Just This Night (27 page)

MAC

G
ot a minute?”

I looked up from cleaning my camera to see Beth hovering in the doorway of the photographer's lounge and my heart flipped on its ass. Not surprising, of course. It had been wrenching so painfully every time I laid eyes on her these days that I was half-convinced I was going to give myself a coronary by week's end.

“For you, I have all the minutes,” I said, putting down my camera. I forced a smile to my lips and beckoned for her to sit down.

“Actually . . .” She shifted from foot to foot. “Do you know of anywhere more private? It's kind of . . . personal.”

I swallowed hard. Now my heart was pumping furiously. And I was pretty sure my hands were shaking, too. Forcing them behind me, I rose to my feet. “I have the key to the live truck.”

She nodded. “That'll work.”

She turned and started toward the back exit. I followed, warning sirens going off in my head. Not that I had any doubts her intentions were anything but innocent. I just wasn't sure
I could handle being in such close proximity to her, all alone, and not do something I was going to regret.

My eyes involuntarily raked over her body. She was dressed casually today, in a pair of dark rinse skinny jeans and boots paired with a simple white tunic sleeveless shirt. It wasn't a tight shirt—in fact, if anything it was loose and flowy. The kind of shirt she might have chosen if we were having dinner at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean before taking a moonlit walk on the beach.

Not that we would ever be doing that. Or anything else for that matter.

I closed my eyes for a minute, sucking in a breath, which nearly caused me to walk into a wall. I saved myself last second and she didn't seem to notice, thankfully.

God, this was torture. Pure, unadulterated torture. To be in the same room, to breathe the same air, to look at her and not be able to touch her. It'd been a week since I'd run my fingers through her silky hair. Since I'd kissed the hollow spot at her throat that she always found so ticklish. A week since I'd held her in my arms, looked her in the eyes, told her I loved her and that I was never going to let her go.

But I had let her go.

And now, even though she was still here, she was gone.

While I remained in a living hell. Sisyphus rolling his immense boulder uphill, only to watch it roll back down so I could start all over again. Day in and day out. Rinse and repeat. My life stretched out before me, stark, bleak, joyless.

And yet, how it had to be.

We reached the live truck and climbed inside. There were two chairs in the back and she took one, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. Summoning up all my drained willpower, I took the other, then looked at her questioningly.

“So,” she said. “Some interesting developments since I've seen you last.”

I listened as she told me. About what she'd overheard with Richard and Joy. About her encounter with Stephanie later that night. I listened to it all, not interrupting once, though
by the end my hands had curled into fists, the skin of my knuckles straining white over bone.

“Sorry to burden you with this,” she said after finishing. “I didn't know . . . who else to tell.”

“I'm glad you told me,” I said earnestly. “You should never be afraid to tell me anything.”

She dropped her gaze, her eyelashes curtaining her beautiful eyes. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate that. More than I probably should.”

“So are you going to go to Richard?”

“Honestly, I don't know.” She looked up. “I mean, Joy's done. Her contract hasn't been renewed.” She paused, then added, “Is it weird that I feel kind of bad for her? I mean, she tried to get me fired. She almost killed me. And yet . . . somehow . . . I don't know. Just seeing her crying in her office, knowing everything she's worked so hard for will now be stripped away?” She shrugged helplessly. “I just feel bad.”

“That's because you're a good person,” I told her. Then I sighed. “God, every day I realize a bit more just how toxic this business can be. It's depressing.”

“And scary as hell,” Beth confessed. “I mean, I'm on the same path, right? I'm going down the same road? Trying to get the best stories, the most airtime. But what's my end game here? In thirty years, what will I have to show for all of this?”

“You will have whatever you want to show,” I told her firmly. “Joy made a choice to define herself by her on-air persona. But you're under no obligation to do the same. You can be more than your job. You can have a life outside of work, you can do amazing things. And, at the same time, you can still be a good reporter. In fact, my guess is you'll be a better one, if there's more to you than just being on air.”

“I know you're right,” she said with a small smile. “It's just hard to remember, sometimes.”

“Then I will have to keep reminding you.”

She sighed, for a moment looking very sad. Then she shook her head and looked up at me. “I'm sorry. Here I am, going on and on about my own stupid life. But how are things
going with you? I know we've spent a lot of time together. But we haven't really . . . talked, you know? I mean, not that we
have
to,” she added quickly. “If you don't want to talk, I understand, of course. I mean, I just thought, I'm just wondering . . .” She looked up at me. “How are you? Are you okay?”

I nodded stiffly, the concern in her voice almost doing me in. I sucked in a breath, my mind racing with what I could tell her. But at last, it was the naked truth that spilled from my lips.

“I'm not good,” I told her. “In fact, I'm pretty awful.”

Her eyes moistened. “Oh, Mac . . .”

I shook my head. “It's just like . . . I don't know . . . too much. Too soon. You know? Like, she wants to just jump right back in right where we left off, as if nothing ever happened. But I can't do it. I have all these conflicted feelings still. About what she did. About how she left. About . . . well, how I still feel about you. I mean, all we shared, all we've done—I can't just turn that off like a switch. Even if it would be for the best.”

I caught her trying to hide a wince. Then she squared her shoulders and set her chin. “You have to,” she told me. “You have to find a way. You can't keep living like this. This kind of half life. It's not fair to anyone. To her. To Ashley. To you. If you want to make your family work, you have to put in your full effort.”

“How can I? When all I can think about is you?”

She drew in a breath. “Look, Mac. Maybe we need . . . some time apart. Working together, side by side. It's not making any of this any easier.”

I stared at her, her words sending icy fear sliding down my back. My mind snapping to a vision of a world without her in it. Yes, it would be easier not to see her every day, to be tortured by her nearness. But at the same time, it was such an exquisite torture—and I didn't know how I would live without it.

Her expression softened. “Believe me, it's not what I want, either. But at the same, it kind of is. I have to move on, too,
you know. Find that life you were talking about, outside of work. And I don't know how I can manage something like that when I'm still in such close contact with you.”

I hung my head. “You're right,” I said. “I know you're right. I mean, not forever. But just . . . for a time, maybe.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice taking on an eagerness that matched mine. “Just a time. A time to cool off. To reassess. To give your marriage a real, true chance to work. I mean, you loved this woman once, Mac. You gave her a ring. You fathered a child with her. Maybe you can find that again, deep down. If you really give it a chance.”

Her voice broke and, along with it, my heart. I knew how much it must have hurt her to say those words—to step aside and take herself out of the running. I knew she loved me. As much as I loved her. But she also respected me enough—and respected my promise to my daughter enough—to let me go.

“I love you,” I blurted out, unable to stop myself. “I will always love you.”

She nodded and I caught the tears leaking from the sides of her eyes. “No more than I love you,” she said. “Which is why it has to be like this.”

BETH

A
nd so it was done. I went to Richard and confessed everything. About my ill-fated relationship with Mac and why it would be better for everyone involved if they assigned me someone new. The whole time I was telling the story, I was blushing furiously. I didn't want to be the problem reporter. And I'd already caused so much drama in my short time at News 9. I was half-afraid he'd fire me on the spot.

But, as I'd learned over the past days, some things were more important than career. And to me, Mac's happiness was one of them.

Richard wasn't pleased. But he wasn't all that shocked either. It wasn't as if I was the first reporter at News 9 to fall for her photographer. If these walls could talk, he said, they'd have a lot more scandalous stories than mine to tell. Still, he added, he would prefer I keep my love life off the clock from this point forward. After all, it was technically against company policy, not that it was usually enforced. Moreover, it was a pain in the ass to switch around peoples' schedules when the romance died.

Which was fine with me. After two failed relationships
in so many months, the last thing I wanted was to go on the hunt for round three.

So I got a new photographer, with Richard hedging his bets by assigning me a gay guy named Bruce who was old enough to be my grandfather. No chance of a hot hook-up there, despite how dapper Bruce usually looked in his polka-dotted bow ties!

And life went on.

I had considered telling Richard about Joy as well, but in the end, decided against it. Her last day was Friday and the station was planning a big send-off party for her. There was going to be a special broadcast even, featuring a montage of all the big stories she'd covered over the years. The newspapers had all run articles about her legacy and the mayor was giving her a lifetime good service award for all she'd done for the town. If I spoke up now, her entire legacy would be tarnished forever. Even after all she'd done, I couldn't bring myself to do that to her. She'd be gone soon enough and it would all be over.

I was at my desk the Thursday before the big Joy send-off, putting together the day's story assignment when Javier came sauntering up.

“So,” he said, his face stretched into a wide smile, “how much do you love me?”

I looked up, my pulse skipping a beat. “Depends,” I said. “Are you about to tell me what I want you to tell me?”

It'd been so long now since his original email about Alvarez agreeing to be interviewed, I'd pretty much given up on the whole thing. Instead, I'd been working on finding other big stories that would be just as compelling. But now . . .

“Depends. If you want me to tell you that Peeps are the best candy ever or that
The Matrix
was more than one movie—you are sadly still in delusional land. But if it's about our favorite hacker . . .” He grinned again, then lifted his first. I bumped it with my own and he grabbed a chair and pulled it up to my desk.

“Come on!” I cried. “Don't keep me in suspense.”

“Okay, okay! Easy, girl. Look, here's the deal. Turns out Dante has decided to turn himself in.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, baby. Evidently he's sick of being on the run and his mother harassing him. He's ready to face the music. But before he does, he's agreed to do one single interview to give his side of the story.”

My heart was now slamming against my ribcage. “And that interview will be with . . . ?”

“His favorite News 9 reporter,” Javier proclaimed. “Miss Elizabeth White.”

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD! Javier you are my hero!” I jumped up from my desk and threw my arms around him. “You are the absolute best!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Try to restrain yourself,” he teased. “And listen—there is one little complication.”

“What is it?”

“He needs to do the interview tonight. 'Cause starting tomorrow morning his schedule is bound to be a bit full, hanging with the Feds and all.”

I drew in a breath. “Okay. That's fine.” I'd make it work. Hell, I would have made any complication work to get this story.

“You're going to need a photographer,” Javier reminded me. “Bruce is still out with the flu. I'd volunteer, but Tammy got tickets to Imagine Dragons tonight. They're her favorite band. She would have my balls in a vise if I ditched her for work.”

“I understand. It's cool. I'm sure I can get someone. I mean, if I tell Richard what it's for, I'm sure he'd rearrange half the newscast to make sure it happened.”

Then again, did I really want to tell Richard beforehand? I mean, what if Dante got cold feet or the interview fell through? I wanted to be sure this time, so as not to disappoint.

“You know, you might want to give Mac first dibs,” Javier suggested. “I mean, he shot the original interview, right? Which means he's kind of owed the job. Trust me, we
photogs hate being switched up mid-story. It makes it tougher for us to win our Emmys if it's a collaboration deal.”

I sighed. I knew he was right. Mac had been a part of this story from the start and it would be completely unfair to leave him out of the action now.

Not to mention, I wasn't horribly opposed to working with him one more time.

“Okay,” I said. “I'll give him a call. See if he's willing to work tonight.”

See if he's willing to work with me.

MAC

A
fter yet another miserable day at work with a reporter who talked my ear off and was so vain she was practically late for her own live shot thanks to her primping in the mirror, I decided to swing by the florist on my way home to pick up half a dozen long-stem yellow roses, Victoria's favorite.

I'd gone to great lengths, all week long, to be the model husband, hoping that if I played the part, someday it would start feeling real. That the way I used to feel about our family would come raging back to me somehow and I would no longer have to only pretend that this was the life I wanted to live.

That I didn't wish I were coming home to Beth, instead.

And so I'd gone through all the motions—doing everything I could possibly think of in the family man's playbook. We'd made dinner together. We'd popped popcorn and watched old favorite movies. We'd gone to Target and spent way too much money on household goods we hadn't realized we needed until we got there. I'd even moved back into the master bedroom.

Not that anything had happened between the sheets, mind you. But we were in the same bed. Which was something I guess. Maybe someday I'd even stop getting nauseous every time she turned over and accidentally brushed her leg against mine.

I stepped through the front door, roses in hand, trying a “Honey, I'm home!” on for size. But my voice fell flat and the words rang fake in my ears—I'd need to keep working on that one.

Turned out it didn't matter anyway; Victoria and Ashley weren't even home. Sighing, I walked mechanically over to the sink and reached under it for a vase. Then I set the flowers in water and walked back over to the couch. I flipped on the television and searched for some mindless sports commentary to get sucked into.

Before I could settle on a station, however, the door burst open and Ashley came rushing in, followed by a shopping bag–laden Victoria, who looked drained and stressed.

I rose from the couch as any dutiful husband would and took her bags. “Everything okay?” I asked.

“It was,” she said with a frown. “Until your credit card was declined.”

“What?”

She turned to me, her eyes flashing disdain. “Do you know how humiliating that is? To be in the middle of Neiman Marcus and have them turn you away? God, I thought I would die of embarrassment.”

“How much did you spend before that?” I demanded, my voice rising, despite my best efforts. I caught Ashley's surprised look out of the corner of my eye and lowered it again. “I mean, we talked about this. I don't make a lot of money here. And we only have one salary to live on right now.”

“Oh, that's real nice,” she snapped back. “Just make me feel bad 'cause I gave up my job to be with my family. Sorry I'm such a financial drain on you.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” I raked a hand through my hair, frustrated. “It's just, we can't be making unnecessary purchases right now. You know, until things get settled.”

“Well, I needed a new suit, didn't I? I mean, if you want me to go to one of those
interviews
you set up for me.” She spit out the word
interviews
as if expelling poison.

“Wait,” I said, “you were supposed to go to an interview today, right? The one I set up for you over at the FOX station?”

She turned away, not meeting my eyes. “Come on, Jake. That was a news writer position.”

“So?”

“So I'm a reporter. A fucking Emmy-winning international correspondent!” she cried. “Do you think I'm going to go sit at some desk all day and write crappy copy for someone else to read?”

“But you'd be back in the business. And it would only be until a real job opened up.”

“What ‘real job'?” she demanded. “Jake, get your head out of your ass! San Diego is a shitty small news market. There's never going to be a ‘real job' for me here.”

I closed my eyes, trying to reset my sanity. “Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“I think it's obvious. We need to go where the jobs are. I mean, Boston's out, of course, thanks to the little scene you pulled there. But we could go to L.A. Or New York City.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Ashley is finally comfortable here. She has family here and she's making friends. I'm not going to go and uproot her again.”

“And I'm not going to sit here and rot in this pathetic, sand-infested small town just to appease some fucking four-year-old!”

“Mommy? Are you okay?”

I froze at the sound of Ashley's voice. Lost in the argument, I'd almost forgotten she was still in the room. Now she looked up at us, from one to the other, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Mommy, are you mad at Daddy?”

“Your father is just being a little pigheaded right now, sweetie,” Victoria replied, glaring at me.

Ashley broke out into giggles. “You're a pig head, Daddy! Oink, oink! Pig head!”

I couldn't help a small smile. “Thank you, Ashley. That's really sweet. Now, why don't you go play in your room for a bit, okay? Mommy and Daddy need to talk.”

“I don't want to play by myself!”

“I know. But just give us five minutes, okay? Then I'll come in and play with you.”

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “I want
Beth
to come play with me.”

Oh God. Not now. I'd been trying and trying to get her to not mention the B name in front of Mommy. But Ashley just couldn't take the hint. And now I could feel Victoria's stare burning into me. One more thing that was all my fault.

“Sorry, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Beth can't come over right now.”

“But I want her to!”

“I know, baby. But she can't. Now please, just go to your room and play ponies. I'll be there in one second.”

Ashley gave me a defiant look, but eventually did as I requested, though not without attitude. She stomped to her room and slammed the door behind her. I watched her go, sighed, then turned back to Victoria, who was fixing herself a drink.

“That girl needs some discipline, Jake,” she said. “She just walks all over everyone.”

“She's four, Victoria. That's what four-year-olds do.”

“She won't be four forever. It's time for her to know she's not the boss in this family. She doesn't get to have a say.”

I opened my mouth, probably to say something I was going to regret later. Or be made to regret, at the very least. But before I could speak, I was saved by my cell phone. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced down at the caller ID, then froze.

“Who is it?” Victoria demanded, trying to peer over my shoulder. I stepped forward.

“It's just work,” I told her. “Give me a minute, okay?”

I walked out the front door, closing it behind me, then put the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I said.

“Mac. Hi.”

I gripped the phone, my heart beating a mile a minute as my ears registered the sweet ring of her voice, speaking my name. God I'd missed her so much. At that moment, if I could have climbed through the phone and kissed her, I probably would have.

“Hi,” I said instead, trying to keep my voice steady. “How are you?”

“Actually?” she replied. “I'm pretty great.”

My heart skipped a beat and worry gnawed in my gut. Great? How could she possibly be great? Why wasn't she miserable like me? Seriously, if she was about to tell me she'd met some new guy and that she was in love I was going to have a heart attack, right there on my front porch.

“And why are you so . . . great?” I somehow managed to spit out.

“Dante Alvarez!” she practically squealed. “He's finally agreed to another interview.”

Relief flooded me. “Oh,” I said. “That
is
great. Really great. I'm so happy for you.”

“Happy for
us,
you mean,” she corrected.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Mac. This is
our
story! You were robbed the first time around as much as I was. And now we have another chance.”

“But we're not partners anymore, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. But it's not during our regular shift, so it doesn't really matter, right? I'm not even going to tell Richard we're doing it until it's done. Then I'm going to surprise him with it.”

I bit my lower lip, trying to justify it to myself, ignoring the warning bells going off in my head. She was right, of course. This was our story. We could do one more story together, right?

“That sounds great,” I said. “When is this happening?”

She paused for a moment. “Well, pretty soon, actually. Like . . . now-ish?”

“Now-ish?”

“I mean, as soon as you can get here. Tonight. You see,
he's supposed to turn himself in tomorrow to the Feds. So it pretty much has to be tonight.”

“Okay . . .” My mind raced with possibilities. Sadie and Joe were down in Cabo for a wedding so they wouldn't be able to watch Ashley. But maybe Victoria could . . . I mean, she had been watching her quite a bit over the last week or so. And she was her mother.

“Hang on a second.” I pushed back open the door and stepped into the living room. Victoria was standing there, arms crossed over her chest, watching me. I felt my face heat, though there was no reason for it to. I was just trying to do my job. I wasn't trying anything sneaky.

“There's breaking news,” I told her. “They need me to come in and work tonight.”

“Okay . . .”

“Would you mind watching Ashley while I'm gone? I shouldn't be late or anything.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, as if suspicious. Then, at last, she shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “It's not like I have any earth-shattering plans tonight. Or ever, for that matter. And hey, we could definitely use the overtime.”

I sighed, choosing to ignore that last little dig. “Great. Thank you.” I put the phone back to my ear. “Okay, I can do it,” I told Beth. “I'll get in the car now and I'll meet you at the station in about forty-five minutes. Does that work?”

“That's perfect,” she replied. She paused, then added, “Thank you, Mac. I really appreciate it. This story—well, you know better than anyone how much it means to me. How much it means to my career.”

I could feel Victoria watching me, waiting. So I just smiled amicably. “No problem,” I said. “Whatever I can do to help.”