At First Light

by Mari Madison

  “After you left my place, I found . . . a new threat,” she said, a shadow crossing over her face. I listened as she explained Stephanie finding the red spray-painted warning on her garden wall. When she had finished I realized my hands had clenched into fists.

  I abandoned my dinner, rising to my feet. I paced the small room, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. “What the hell,” I muttered, not sure who I was angrier with. The asshole who’d scared her—or myself for not having stayed until she’d woken to make sure she was safe. I’d been so worried about getting to work on time and making a good impression. But if I had known she was in actual danger . . .

  “What the hell, indeed,” she said with a sad sigh. The large fluffy robe she was wearing now, along with her freshly scrubbed face, made her look younger and smaller than she had been before, when she was all dressed up. Like a little lost kid in her mother’s clothes. My heart squeezed in empathy.

  “My dad’s looking into it, of course,” she added. “Hell, he was almost gleeful about the whole thing. Supports the crime bill he’s trying to get passed. You know him. Can’t miss out on an opportunity.”

  “But who would want to hurt you?” I demanded. “I mean, do you have any enemies?” It seemed crazy that anyone might want to hurt her. She was so sweet. So innocent.

  She shook her head. “Not since I used to hang out with you,” she joked bitterly. “Trust me, after the whole Water World thing blew up in our faces I’ve seen the health benefits of laying low.”

  I winced as the big-ass elephant came trampling back into the room again. Of course it had always been there, lurking in the corner. But up until now we’d both done a bang-up job of not looking it in the eye.

  “We haven’t talked about Water World since I’ve been back, have we?” I said in a low voice. From across the room I could see her shoulders stiffen.

  “There’s no need,” she replied.

  “I don’t mind,” I added. “I mean, if you wanted to talk about it. If you wanted me to apologize again.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her wet blond hair casting droplets of water as it swung from side to side. “It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did matter. I could see that clearly on her face. It would always matter. She would never completely be able to forgive me for what I had done. To trust me again. And anything that happened between us now would always be poisoned by the past.

  Something I totally deserved.

  I still remembered the look on her face when it all came out in the end—Ryan’s master plan revealed. My betrayal up on display for all to see. The hurt in her eyes had nearly killed me as I watched her learn the truth about our relationship. That she’d been used. Lied to. Deceived. By the group she’d worked so hard for—by the man she’d given her heart to.

  I remembered wanting so badly to get her alone—to tell her that I would have asked her out anyway. That our relationship was not a lie, even if it had started out that way, part of Ryan’s nefarious scheme. That even I didn’t understand the true reasons behind what I’d done. That my heart had always been in the right place.

  But it was too late at that point. Everything had already been poisoned. Everything had already been ruined. And the last thing her father would allow was for her to be alone with me.

  “Sarah,” I said now, my heart rushing with emotion. The apologies up against my mouth, ready to burst like an old dam.

  But she was already on her feet, grabbing her clothes, most of her dinner uneaten. “I need to go actually,” she said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. The room’s paid for until tomorrow.” She stepped into the bathroom to change. Because of course now she didn’t want me to see her naked.

  “Where are you going?” I called through the door.

  “Um, I need to grab a few things at home. And then I think I’ll head to my dad’s for the night.”

  “You don’t have to do that. If you want, I can go.” I rose to my feet. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

  She stepped out of the bathroom, waving me off. She wore a T-shirt now, with some kind of brown stain on the front, paired with old beaten-up jeans. I swallowed hard: In a weird way she looked even more alluring now than she had in that sexy dress.

  Sarah. My Sarah.

  No. Not my Sarah. I’d lost that right forever.

  “It’s fine,” she said, her voice quavering. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just . . . I just . . .” She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

  I sighed, my shoulders slumping. This was exactly why I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I was taking advantage of her all over again. Demanding things from her that she wasn’t ready to give. I’d been so desperate, so hungry, so pathetically needy, I hadn’t stopped to think that maybe this was only going to end up hurting her more than I already had.

  “Text me when you get to your dad’s, okay?” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Just to let me know you’re okay?”

  “I’ll be okay,” she replied automatically.

  “I know. I know . . . but . . . just text anyway, okay?”

  She sighed. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” she said. And, with that, she walked out the door.

  twenty-four

  SARAH

  You’re back? Feeling any better?” Ben met me at the entrance of the entertainment office as I stepped into the newsroom the next day. I had come into work early, hoping to get a little catch-up work done alone before everyone came in, but evidently I was not early enough. I swore the guy slept here at night—there was never a time when he wasn’t here, unless he was on assignment.

  “Much better,” I replied automatically, heading to my desk. Which wasn’t exactly true, but the last thing I needed was Ben up in my business. He already had the tendency to get too personal as it was. No need to give him any more ammunition when it came to my private life.

  In truth, I wasn’t doing so well. Not after the disaster that was yesterday. For which I could only blame myself, of course. I mean, what had I been thinking? How had I thought jumping into bed with my ex-boyfriend could possibly be a good idea? Especially an ex-boyfriend I had to work with on a daily basis. We were taping our first He Said, She Said segment this week, too, so it wouldn’t be like I could just avoid him, either.

  It could have worked out. If only he could have managed to keep things physical between us. Chalked it up to good sex and moved on. But no, he had to get that look in his eye. He had to go and try to apologize for the past. Didn’t he know how much I didn’t want to remember what he had done? That I wanted to just move forward and forget it had ever happened?

  But no. He couldn’t forget. And evidently he couldn’t move forward until I had forgiven him. Which was never going to happen. Which meant it was best if we stayed out of each other’s way from this point onward.

  I realized Ben had followed me to my desk. Awesome.

  “I gotta say, that new guy they hired? He isn’t very qualified,” he was whining, while shuffling from foot to foot. “He didn’t even know who J. Law was.”

  I sighed. “He’s been overseas for a while,” I reminded him.

  “Um, last I checked even third-world countries have WiFi. And I’m pretty sure The Hunger Games was a worldwide thing.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe he let his Us Weekly subscription expire while he was occupied reporting on the refugee crisis.” I couldn’t believe I was having to defend Troy to Ben while at the same time being pissed off at him myself.

  “I got no problem with that. What I do have a problem with is him having this job. We all know Richard gave it to him out of pity. But we’re a major newsroom here—in Southern California, of all places, just a stone’s throw from Hollywood. The entertainment beat is the reason many of our viewers tune in. And they just gave the head job to someone who doesn’t
know the difference between Chris Pine and Chris Pratt.”

  I bit my lower lip. I so did not have time for this today. “I know, I know,” I told Ben. “Just . . . try to cut him some slack, okay? Or better yet, maybe give him a hand? I mean, you weren’t exactly born knowing all the Chrises in Hollywood, either, right? Why don’t you help him out? Give him a few of your favorite blogs to read. Maybe a few good Buzzfeed articles. It’s not like it’s rocket science. He can catch up.”

  “Why bother? He’s just going to ditch us as soon as he gets a better offer.”

  I cringed, Ben unknowingly hitting way too close for comfort. Then I sighed. “Well, then, maybe you can apply for his job and stop bugging me.”

  Ben snorted. “Yeah, right. Only if I suddenly develop a cleft chin or a six-pack of abs overnight, right?”

  He looked really upset now and I felt sympathy wash over me, despite my best efforts. “Look, Ben,” I said. “If you ever want to . . . I don’t know . . . I could look at your résumé tape—give you some pointers? Or maybe take you shopping or something? I can’t help you get a six-pack. But maybe we could make you better look the part? I mean, believe me, I know that shouldn’t matter, but . . .”

  He stared at me, surprised. “You’d do that for me?” he asked. “You’d really take me shopping?”

  “Yes. I would,” I said. “After all, I may not know as much about movies as you do, but shopping? That’s pretty much my superpower.”

  He laughed at this. “Well, thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that actually.”

  “You just let me know when you’re ready and we’ll make the time.”

  “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some calls to make.”

  I watched him go. His steps already looking lighter, his expression almost happy. I sighed. Poor guy. It had to be rough on him. If there was any way I could make this whole thing easier—or give him a chance—well, I’d do it. Problem was, I didn’t know if it would be enough. If my efforts could make anything better for him in the end.

  Sometimes I hated working in TV news.

  And . . . speaking of things not getting better, Troy picked that moment to saunter into the office. He stopped at the entrance, his eyes locking on me.

  “You didn’t text me,” he said quietly. Not exactly accusingly. More like I’d disappointed him. Which was kind of worse.

  I felt my face heat. “I told you I’d be fine. I can take care of myself.”

  “I never said you couldn’t.”

  I twitched at the thread of sadness winding through his voice, my heart betraying me with a low ache. I opened my mouth to say something—though I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. But he had already crossed the room to his desk. Sat down at his computer and stuffed the earbuds in his ears. Evidently the time for conversation was over.

  Giving up, I turned back to my own computer, pulling up my notes for this afternoon’s review. No matter what was going on with Troy and me, we couldn’t let it affect our work. We had to stay professional, no matter what.

  Professional. I snorted a little. If only I had had this brainstorm yesterday. But when it came to Troy my brain only stormed with fire and passion. Leaving very little room, I realized, for common sense.

  • • •

  I don’t know. I guess I’m just not a fan of heroines who are too stupid to live,” Troy declared two days later, in the studio, as the cameras rolled on our first segment together. “I mean, don’t go into the basement, girl!” He shook his head. “This is also why I can’t stand horror movies.”

  “Hold on a second,” I interjected. “Yes, we’ve all seen the lazy scriptwriting of the Too Stupid to Live Girl,” I argued. “But a girl taking a risk—that’s not stupid. That’s brave. I mean, what did you want her to do? Sit around, painting her nails, while the serial killer closes in on her and her friends?”

  “If it kept her out of the path of murder and mayhem? Yes. That seems a very logical option, actually.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. Let’s say our brave but stupid heroine were a guy instead. Do you want him to hide out in the house while the killer stalks his friends? Or would that make him a total wimp?”

  Troy opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, on a roll now. “Look, everyone expects the guy to be the big hero. To take the risk, to put his life in danger. But when the girl does it? She’s suddenly seen as stupid for taking on unnecessary risks. Or let’s say she does it and succeeds by using her God-given talents—like that awesome move in this movie where she strikes him in the throat with her forearm? Well, then she’s just a Mary Sue, right? All powerful and unrealistic?

  “No one ever questions when Jason Bourne jumps out of an airplane. But when Rey in Star Wars flies a spaceship and kicks some bad guy butt—something she’s supposedly grown up doing—suddenly the fan boys flip out.”

  “Hey. No one’s knocking Rey here,” Troy protested. “I know Rey. I like Rey. This girl? She is no Rey. And I stand by my original statement. She is too stupid to live. And that whole forearm-to-the-throat thing? That would never work in real life.”

  My eyes sparkled in challenge. “Want to bet?” I rose to my feet. Troy looked at me, his eyes telling me I was crazy, but I just beckoned him forward. “Come on,” I said. “Go ahead and grab me from behind.”

  Troy held up his hands. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He rose to his feet, stalking over to me. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as he reached me, putting out his arms, grabbing me and pulling me backward until I was flush against him. I could feel his heart beating against my back, just as fast as mine probably was, and my whole body vibrated with his nearness.

  “Sorry, babe. Don’t think you’re going to get out of this one,” he whispered in my ear. His breath sent a tingle down to my toes, but I forced myself to ignore it.

  Instead, I paused, taking a moment to mug for the camera. I had to make this good. Then, without warning, I slammed my foot down on Troy’s as hard I could.

  He cried out in shock, my surprise move making him lose his grip just a bit. Just enough for me to slam my arm backward, straight at his throat, as the girl in the film had done.

  As he staggered backward, I pivoted 180 degrees until I was facing him again. Then I lifted my knee to his groin like a sword to the throat. Not making contact—I didn’t actually want to hurt him—but proving I totally could.

  He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!” he cried. “You win! You Mary Sued the crap of me, okay? Mercy!”

  I laughed, turning back to the cameras, giving them a salute. “To conclude, I give this film an A plus. For an awesome, kick-butt heroine who doesn’t lose her head in a crisis.”

  “And I’m giving it a C minus,” Troy added, rubbing his foot as he sat back down onto his seat. “I may be able to get my money back from the theater, but those brain cells are gone for good.” He paused, then added, “Along with the feeling in my left big toe, for that matter.”

  “And . . . cut!” the floor director said, clapping his hands together. A moment later the camera lights flicked off and the house lights came back on. I grinned from ear to ear, the adrenaline from the encounter still spiking through me. Troy rolled his eyes, but then laughed.

  “Remind me never to piss you off,” he said.

  “So, what did you think?” I asked, turning to Mrs. Anderson. The station’s owner had come down to watch the first taping. I knew she was a bit of a micromanager; no wonder she and my dad got along so well.

  But I needn’t have worried this time. She clapped her hands together, beaming from ear to ear. “That was brilliant!” she exclaimed. “I loved it. I knew I picked the right people for this franchise. You guys have the perfect chemistry to play off one another. And that fight scene? That was inspired!”

  I felt my face heat at t
his commendation. Even more so once I felt Troy’s eyes on me. Chemistry. That was one way to put it.

  “Seriously, this is so great,” Mrs. Anderson continued. “I don’t want to change a thing.” Her eyes locked on Troy. “You may be a good foreign correspondent,” she told him, “but you make an excellent movie reviewer, too.”

  I could see Troy’s jaw twitch at this. But thank you was all he said. Mrs. Anderson gave him another big smile and then followed the crew out of the studio.

  “I expect more of this in the coming weeks!” she called out to us as she left. “This was great stuff.”

  The door closed behind her and suddenly Troy and I found ourselves alone. I glanced over to him. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in one minute.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  I sighed. “You want to talk about it?”

  “To you?”

  I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Okay. I deserve that.”

  “No.” He shook his head, rising from his seat and taking off his wireless label mic. “You don’t. I’m sorry. Good segment. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

  “Troy . . .” My heart ached at the pain I could see in his face—pain he was trying desperately to hide. I released a long breath. “Look, I’m sorry about Monday, okay? I shouldn’t have left like I did. I was just . . . overwhelmed by everything. You know. I went from not having seen you for five years to . . .” I trailed off. “Well, you know.”

  He stiffened. “I’m sorry about that, too. That should never have happened. I took advantage of you. And I’m sorry.”

  My lip curled. I couldn’t help it. “I think I was the one who took advantage of you,” I said.

  He shot me a surprised look.

  “Look,” I tried again. “There’s no denying there are a lot of unresolved feelings between the two of us. And not just of the physical nature, either,” I added quickly. “But Troy, I do care about you. And I can see you’re suffering.”