Zach would have turned anyone else down, but Jerry was the reason he had taken a chance on a career in journalism. “I’d have done anything for that man,” Zach told Brand. “Even look like an idiot in front of a bunch of high-schoolers.”
“You didn’t look like an idiot.” Brand beamed. “Ben Kramer and I talked about getting our ears pierced after you came.”
Zach fingered the silver stud in his right ear. Back then he’d worn the diamond Greg gave him for the one-year anniversary of their moving in together. “Seems like a long time ago.”
“Not to me. I still remember you dressed in faded Levi’s and a Davie Bowie T-shirt.” He took a sip of his drink and swirled it around, focusing on it as though the scene replayed in the glass. “I’m pretty sure my homeroom teacher made all the girls on the front row put their phones away because she was too afraid to ask you to pose with her. Principal Smith looked like he was going to explode.
“I thought you looked familiar, but you were the farthest from a news anchor I could imagine.” Brand paused for a moment. “My mom had a crush on you. You should’ve seen her face when I told her I’d actually talked to you.”
Zach laughed. Even now, the discomfort he’d felt when people treated him like some sort of celebrity echoed. He finished his drink and waved the waitress over for a refill.
“You don’t like the attention, do you?” Brand watched him, eyes bright with understanding and warmth.
Zach drew a long breath. He’d underestimated Brand yet again. “Hate it.” With the admission, Zach relaxed a bit.
“I think that’s why we all thought you were so cool,” Brand continued. “You didn’t seem to care about what anyone thought.”
“Yeah.” Except that when things hit the fan, he hadn’t had the balls to stand up for himself. But Brand didn’t need to know that.
The waitress deposited Zach’s drink on the table, giving him the moment he needed to rein in his emotions. The alcohol warmed his throat and the memories faded.
“I stopped bullshitting around after that,” Brand said after a long pause. “I gave up on the idea of working construction and writing stories on the side. Jerry helped me get the money to pay for most of my tuition at Stony Brook.”
“And here you are.”
“Thanks to both of you.” Brand pressed his lips together. “His wife told me you helped establish a scholarship fund in his name after he passed away.”
“Leah was never very good at keeping things to herself.” He’d never wanted anyone to know about his involvement. Jerry had given him a gift, and he wanted to pass it on.
“But you are.”
Touché.
“Jerry would be proud.” Zach said it in an effort to change the topic, but it was still true.
“Thanks.”
For a minute or two neither of them spoke. Then Brand said, “How about we grab some dinner? My treat.”
Again with the date thing. “I really can’t.” Zach finished his second drink, dropped some money on the table, and stood. “I need to get back to the office.”
“No worries.” Brand didn’t seem too surprised. “See you around?”
“You’re a hard man to avoid,” Zach parried. And a hard man to turn down. He waved as he walked out of the bar, but for the first time since he’d met Brand, he wondered what it might be like if he accepted.
Chapter Eight
BRAND SHOWED up at the River Watch at five thirty the next evening. He’d spent most of the day working with Kendra on a feel-good piece about a nursing home in Wilmington that had reopened after Hurricane Florence. They’d scheduled a few interviews with residents over the next week, and Brand had taken a first stab at the intro copy.
“Anyone home?” Brand peered into Zach’s office.
Zach glanced up from the computer. The shadow of a smile flickered over his usual poker face. That was progress. “Something I can help you with?”
“Nope.” Brand sat in front of the desk and waited patiently as Zach typed. Or tried to type, since every other word had him swearing under his breath and hitting the Backspace key.
“I can’t work with you staring at me.” Zach frowned over his glasses.
“I’m not staring.” Brand crossed his legs and pretended to look out the window.
A minute passed, then another. Zach drew a long breath and pulled off his glasses. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’m listening.”
Brand smiled. “To what?”
“To whatever it is you came here to tell me.” Zach set the glasses on the desk and raised his eyebrows in anticipation.
“I just came by to say hello.”
“You can’t be serious.” Zach rubbed the back of his neck.
“I am. Unless there’s something I can help you with.”
“You’re offering to help me?”
“I’m good at a lot of things.”
“And with a healthy ego to boot,” Zach shot back.
Brand shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” He stood and walked behind Zach. “Advertising still?”
“Proofs from the printer. At this rate I’ll be here until midnight. I haven’t had a minute to finish editing the articles. Not to mention the op-ed and the event listing. The BeaconCorp home office is breathing down my neck. Every other day I get an email reminding me of something I’m supposed to be doing.”
“I thought the paper was doing well. What’re they worried about?”
“They’re on my back because the paper’s doing well,” Zach grumbled. “They hold me out to the other papers like some fucking beacon of hope, hoping they’ll make money too if they follow my model.”
“Sounds pretty flattering.”
“Might be if they’d leave me alone.” Zach shook his head. “In the meantime, I’m drowning.”
“Do you have another computer?” Brand asked.
“In Shirley’s office.” Zach frowned. “Why?”
“I’ll check the copy while you work on the articles. If you send me the op-ed, I’ll look it over too.”
Zach stared up at him. “I still can’t offer you a job.”
“Don’t need one. Don’t need your career advice either.” Brand grinned and made a gimme gesture with his fingers. “Just save the files on that thumb drive and you can work on the articles. Whoever finishes first can review the event listing.”
“You’re expecting me to go on a date with you if you help me, aren’t you?”
“Nope.” Brand was headstrong, but he wasn’t stupid. Zach obviously needed time for something. Pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere, and it would only make him an asshole. But if he made himself indispensable, Zach might let him stick around long enough to give him a chance.
Zach saved the files to the stick and pulled it out of the computer. “You really aren’t expecting me to go out with you?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” Zach set the drive in Brand’s hand. “The login’s L-O-G-I-N and the password—”
“Is P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D. Brilliant.”
“Easy to remember.” Zach’s eyes flashed with humor, reminding Brand of when they’d first met. “Shirley’s idea, not mine,” he added. “Her computer isn’t connected to the network, so I let it slide.”
“Glad to hear it.” Brand tossed the drive up and down in his hand and headed out of Zach’s office to the sound of Zach whistling David Bowie’s “Changes.”
Three hours later Brand handed the drive back to Zach. “Liked the op-ed. But who spells organize with an s?”
“Matt’s a self-proclaimed anglophile and a bit of a blowhard. He uses British spelling and I correct him. Every bloody time,” Zach deadpanned.
“Doesn’t that piss him off?”
“Never. That’s the strangest part. I’ve come to the conclusion that he does it because he’s trying to impress me. But maybe he doesn’t read the paper.” Zach finished copying the files onto the network, then shut down the computer.
“More
like he likes it when you edit.”
Zach laughed. “Sounds risqué.” He met Brand’s gaze for a long moment, then sighed as though acknowledging defeat. “I’m hungry,” he announced. “Care to join me for something to eat?”
Brand’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you asking me out?” He hadn’t expected his gambit to pay off this quickly.
“Yes.” The edges of Zach’s mouth turned upward. “I think I am.”
“Holy shit.” Brand stared at Zach, half expecting him to retract the invitation.
“That’s the best you can do?” Zach grinned openly now.
“I’m speechless.” Brand was nervous. He didn’t want to screw this up.
“That’ll last all of a hot minute.” Zach motioned to the doorway. “Well, are you coming? Or are you going to stand there with your mouth hanging open?”
THEY SETTLED on a tapas bar downtown, just a few blocks from the paper and Brand’s apartment. They finished their first round of drinks before the first plate of food arrived.
“Ever considered buying the paper? Getting out from under BeaconCorp?” Brand sipped his second Scotch on the rocks.
“Every day.” Zach chuckled. “Then I think to myself that it’s the craziest-ass thing I could do in an age where newspapers are closing right and left.”
“But you’re not ruling it out.”
“No. I’ve been sitting on some money I inherited a few years back. I’m still trying to decide if I should make BeaconCorp an offer.”
“There are a few hometown newspapers out there making it work,” Brand pointed out. “Why couldn’t you be one of them?”
“Odds aren’t good.” Zach picked up his drink and swirled it around. “We’re barely breaking even now. I’ve got a surplus only because my reporter quit and it’s taken me months to replace him, but that’ll be gone pretty quick unless we can increase our ad revenue.”
“I read a story about a number of small-town newspapers forming a nonprofit trust,” Brand put in. “They cut costs by getting rid of their wire service subscriptions and focusing on the communities they serve.”
“When I’m not dismissing the idea out of hand, that’s what I’ve been looking into,” Zach said. “Morehead City, Little Washington, and Greenville are good options. But I’ve put the idea on hold for now. It’s all I can do to keep publishing this thing without any help.” He sighed. “At least Shirley’s back soon. And once Reed’s up to speed….”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do once you’re ready. I’ve got a few friends in print media who might be able to help.”
“Thanks.” Zach looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t realize you were interested in print.”
“I considered it.” But he’d never gotten past the idea of following in Zach’s footsteps.
“Broadcast news is like a siren song. Chasing the perfect story. Asking the perfect question when you’re under the gun and getting the answer you hoped for.” Zach downed the rest of his drink and motioned to the waiter for a refill. “I get it.”
Brand took a sip of his drink and let the alcohol do its job on his neck and shoulders, steadying him and giving him the strength to ask what he’d been dying to know. “How did you get into the business?”
To Brand’s surprise, Zach smiled. “My mom gave me an ultimatum. Either get a part-time job or join an afterschool club.” He paused for a moment, then smirked. “I was somewhat of a handful in high school.”
“A handful? You?” Brand shot back playfully.
“I know. Hard to imagine, huh?” Zach leaned forward and propped his head on his hands. “Mostly I was bored. I’d do stupid shit like rearranging the letters on the message board outside the school, smoking weed with the seniors in the locker room—stuff that got me sent to the principal’s office. Never got suspended, though.”
“Sounds like you got lucky.”
“Hard to suspend the kid with the best GPA in his class.” Although Zach said this as though he didn’t care, Brand sensed the fierce pride underlying his words. “It was a small school and I was a sure bet to get into college.”
“What did you do?”
“I got a job working for Conner Lenz at gas station on the edge of town. It was more like a general store. I restocked the shelves, pumped gas, and checked the live bait to make sure the worms were still wiggling.” Zach made a face, then added, “I had to toss the dead ones. Who knew worms get slimier when they die?” He picked up the glass the waiter just deposited on the table and sipped it thoughtfully. “I quit a week later and signed up for the school paper. The rest is history.”
“So you studied journalism at college?”
“Pre-med.” Zach grinned as if inviting Brand to ask more.
Brand happily took the bait. “Why pre-med?”
“Because everyone expected me to become a reporter.” Zach shrugged. “It took me all of two semesters to realize I didn’t want to be a doctor.” He shot Brand an evil grin. “I stuck with it for another two before I gave up the ghost.”
“Stubborn much?”
“Happily so.” Zach ran his fingers on the edge of his glass, and Brand wished those lean digits were tracing their way over his skin instead. “Got me into trouble more than a few times in my career.”
Brand coughed in an effort to focus on something other than the tiny dimples that appeared on Zach’s cheeks when he smiled.
Zach leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I have a knack for getting into trouble.” His knee pressed against Brand’s and he glanced downward as if acknowledging the contact, but he didn’t pull away either.
“I can imagine.” Brand’s voice sounded rough to his own ears, and he coughed again. Touching Zach like this made it difficult for Brand to focus, but he craved the contact.
“I think that’s part of why I loved the work.” Zach pressed his lips together and the edges of his mouth curved ever so slightly upward, like a kid caught in the act of doing the exact thing he’d been told not to do minutes before. “I got paid for getting into trouble.”
“I sense a story there.” Brand hoped he didn’t sound like the rabid fangirl he really was.
Zach laughed and downed his drink before gesturing the waiter for another. “Too many stories. Mostly ‘oh shit’ moments.”
“Like?” Brand leaned into the pressure of Zach’s leg against his and inhaled a slow breath. He wasn’t sure what turned him on more—hearing about Zach’s adventures as a reporter or the physical contact.
“Like when I was still writing for my college paper and I heard the employees of the largest manufacturing facility in town were organizing. Someone sent threatening letters to the union guy who was staying at some dump motel near the river, and someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail at the place.
“Our faculty advisor told us in no uncertain terms that we weren’t allowed anywhere near the action.” Zach shrugged. “I went by myself that night. Ditched my bicycle on the banks of the river—I didn’t have the money to buy a car until I was a senior—and snuck around the back of the motel.” Zach ran a hand through his hair and for a split second looked every bit the college kid again, reckless, naïve, and ready for anything.
“I waited for an hour in the rain and nothing happened.” Zach chuckled. “I was so fucking impatient back then. Life was a movie and there weren’t supposed to be breaks in the action, right?” He shook his head. “I was just turning to leave with my tail between my legs when I heard some shouting. So what do I do? I decide to get a better look. On the roof.”
“On the roof?”
“On the fucking roof. The fucking slippery roof.” The waiter came with Zach’s drink, and Brand ordered another. “I’m sure you can imagine what happened next.”
“You slipped and fell?”
“Yep. Right on my ass and right in front of the dudes who came to make trouble. Hurts like hell to break your tailbone. But when you’re faced with a bunch of guys twice your size and one of them pulls a gun? You run
like hell.” Zach glanced upward, as if watching the scene replay on the wall of the restaurant.
“And the story?”
“Story? Hah! I was just happy to make it back to campus in one piece and put my sore ass on ice.” Zach sipped his drink and set it down again. “I ended up giving a statement to the cops, and they managed to catch the shitheads before they hurt anyone. The bid failed that year, but the factory did finally unionize the year after I graduated.”
“Doesn’t sound like any of that put you off,” Brand said.
“Exactly the opposite.” Zach lifted his drink. “Once you get a taste for that adrenaline rush, you’re pretty much a goner.”
Brand knew the feeling all too well. He’d learned to take fewer chances over the years, but he’d never turned down a story because it might be dangerous. “I saw the exposé you did on street gangs that BeaconCorp picked up for the national news. Sounds like you got your wish for excitement.”
Zach nodded, but his open and comfortable manner had vanished. He didn’t meet Brand’s gaze, instead downing the rest of his drink in a single long swallow and just as quickly ordering another round. “Nothing I did for broadcast that I can’t do for print.” He spoke these words quickly, as if he’d said them dozens of times. “It’s all the same.”
Only Brand knew Zach wasn’t telling the truth. He heard the lie in Zach’s words and saw it in how Zach avoided eye contact. Whatever had happened in New York, the pain still ran deep. The reporter in Brand wanted to know more; he sensed that he’d neared the edge of a cliff, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to ask the question that burned in his brain. “Why did you leave New York?”
Zach seemed to pull back into himself, like an animal might retreat into a hard shell or prickly outer skin to protect its soft body. For a long moment, he said nothing. Brand had barely realized the waiter had brought Zach another drink before Zach had finished it. How many was that? Six drinks? Seven?
“Didn’t need the bullshit,” Zach finally said several minutes later, the answer jarringly disconnected from the question by the passage of time.
Chasing the Story Page 4
