At First Light

by Mari Madison

  It had made me sick at the time. Furious. Which was exactly what Ryan had been counting on all along. After that it was just a matter of Troy making a simple suggestion . . . And I, the sucker in love with him, agreeing to strike against my own family.

  I shook my head, feeling a little sick to my stomach. To remember how badly I’d been played. How stupid I felt when it all came to a head. When Ryan was arrested. When Troy ran away overseas. When half my dad’s IT department, including the man I’d tricked into giving me passwords, got fired all because of me.

  The moment I realized no one actually cared about saving the whales—they only cared about saving themselves.

  I realized my father was talking. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “But I needed Carl here for this one. I’m afraid we have a bit of a . . . situation.”

  “Oh?” I quirked my head, wondering if I was coming off as interested or bored. “Did the people of San Diego finally come to their senses and kick you out of office?”

  Dad snorted. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. And actually it’s more serious than that. Carl has intercepted a few possible threats from an unknown source.”

  “So, it’s like Tuesday then,” I said with a shrug. Let’s just say my dad was really popular with those who liked him. And really not with those who didn’t.

  “Maybe before you roll those pretty little eyes of yours you should hear your father out,” Carl interjected. “These threats concern you.”

  That got my attention. “Me? Why me?”

  “We don’t know,” my dad replied. “But I have Carl and his best men looking into it. In the meantime, I think it’s best if you lay low. Maybe take an extended trip. You were talking about missing Paris last week, right? What about a month in Paris? I could book you a flight out tomorrow.”

  I frowned. “Dad, you do remember I have a job, right? I can’t just jump on a plane at a moment’s notice and take off for a month. They’re relying on me.”

  Carl gave a gruff laugh. “You will be quite a loss, I’m sure. Still, I’m confident they’ll be able to find someone to fill in on the grueling assignment of watching movies for you.”

  I shot him a glare, my stomach twisting with annoyance. God, I hated his arrogant, dismissive attitude. Yes, on the surface my job might have seemed easy. Frivolous. But it was actually a very vital part of the newscast and took a lot of work behind the scenes to make it appear so effortless.

  “I’m sorry. But that’s out of the question,” I said, trying to sound firm. “I’m not going away. And I’m not leaving my job. I will keep an eye out for anything weird. And I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

  “You mean like you let me know about your little boyfriend being back?” my father asked, raising an eyebrow. “I watched the news, Sarah. I knew he was back in the States. But I had no idea they’d hired him at News 9.”

  “Yeah, well, trust me I didn’t ask them to,” I muttered, my mind flashing back to Troy on the side of the road. The way he’d snapped at me like a wounded dog when I’d offered him help. “I only found out myself this morning.”

  My dad frowned. “I should talk to Cathy about this.”

  “No!” I looked up. Cathy was Asher’s mother and the owner of News 9, and my dad did a lot of dealings with her, mostly advertising stuff for his business and his campaigns. In short, he was a big financial backer to the station, which somehow led him to believe he should have a say in how things were run on a day-to-day basis. “Leave him alone. He’s going through enough. He doesn’t need your shit on top of everything else.”

  “I don’t like it,” Carl interjected needlessly. His eyes glittered coldly as he spoke and I knew he was remembering five years ago. “Where he goes, trouble always follows.”

  “Well, maybe it’ll follow him then and leave me alone,” I shot back. Then I turned to my father. “Look, I know what you’re worried about, but there’s no reason to be. I hadn’t talked to Troy in five years until today. And I doubt I’ll see him much at News 9, either—we’re on completely opposite beats.”

  I frowned, flashing back to the way Troy had practically pushed me away when I had attempted to talk to him. If only my father could have seen that little display of affection, he might be less concerned.

  I looked him dead in the eye. “Trust me. In the immortal words of Taylor Swift, Troy and I are never, ever, ever getting back together.”

  My father sighed. “You know I’m only trying to look out for you, right?”

  “I know,” I assured him. “And I do appreciate that. You don’t have to worry though—I’m not jumping back into bed with Troy—politically or otherwise. I just want to do my job, watch movies, and work the red carpet in cute shoes. And the only real threat I’m going to face is blisters from the aforementioned cute shoes. Okay?”

  My father gave me a small laugh at this, telling me I’d convinced him. It was sort of sad how easy it was. How little they all expected from me these days. “Okay,” he said. “Just . . . promise me two things.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you’ll stay out of trouble . . . and stay away from Troy Young.”

  I nodded. “No problem. On both accounts.”

  ten

  SARAH

  I arrived to work slightly late the next morning, thanks to an accident on I-5 that turned a fifteen-minute commute into a fifty-minute one. Lately it seemed as if there were more accident days than non-accident days, and I was beginning to wonder if I should sell my cute and cozy beach cottage and move downtown so I could walk to work. Of course doing something like that would basically be saying this job was going to stick and since I’d pretty much never had a job stick in the last five years, well, maybe I didn’t need to be calling a Realtor just yet.

  Walking quickly through the newsroom, I caught Stephanie waving at me from the little pod she shared with a couple other reporters. I waved back, wondering how she’d managed to get here before me, considering we lived next door to each other. She waved again, this time beckoning me over. But I shook my head: I was already late. I didn’t have time to chat.

  Instead, I turned left, heading out of the main newsroom area and into the entertainment studio—a space Mrs. Anderson had designed especially for me after giving me the job. I think it might have been a consolation prize when her son, Asher, went all rogue, disowning his mother and choosing his producer, Piper, over me. Like I’d lost my chance at the prince, but I’d got the kingdom anyway.

  To be honest, it was a little embarrassing. To have this luxurious little corner of the newsroom, a real office with a door and separate studio to film in, while the rest of the reporters sat out on the floor in a noisy, chaotic communal setting—no privacy at all. It was the kind of thing that practically begged other employees to resent me and not want to be friends. From what Stephanie had inferred they already thought I’d gotten the job as a favor to my dad, rather than for any real skill.

  Of course I had gotten the job as a favor, so they weren’t wrong.

  I sighed. Poor little rich girl. Feeling sorry for yourself, once more with feeling.

  I entered the entertainment center, stopping short as I realized someone was already there. And not my producer, Ben, either. Sitting in my chair, his feet propped up on my desk, was none other than Troy himself.

  A flurry of emotions stormed through me. And for a moment I could do nothing but stare, the happiness in seeing him warring with the impulse to just kick him out.

  “Did you come here to apologize?” I spit out, finding my voice at last. “If so do it and get out. I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

  He looked up. His expression was neutral, almost guarded, but I thought I caught unease in the depths of his eyes. God, why did he have to look so good? Dressed casually in a button-down shirt, his hair cropped short against his head, his eyes as blue in real life as they’d been shining from
my TV. It was all I could do not to jump him where he sat.

  “Well?” I demanded instead, clamping down on the ridiculous urge.

  He pursed his lips. “I do want to apologize,” he said in a slow voice. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? My pulse kicked up, warning bells going off in my head. I tried to ignore them, dropping my jacket on the back of another chair. “Well, then why are you here? Am I supposed to guess? I never was very good at guessing games.”

  “No,” he said, his lip curling into a small smile. ‘You never were, were you?”

  I felt my face flush, sudden heat rippling through my entire body. God, I’d forgotten what presence he had. What that presence had always done to my insides. Some people—you meet them and there’s nothing between you, even if they’re hot as hell. Like Asher had been. Asher had been super fun and ridiculously good-looking. But he was never able to make my toes curl like Troy could, with a single look.

  “So then how about we skip the whole game and you tell me?” I said.

  He shrugged. “You know that new segment they’ve got going? He Said, She Said?”

  I stared at him. He gave me a pointed look. My mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

  “Afraid not,” he drawled. I watched as he kicked his feet off of my desk and sat up straighter. “As you might have noticed yesterday, I’m not exactly firing on all four cylinders just yet. Not ready for prime time, if you know what I mean. So your big boss decided this would be a good place for me to lay low until I get my head screwed on right again.”

  Oh God. I grabbed a chair for balance, pretty sure my knees were about to give out on me altogether. I had figured after his performance yesterday—or lack of it, as the case might be—they’d bring him back in house. But I’d assumed that meant to write copy for the newscast or maybe work the assignment desk, monitoring police scanners and such. Never did I think for a second they’d put Troy Young here with me. On my brand-new franchise, no less.

  Also, Ben was going to be so pissed. He’d been practically begging them to give him the job since he’d presented the idea at one of our meetings. But evidently the station’s brass was being true to form. They didn’t want someone smart and capable and knowledgeable. They wanted someone hot.

  And they didn’t get any hotter than Troy Young.

  “But you don’t even like movies,” I stammered, not sure what else to say. This was beyond crazy. Three days ago, I had assumed I’d never see Troy in person again. Now not only had I seen him two days in a row, but he was to become my new coworker?

  He shrugged. “I like some movies.”

  “None made after 1955.”

  His mouth curled. “You remembered.”

  Troy, I remember everything, I wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, I blustered on. “You don’t know anything about celebrities,” I added. “You thought Joseph Gordon-Levitt was Heath Ledger.”

  He held up his hands in innocence. “What can I say? They look alike.”

  “Not really. Since one of them has been a corpse for ten years.”

  He sighed. “What do you want me to say, Sarah? Do you think I like this anymore than you do? Do you think I want to be some . . . entertainment reporter?” He spit out the job title as if it were poison, which only served to infuriate me further.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being an entertainment reporter,” I shot back. “It’s an important part of our newscast.”

  He turned, his eyes locking onto mine, pinning me where I stood. My heart leapt to my throat and for a moment I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

  “There was a time you didn’t believe that,” he said in a soft voice. Then he dropped my gaze.

  I staggered backward, as if I’d been shot. I wanted to scream at him. To tell him he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. But I didn’t—because that wasn’t true. There was a time when something this silly and frivolous would have disgusted me. Would have made me roll my eyes. And, of all people, Troy knew that.

  He . . . remembered.

  I scowled. But that was the old me. The naïve girl who believed it was possible to change the world. Who believed people were genuinely good. That the ones you loved weren’t out to lie and scam and use you.

  Troy may have remembered me. But he didn’t know me now.

  “Look, I know it’s a silly job,” I said. “But it’s my silly job. And I take it very seriously. And if you don’t want to do the same, I suggest you march right down to Richard’s office and let him know. I don’t need you screwing up my life any more than you already have.”

  The last part came out before I could stop it. And I cringed, feeling my face turn bright red as he turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. I waited for him to say something . . . anything . . . to relieve the sudden tension. The elephant I’d led into the room.

  Instead, he said, “Okay.”

  “What?”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “So you . . . won’t take the job?” I was so confused at this point.

  He shook his head. “I have to take the job,” he corrected. “Trust me, I have very few options right now and I can’t afford to turn my back on any of them. But,” he added, “I will take it seriously.”

  I nodded slowly. “I appreciate that,” I said, knowing my voice still sounded a little stiff. (Though who could blame me?) I forced myself to hold out my hand. “Welcome to the entertainment beat, Troy Young. Where all the magic happens.”

  His mouth quirked. His hand closed over mine. Shockwaves of heat spasmed through me and it was all I could do to force myself not to react. Not to let him know just how much the touch of his skin skimming across my own could still reduce me to a shivery puddle of goo.

  Troy, you are seriously going to send me to an early grave, I thought.

  The question was, would I die happy?

  eleven

  TROY

  Thanks for joining me,” I said to Griffin, after taking a slug of my beer. “It’s been a helluva day. And I don’t like drinking alone.”

  Griffin held up his own beer in salute. He had been my mentor back when I’d first gone overseas—a senior war reporter with whom I’d shared many drinks at local dive bars. He’d taken early retirement two years ago after a bomb had blown up during one of his broadcasts—taking most of his right leg with it. Now he had a prosthetic, though you could barely tell by the way he walked. But I knew the phantom pain still kept him up late. The memory of the bomb even later.

  “Nothing wrong with drinking alone,” he teased after swallowing a generous sip of his own pint. “But I’ve had my share of helluva days and I’m happy to have an excuse to partake. This way if my old lady bitches at me, I can blame it on you.” He smirked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever works,” I said.

  “How you doing, kid?” Griffin asked, peering at me closely. “You holding up?”

  I sighed. “I thought I was. Until I tried to get back in the field.” I quickly related all that had happened the day before. Griffin listened patiently, without interrupting.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said once I had finished. “Those kinds of intense situations can be very triggering.”

  I scowled. I hated words like triggering. Nothing more than excuses for people who couldn’t handle what life threw at them, used to get them out of whatever it was they didn’t want to do or didn’t want to face.

  “You sound like a shrink,” I muttered.

  He gave me a lazy smile. “I’ve been to my share. I can quote the lingo like a boss when given the opportunity.” Then he gave me a sympathetic look. “Look, this is not uncommon, you know,” he assured me. “It’s just part of your body’s fight or flight mechanism, working overtime. Back overseas you needed those heightened reflexes to
stay alive. They kept you safe. Now your body still thinks they’re necessary, even though you’re back home. It’ll be a while, probably, before you stop overreacting to things. Stop assuming every little noise is the beginning of the end of the world.”

  “Yeah, well, it may be normal. But it’s embarrassing as hell. You should have seen all the people in the newsroom when I got back. They were all staring at me. Probably laughing at me behind my back.”

  “You gotta give yourself a break, man,” Griffin scolded. “I mean, you come home from something like that—something most people would never even survive—and you jump right back into work? Now, I know you need the job and the money and all that,” he added, holding up a hand before I could object. “Believe me, I understand that more than most. But you gotta be kind to yourself. Don’t push yourself into more than you’re ready to handle.” He shook his head. “You should have seen me when I first got back from overseas. Filled with piss and vinegar—ready to prove to every fucking person on Earth that I was still a man. That they hadn’t broken me—even if I was missing a leg. But you know what I learned in the end? You can never convince anyone of anything—and there’s no damn good reason to even try. Let ’em think what they want to think. Doesn’t mean shit in the end.”

  I sighed. “Easier said than done.”

  “I know, man. And like I said, it’s going to take time. It took me a year before I could sleep through the night. I’d wake up with nightmares and I’d hear stuff outside my window. It was rough.” He gave me a sorry look. “It’s going to be rough for you, too. But trust me, it will get better. You may not believe that now, but someday you’re going to meet me back here at this bar. And you’re going to say, ‘Griffin, you were right.’” He cocked a crooked grin. “And then you’re going to buy me a beer.”

  “That will be the best beer I’ve ever bought,” I declared.

  “Damn straight. And I’ll enjoy every sip of it.”