Page 110 of The Overtime Persuasive

For months, I’ve treated the alternate spot as proof that I can be the man people count on. That I can carry responsibility. That when something matters, I’m the person who will be there.

Eva believed that before Coach did.

Today, when she needed me to prove her right, I was too busy celebrating the fact that someone else finally had.

I bolt for Tripp’s car.

The letter I’ve wanted for years isn’t even on my chest yet, and already it weighs more than I ever imagined.

CHAPTER 27

EVA

The glass doors to the studio swing open as I attempt to shake a man’s hand without dropping the subscription box balanced against my hip.

“You did very well in there, Ms. Barlow,” the segment producer says.

“Did I?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Apparently, forty minutes under studio lights has stripped me of my ability to accept a compliment like a normal person.

He smiles. “You did. We’ll review all the finalist segments tomorrow, and the winners will be announced on the morning show this weekend.”

“Winners?”

“As in plural.” He nods. “The response to the gift guide was bigger than we anticipated, so we’ve expanded the final prize. Five businesses will receive the full promotional package—on-air coverage, a feature on the website, and support across our social platforms. Meetings with buyers at big box stores around the country. Three additional finalists will receive honorable mentions and a smaller social-media push.”

Five winners. I tighten my hold on the box. “Those are considerably better odds than I walked in with.”

“They are.” His smile widens. “And you gave yourself a very good chance today. Thank you again for coming, Ms. Barlow.”

He gives my hand one final shake before disappearing through the doors, leaving me alone beneath the covered entrance.

For several seconds, I don’t move. People pass behind the glass. Someone wearing a headset hurries through the lobby, followed by a woman carrying three coffees and the expression of someone who has already been asked to do six impossible things today and all before noon. On the street, cars rumble past.

Everything keeps moving while I stand here holding the prettiest subscription box I have ever assembled and trying to comprehend what just happened.

I did it. That’s what happened.

I walked into a television studio alone, stood beneath lights bright enough to expose every poor decision I’ve made since puberty, and told a roomful of strangers why Side B matters. I answered their questions. I explained the boxes, the store, and the strange joy of finding exactly the right book or record for someone you’ve never met.

I didn’t once mention who my father is, nope. I came as me. Eva Barlow, owner of Side B.

It feels good. No. It feels incredible.

I shift the box to one arm and pull out my phone, ready to order a ride. The screen wakes to three missed calls from Liam, and the incredible feeling starts to dim around the edges.

His first call came while I was getting out of the car that brought me here. The second while I was signing in downstairs. The third twenty minutes ago.

My thumb hovers over his name.

Whatever kept him at the arena might be important. It might be entirely reasonable. It could even be forgivable.

I’m simply not ready to hear it.

Calling him now would let whatever happened become the headline of this day. And I don’t want that to be the case. At all.

I request a ride instead.

Seven minutes later, a silver sedan turns into the parking lot. I check the license plate against the one on my screen, then open the back door, sliding onto the seat with the box beside me.