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“I think we need to talk about making some changes at BCN.”
BCN is the cable news network I bought back in 2000. It was a small East Coast broadcaster back then, but now it’s a world-wide, twenty-four hour cable news network, and definitely one of the things I’m most proud of. Admittedly, it’s not as profitable as it used to be—the climate has changed in recent years and people aren’t as interested in watching the news on TV anymore—but I’m wary of the word “changes” coming out of RJ’s mouth. If he mentions anything about TikTok, I’m out of here.
“What sort of changes?” I ask. “Programming or personnel?”
He shrugs. “A bit of both. Nothing too drastic, so you can calm down,” he assures me, and I can tell he’s barely containing an eye roll. “But I think we need to freshen things up a little. Look at Pax Greenwood for instance—he’s been sitting at that desk doing the same show every night for fifteen years…”
“He doesn’t do Saturdays,” I point out, earning an actual eye roll this time. “And he’s got the top rated show on the network.”
“Tanner, that’s not exactly hard.”
Ouch.
I must not be able to hide my wince, because RJ sighs and shakes his head. “That came out worse than I meant it. I’m just saying we could be doing a lot better and Pax is a prime example of that. He used to do all these hard-hitting interviews and on the ground reporting, and it was great. But lately it’s like he’s been going through the motions. He’s charming and likable, and he can still pull out some tough questions when he needs to, but it’s not like it used to be.”
I let out a heavy sigh, nodding in agreement. “That can happen when you’re forced to hold your tongue for four years.” Freedom of the press is great in theory, but it all becomes a bit complicated when you have to consider things like advertisers and ratings and the business dealings of the parent corporation. For the most part I think Pax has done a pretty good job of sticking to his principles and has made his views on certain issues clear. But it’s true that he’s become much more deferential, and his bite’s not nearly as sharp as it used to be. “I wish I could give him free rein to do and say whatever he wants but it doesn’t work like that,” I tell RJ.
“Yeah, I realize that. But I’ve got some other ideas—I just want to run them by Carter.”
I shrug. “Okay. I guess we could set something up.” We usually only meet with the head of the network once a quarter, but it’s not going to hurt to have a chat with him now. “What about Marion?” I ask, referencing the head of BCN’s news division—AKA prime-time programming. Her we have much more interaction with as things are constantly moving and changing.
“Pax was just an example,” RJ clarifies. “But, yeah, may as well loop her in too. I think prime time is probably where we should focus to start off with.”
“They’re not going to like us sticking our noses in,” I point out. I’ve always made an effort to be as hands-off as possible and just let everyone who actually knows what they’re doing do it. I like to keep informed of what’s going on, but I don’t usually butt in and make demands unless it’s really necessary.
RJ holds his hands up. “They’re only suggestions.”
***
I was hoping the stress of the day would ease off by the time I got home and spent some time with Izzy. But it hasn’t.
I’m still all tense and agitated as I’m putting her to bed and reading a picture book to her; as much as I love holding her and hearing her giggle when I do the animal noises, the panic episode I had today is still fresh in my mind and I have to fight not to spiral again when the thought of losing this flashes through my mind. I know, logically, that the chances of that actually happening are slim, but that doesn’t stop my brain from fixating on that dreaded ‘what if?’
Once the story’s over, I climb from the bed and tuck Izzy in. I carefully remove her adorable rainbow-framed glasses, setting them on the nightstand before bedndhing down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Night, baby girl.”
“Goodnight, Daddy.”
I gaze down at her for a moment, my heart clenching. Then I turn and stride for the door, turning off the light and closing the door over.
Fuck, I hate Natalia for putting this fear into me. It feels like every time I have a handle on it, she’ll just swoop in to remind me what a fucking mess I am.
Forcing my brain away from earlier today, I think about what’s waiting for me out in the kitchen. There’s a whole pile of dishes on the sink from dinner, and the kitchen table is filthy because Izzy decided to try finger-painting with her spaghetti sauce. It’ll probably take me about half an hour to clean up, which is good. Cleaning the kitchen of a nighttime always helps me to wind down, so tonight’s a good night for it to be a disaster area.
When I get there, however, I see that the table is now clean, the dishes are gone from the sink, and the dishwasher is running. Kit is wiping a cloth over the island counter top, clearly just finishing up with the clean-up.
“Oh.”
She glances up at the sound of my voice and smiles. “Thought I’d save you a job. You look like it’s been a pretty stressful day.”
Oh, the irony. I can’t blame her, though. I’ve never told her about this particular quirk of mine, so all she would have seen is a huge pile of dishes waiting for me and decided to do a nice gesture.
I smile. “Thanks. It had it’s moments.”
I stretch my neck back and forth and roll my shoulders, attempting to ease the tension in my body, but it’s not working. And, of course, it’s not just my body—my mind is completely fucked right now and I know the odds are good I’ll be getting an hour of sleep tonight if I’m lucky.
There’s really only one thing I know of that’s going to help me deal with this, and I’m frustrated to even be considering it. Not because I’m ashamed about it—I don’t think I understand it enough to feel shame, if we’re being honest—but because it’s been barely a month since the last time and I shouldn’t be needing it again so soon.
“Are you okay to stay with Izzy tonight?” I ask. “I think I’m going to go out.”
