Power Pucking Play (Chicago Blades)

26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Lexi

I walk up, staring at the imposing office building before me.

It's early. Really early. The sun barely peeks over the horizon and the streets of Chicago are still relatively quiet. But I know he'll be in. He always is.

My father works harder than anyone I know, and it's always been a point of pride for him. He's built his company from the ground up, starting as a small sports news blog that he ran out of our basement.

The directory in the lobby lists "James Brookes, Senior Sports Correspondent" in bold letters. I grip the straps of my purse tightly and head for the receptionist desk.

What am I doing here?

But I know the answer, even if I don't want to admit it. I'm here because I'm lost. Because for the first time in my life, I don't know what the right move is.

And as much as it kills me to admit it, I need my father's advice...if only to know exactly what I shouldn't do.

Each step feels like I'm walking through quicksand, memories of missed birthdays and broken promises trying to pull me under.

The receptionist eyes me warily as I approach. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see James Brookes," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "I'm his daughter, Lexi."

Her eyes widen in recognition, and for a moment I think she might turn me away. But then she nods, picking up the phone to alert my father's assistant that I'm here.

I take a seat in one of the plush chairs by the window and try to calm my racing heart. It's been years since I've seen my father in person, and even longer since we've had a real conversation.

But this is important. I need his help, whether I like it or not.

After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, a tall woman with short blonde hair appears at the reception desk. "Ms. Brookes? Mr. Brookes will see you now."

I stand, willing myself to keep breathing as I follow her down a long hallway, up to the elevators, and into a spacious corner office.

My father stands as I enter, his face inscrutable.

James Brookes looks exactly like I remember, yet somehow older. More lines around his eyes, more grey in his hair. But still that same confident stance, that air of someone who knows exactly who he is and what he wants.

"Alexandra," he says, and I wince at the formal use of my full name. "This is...unexpected."

He extends a hand, and I take it hesitantly, feeling the familiar callouses on his palm. "Hi, Dad." My voice cracks on the last word, and I clear my throat.

My father raises an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away as he motions for me to sit.

As I do, I can't help but notice the array of awards lining the walls. Pulitzers, Emmys, accolades I've only dreamed of. Is this what success looks like? Is this what I've been chasing all these years?

"So," my father says, settling behind his desk. "To what do I owe this surprise visit? Last I heard, you were making quite a name for yourself at Sports News Now ."

There's a hint of pride in his voice, and it hits me like a sucker punch.

All these years, and he's been keeping tabs on me?

"I...I need some advice," I admit, hating how small my voice sounds. "About work. And...life."

He leans back, studying me. "I see. And what seems to be the problem?"

Where do I even start? How do I explain Gio, the feature, the mess I've made of everything?

"I met someone," I begin, the words tumbling out. "A hockey player. I was supposed to be writing a feature on him, but...things got complicated."

My father's graying eyebrows furrow. "Complicated how?"

"We...got involved," I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "Romantically. And now everything's a mess. My boss is furious, the story's in jeopardy, and I...I don't know what to do."

I expect judgment. Disappointment. A lecture on journalistic integrity and professional boundaries.

What I don't expect is the knowing look that crosses my father's face.

"Ah," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I see. And now you're wondering if you should choose love or your career."

I nod, suddenly feeling like a little girl again, seeking her father's approval.

He sighs, folding his hands on the desk. "Alexandra, let me tell you something. In this business, there's no room for sentimentality. Your career, your reputation. That's what matters. Everything else is just...noise."

I feel my heart sink. Even as I'd hoped for different advice, I'd known deep down this is exactly what he'd say.

"But what about happiness?" I ask, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "What about having a life outside of work?"

He waves a hand dismissively. "Happiness is fleeting. But success? That lasts. Look at me," he gestures to the awards surrounding us. "I've achieved everything I set out to do. And yes, there were...sacrifices along the way. But in the end, it was worth it."

I stare at him, really seeing him for the first time.

The empty office, devoid of family photos. The lines of loneliness etched into his face.

Is this really what I want for myself?

"So, you're saying I should choose my career over love?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, a sad smile playing on his lips. "It's the smart move, Alexandra. The safe move. Love...love is unpredictable. Messy. But your career? That you can control."

I stand abruptly, a strange calm settling over me. "Thank you, Dad. You've been...very helpful."

He blinks, clearly surprised by my sudden movement. "I have?"

"Yes. I love my career. And I plan on keeping it." I nod, already heading for the door. "But you've shown me exactly what I don't want to become."

"Alexandra, wait…"

But I'm already gone, racing down the stairs because the elevator feels too slow. My mind is clear, my heart pounding with certainty.

I won't sacrifice my happiness for success. I'll find a way to have both.

As I step outside, the warm sunlight hitting my face, I feel free. Free from the expectations and pressures of others. It's time to live life on my own terms.

I burst out of the building, gulping in the fresh air like a drowning woman. My phone is in my hand before I even realize I've pulled it out.

Charlie's office picks up on the second ring. " Sports News Now , how may I direct your call?"

"This is Lexi Brookes," I say, my voice steady and sure. "I need to speak with Charlie Holcomb immediately. It's urgent."

There's a pause, then: "I'm sorry, Ms. Brookes, but Mr. Holcomb is out of the office at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"No, you can't take a message. This is time-sensitive. Where is he?"

Another pause. "I'm not at liberty to…"

"Listen," I cut her off, channeling every ounce of determination I have. "You can either tell me where Charlie is, or you can explain to him why you obstructed a senior correspondent on a critical deadline. Your choice."

I can practically hear her weighing her options. Finally, she sighs. "He's at Chez Pierre for a breakfast meeting. But Ms. Brookes, he specifically said not to be disturbed…"

"Thank you," I say, already hanging up.

As I race toward my car, I feel a surge of adrenaline.

This is it.

For the first time in my life, I'm not following the path laid out for me. I'm not chasing accolades or bylines or my father's approval. I'm chasing my own happiness.

I'm chasing my own happiness. And if that means risking everything, so be it.

I jump in the car, putting Chez Pierre on my GPS and heading in that direction.