Puck Me Harder

CHAPTER 13

ELLE

The article is good.

I've been working on it for three weeks, and I've fact-checked every single sentence. I've interviewed five different analysts. I've reviewed Blake's playing stats from the last five years. I've analyzed his performance against different defensive strategies. I've bent over backwards to be objective, to be professional, to prove that I can write about Blake without bias.

The piece is balanced. Measured. Exactly the kind of journalism that restores credibility.

DELVALLE'S FIFTH SEASON: EVOLUTION OF A CAPTAIN'S PLAYING STYLE

I send it to Sienna on Tuesday morning.

She calls me back within the hour. "It's good work," she says. "Really solid. We're running it Thursday."

I should feel relief. I should feel like I've turned a corner. Instead, I feel like I'm waiting for something to explode.

The article publishes Thursday at 10 AM.

By 11 AM, I have a text from Sienna: "Sponsors are asking questions."

By noon, I have an email from Richard: "Need to discuss the Blake Delvalle piece and optics."

By 1 PM, there's a tweet from @SportsGossipDaily: "Elle Bloom writes about Blake Delvalle AGAIN. This time focusing on his 'evolution' as captain. Are we still pretending she's objective? THREAD:"

The thread has forty-two tweets.

Forty-two tweets analyzing my piece for hidden bias. Forty-two tweets suggesting that my positive framing of his "evolution" is actually proof that I'm covering for my boyfriend. Forty-two tweets from people who didn't read the article but have already decided what it means.

By 2 PM, there's another gossip blog pick-up:

**IS THE SPORTS JOURNALIST COVERING THE FORGE'S CAPTAIN BECOMING TOO CLOSE?**

"Sources close to the team say Elle Bloom and Blake Delvalle's chemistry is undeniable—but insiders are questioning whether her proximity to the captain is affecting her objectivity. Her latest article praising Delvalle's evolution as a leader has raised eyebrows among those who remember her earlier criticism. Is she writing for the Chronicle or for Blake Delvalle?"

There are no direct quotes. There are no named sources. Just "insiders." Just "sources." Just the suggestion that my objectivity is compromised and everyone should be suspicious.

By 3 PM, Sienna calls me in.

"We need to talk about this," she says, and she's trying to be calm, but I can hear the frustration underneath.

"The article is objective," I say. "I fact-checked every—"

"I know. I read it. It's solid work." She leans back in her chair. "But we're getting calls. Sponsors want to know if we're taking steps to ensure editorial independence. One sponsor is threatening to pull out if we continue running your Blake Delvalle coverage."

"My coverage is fair."

"I know that. You know that. But the public doesn't. The narrative is already established. You're biased. You're covering for your boyfriend. Your objectivity is compromised." She says it gently, like she's stating facts instead of accusations. "And every time you write about Blake, it reinforces that narrative."

"So what do you want me to do? Stop covering The Forge?"

"I want you to understand that we're in damage control mode right now. And anything you write is going to be scrutinized through the lens of that narrative."

By 5 PM, there are over 150 tweets using #BlakeBloom.

By 6 PM, Reddit threads are doing detailed breakdowns of my article, looking for hidden evidence of bias. By 7 PM, a YouTuber has posted a seventeen-minute video analyzing my "suspicious language choices" that supposedly prove I'm covering for Blake.

By 8 PM, I'm sitting in my apartment, scrolling through all of it, understanding that I can't win this.

The article is objective. It doesn't matter. The narrative is cemented. People believe what they want to believe. And no amount of careful journalism is going to change that.

My phone rings. It's Richard.

"Elle, I've got calls from three more sponsors," he says without preamble. "They're concerned about bias. They're concerned about credibility. They're asking if we're going to continue running your coverage of The Forge."

"The article is—"

"I know what the article is. But we're in a difficult position. Your credibility is compromised, whether it should be or not. And that's affecting the publication's credibility."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we might need to pull you from The Forge entirely. We might need separation."

My stomach drops. "You can't do that. That's—"

"It's damage control. It's protecting the publication. I'm sorry, Elle, but this is bigger than one assignment."

He hangs up.

I sit in my apartment, and I'm understanding that I've lost again. Not because I did something wrong. Not because my journalism is biased. But because the rumor has momentum now. It's a living thing, and it doesn't need anyone to actively push it anymore. It just exists, and people believe it, and my career is collateral damage.

Wednesday morning, Sienna calls me in again.

"We're pulling you from The Forge," she says, and she doesn't look happy about it. "Effective immediately. You're going back to general assignment while we figure out how to rebuild your credibility."

"Sienna—"

"I fought for you. I told them your work was solid. But we can't sustain this. The sponsors won't sustain it. And frankly, your continued coverage of Blake is only making things worse." She pauses. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't fair."

Fair. As if fairness matters in the court of public opinion.

By Thursday, the news is public:

RIVERSIDE CHRONICLE REASSIGNS JOURNALIST AMID BIAS CONCERNS

The article quotes unnamed sources saying that Elle Bloom's credibility had been "called into question" and that the publication wanted to "ensure editorial independence."

It's a kinder way of saying: we believe the rumor. We believe you're biased. We're removing you because we don't trust you anymore.

By Friday, I'm doing general assignment work. Covering local news. Writing about city council meetings and community events. I'm back where I started, except now I have a scarlet letter attached to my name.

Blake hasn't called. Blake hasn't texted. Blake hasn't reached out in any way, and I understand why: he can't. He can't protect me or defend me or do anything to help me without making it worse. His involvement is what's destroying me. His existence in my life is what's making me toxic.

So he's silent, and the rumor grows, and my career implodes quietly, out of the public eye, in the slow suffocation of general assignment work.

And I realize that this is the cruelest thing that could happen: it's not Blake destroying me. It's not him actively sabotaging me. It's just... the natural consequence of being connected to him. It's the weight of public perception. It's the rumor becoming truth just because enough people believe it.

And there's nothing either of us can do to stop it.