it off, tell Billy about me and Alec today. I’ll be free. The conflict of interest is an ever-intensifying sour tang at the back of my throat.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it: I pull my work phone off the nightstand to peek. I’m not at all surprised to see that Billy has texted me just after 1:30 a.m. Did we get the OK to go ahead?
As soon as I read these words, it feels like a new shadow passes overhead, clearing my thoughts from the harsh glare of yesterday’s excitement. Alec probably has a text from his manager, Melissa, with the answer. I could wake him up and ask. We could hit publish on this in time to get it up for the morning social media rush.
But I’ve worked too hard on this; I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize this story, and our relationship does that. The last thing I want—the last thing any journalist wants—is to become the story that overshadows the real story. Taking Jupiter down is too important.
We have enough without Alec and Sunny’s anonymous account. We have the interview with the woman who was approached with a payoff who didn’t even know she’s been assaulted. Screen caps of numerous videos of the same tattooed man. The chat transcripts describing these women as “Bambis”—as innocents, as prey. And finally, the identification of Josef Anders’s face and tattoo in this damning video.
Yes, Sunny’s account is the nail in the coffin that these videos are not recording consensual acts, but we don’t need it. We don’t have to drag them through this if we can take Anders down without it. There will be follow-ups to this initial report. Waiting gives Alec and Sunny time to decide what they want to include after the dust settles. Billy can assign it to another writer.
This way, the Kims are shielded, and I maintain my integrity.
I check my gut, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for confidence to cool into ambivalence. Ten, twenty, thirty heartbeats pass, and the only thing I feel is relief.
I text Billy back: Run it, but take all details from the anonymous source’s story out.
Really? He said no?
I don’t answer this directly. We’re good without
I put my phone down and roll back into Alec’s arms, pressing my face into the familiar shape of his chest.
This choice feels good.
Relief settles heavily into my body, and I easily fall back asleep.
“I don’t know how else to say it,” I say the next morning, and fall back onto the bed, “but it feels real, E.”
Eden takes a deep, slow breath I can hear through my headphones. “Oh, honey.”
Alec was already gone before I woke up, but left me an apple, some water, and a note saying,
Excited for your big day. Melissa gave the go-ahead. Keep me posted. Last night was unbelievable. xx —A
The story went up an hour ago. Even without Sunny’s account, reception has been unreal: There are thousands of comments online; #JupiterScandal and #JosefAnders are both trending internationally. Jupiter has been shut down while an investigation is conducted; footage of Anders being brought in for questioning has been shown on nearly every network. Billy says they’ve been fielding calls all day and they’re hoping to book me for the rounds of morning news programs this week. I want to celebrate this victory with Alec tonight, take him out to dinner. Maybe we can call Sunny together and just have a moment of quiet reunion and relief. Maybe we’ll plan my first trip to visit Alec. Maybe after this I can take my first vacation in years.
The future feels like a bright glittery road stretching out forever ahead of us.
“I don’t even have to finish my sentences with him,” I tell Eden. “We had a big talk at the gala last night and just—” I exhale a laugh. “We must be the two biggest drama queens who just found each other. It’s only been a matter of days and we’re so dopey.”
She lets out a tiny, happy noise.
“I didn’t even tell you about my first night here. He came to find me in the middle of the night. He thought I left. But I was in the bathroom freaking out.”
“Why?”
“Because we put on a movie and fell asleep. Because it felt like a relationship.”