He hangs up before I can finish my half-hatched plan to maybe force him to schedule time with me.
“Right . . . later it is,” I mutter to myself, tossing my phone on the bed.
The silence in the room feels suffocating. I look over at Jake. He’s sitting up now, the covers low on his hips, watching me with concern weighing down his eyes.
“That was my dad.”
I shrug. He met him. I’m sure he got the right impression.
Jake doesn’t push, but his quiet attention invites me to speak. And before I can stop myself, the dam breaks. It’s maybe seven in the morning, and I’m unloading the complicated, heavy family drama I’ve kept locked away for years.
“I had an older brother. Michael,” I start, my voice tight. “He was eight years older than me. He was my dad’s pride and joy—literally a mini version of the man himself. Michael was in the middle of law school, completely set to take over the firm one day. And then one drunk driver on the I-40 took it all away.”
Jake’s expression softens, a dark shadow of sympathy crossing his eyes.
I shake my head. I didn’t want to relive this with him so soon. Or at all.
“It was a few years ago. We’ve healed. Well . . .I’vehealed. But my dad?—”
“He still wants the legacy,” Jake fills in.
I sigh.
“When I went to college a few years later,” I continue, looking down at my hands, “I didn’t study what I wanted. I listened to my dad. I felt this crushing guilt, like I had to fill the void Michael left behind. So, I went to law school. And I absolutely hated it. There’s this constant, miserable push-pull between us because I walked away from it. I love what I do now. I wantthisto be what fills my life. But the guilt . . . it never really goes away.”
Jake doesn’t hesitate. He moves across the bed, closing the distance between us, and wraps his strong arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. My chest tightens, and if I let myself, I could cry right now. Tears of exhaustion,guilt, the past, my present with my father, the fact my mom plays zero role in my life and doesn’t defend my own wishes. It’s draining.
Instead, I just sink into his body and listen to the thump of his heart, matching my breath with his.
“Listen to me,” he says, his voice a firm, steady anchor. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. You are amazing at your job, Campbell. The way you handle the media, the way you find stories to tell. You changed my life by helping me tell mine.”
I shake my head against his shoulder, looking up at him. “It’s been your story all along, Jake. I just got the right people to listen to it.”
He stares down at me, his brown eyes turning incredibly deep, filled with a look so intense it makes my chest ache. He leans down and presses his lips against mine, and somehow it feels as if he has kissed me like this many times before. It’s natural. Easy, in fact.
As he pulls away, there’s a lingering hesitation in his expression, his teeth holding the inside of his cheek hostage, and I can’t help but feel as if he has a million more things to say but can’t find the words.
Eventually, I’m the one to break the silence, softly clearing my throat.
“We both have to get going. Big series coming up.”
I force myself to leave the comfort of his bed, and as I gather the rest of my clothes, the sound of his shower spray gives me just enough cover to get dressed and slip out of his place before things grow more intense.If that’s even possible.
An hour later, I’m walking into the front offices at the stadium. I made a lightning-fast stop at my own apartment to shower, blow-dry my hair, and throw on my trusty navy blazer and matching slacks. This is the suit I wore for myinterview with the organization less than a year ago. Maybe it will bring me luck today and keep me from making bad decisions. Well . . .morebad decisions.
Before I log in to my computer, Kevin calls out from his office.
“Campbell! Step in here for a second, would you?”
A rush of heat zaps down my spine, and I feel as if I’m being called to the principal’s office. I walk into his office, holding a notebook, ready to work. Kevin is pacing behind his desk, looking uncharacteristically jittery but energized as he shakes out his hands.
“I wanted to give you a quick heads-up.” He gestures for me to sit, though he remains standing. It leaves me feeling unsure of what to do. I go ahead and sit on the edge of his office sofa, ready to stand at a moment’s notice.
“I have a packed schedule this week. A lot of back-to-back meetings; we’re getting close to this thing being real. Things are moving significantly faster than I originally anticipated.” His eyes flash wide, and I can’t read his mouth for certain. Is that a smile?
I tilt my head, studying his face deeper.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
