The Final Hour

Summer

The rain was pouring down in sheets on Saturday night, matching the bleak, suffocating blackness that had taken over my life. I was sick to my stomach.

The Eastern University arena was glowing like a massive, silver spaceship in the dark, the parking lot packed with thousands of cars for the National Championship game against State.

The noise from inside was a muffled, rhythmic thrum—the sound of ten thousand fans waiting for the final showdown.

I sat on the concrete stairs of the communication building across the quad, my knees pulled tightly to my chest, my denim jacket soaked through with freezing water.

My tuition was paid.

My New York contract was confirmed.

My future was perfectly secured on paper.

I had everything I had spent four years starving for.

And I had never felt more completely dead inside.

A lot was going through my mind.

I didn’t realize when Chloe walked up to me.

"Summer?"

I looked up through the curtain of wet hair to see Chloe standing there, holding a large black umbrella over us.

Her eyes were full of worry, her production headset hanging loose around her neck, the small green light blinking rapidly.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, my voice raw, my throat aching from forty-eight hours of crying.

“The game starts in twenty minutes. Sarah's going to need you for the live-feed tracking behind the bench."

"Let Sarah feed herself to the sharks," Chloe said fiercely, dropping to her knees in front of me on the wet concrete, ignoring the water pooling around her boots.

“Summer, you can't let it end like this. Jaxson is in the locker room right now, and Miller says he hasn't said a word to anyone since yesterday” Chloe said while looking at my wet face.

“He looks like a ghost. He’s going to go out on that ice and get himself pulverized because he doesn't care about the hits anymore. He’s playing like a man who wants to get hurt."

"He hates me, Chloe," I sobbed, the tears burning my cold cheeks as I buried my face back in my arms.

“He thinks I sold him out. And he has every right to think it because of what I said on that tape. I was the monster he always thought I was."

"Then change the script, Summer!" Chloe said, grabbing my hands, her grip tight and unyielding, forcing me to look at her.

“You're a journalist. You have the raw files from the diner incident on your flash drive. You have the definitive proof that clears his name entirely—the medical reports Vanessa sent you, the internal emails from Vance covering up the donor's son's assault to protect the athletic budget. You were saving it for your senior thesis, right?"

I blinked, the freezing rain splashing against my face as her words hit me like an electric shock.

The thesis.

The investigative report I had been building in secret for weeks.

It wasn't just a collection of campus rumors it was a definitive, iron-clad piece of investigative journalism that proved Jaxson Reed was innocent, and that the university administration was corrupt to its core.

I looked at Chloe and weighed my options.

"If I publish that now... if I flash that onto the network feed..." I whispered, my heart stopping as the legal realities crashed down on me.

“The university will revoke my degree before I can walk across the stage. HypeTV will sue me for millions for breach of confidentiality. I’ll lose the New York contract. I’ll lose everything."

"You’ll lose a career built on a corporate lie, Summer," Chloe said softly, her eyes holding mine with a total, beautiful certainty that made the choice clear.

“But you’ll save the boy who was willing to ruin his entire life just to keep a drunk player from laying a hand on you. You'll save the boy you love."

I looked across the rain-soaked quad toward the glowing arena.

The future I had spent three years starving for, working double shifts at the library for, drowning in debt for—it was right there in my pocket.

Clean. Safe. Professional.

And it wasn't worth a single second of the boy who had recited defensive hockey statistics under his breath just to keep from hurting his ex-girlfriend's feelings.

I was skeptical.

I could lose everything I have ever worked for.

My chest was tight only at the thought of it.

But Jaxson wasn’t also responsible for anything.

I stood up, the wet silk of my old skirt clinging to my legs, my chin lifting as the familiar, fierce fire of the real Summer Brooks finally flooded back into my veins.

"Where is the main broadcast control truck, Chloe?" I asked, my voice cool, steady, and sharp as an absolute knife.

Chloe smiled, a dangerous, beautiful expression that belonged on a rebel leader.

“Right behind the home goal. Follow me. I’ve still got the master key card."