Hot Off the Press (Ridgemont University Book 1)

by Meredith Taylor

Simon knocked on the door at Ian’s flat, barely able to contain his excitement. He was impatient to tell Ian about what Zuko had said, that Ian was right about a pattern similar to the last story they tried to pursue. But Ian was taking long to answer the door. Maybe he wasn’t home. He hadn’t responded to Simon’s texts. Simon debated whether or not to leave a note, to try shouting out, or to just leave and text Ian later.

  He was about to turn away when he finally heard movement inside of the flat. “Ian, is that you? It’s Simon. Did you get my messages?” he shouted through the door.

  Ian opened the front door, and greeted Simon, his appearance unkempt, and his eyes tired and red.

  “Hey Simon. Sorry for not answering sooner. Uh, I’m kind of out of it.”

  Simon noticed that Ian was still using a crutch to walk, and it was the first time that Simon had seen him look… anything other than perfectly put together. It was hard to look at, because Simon knew that something must’ve been very wrong. His characteristic charm and smile were gone, and his shoulders drooped like a wounded animal.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m okay. Come in. You said you had a breakthrough with the story? Anything concrete?”

  Simon was conflicted. He wanted to break through the pretense of only being colleagues with Ian. He cared about him, more than he could say, and Ian was clearly hurting, but he was trying to act like the boss again. Simon wondered if this was for the best, that he should try and distance himself from Ian who could clearly never feel the same way about him as he felt about Ian. But his heart felt like it was being torn apart at the thought that Ian, his Ian, was hurting for some reason. Despite his concern, Simon knew that he would only hurt himself more if he allowed Ian to see just how much he really cared. He had to stay focused on helping Zuko, anyway. That was the most important thing right now, wasn’t it? Simon wanted to reach out and help Ian walk to the couch when he saw how much he was struggling. But he went back to his safety net of reason and professionalism. At least he could rely on that, rather than getting hurt, or hurting someone else.

  “I… I went to see Zuko. You were right. They were trying to cover up the way he was being treated in the res. The things they were doing to him... “

  Simon described what had happened to Zuko, how Conrad Riley was the ringleader, and how it would look very bad for the University if it ever got out. How Zuko was paid to keep quiet.

  “I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry that he had to go through that. But we will make this right. We have to run the story as soon as we can. I’ll speak to our legal consultant about how to get around the gag order they put on Zuko. I’m sure we can still get the story out without directly saying that he was our source. There were more students involved?”

  “A group of them, yes. I got their names from Zuko. We can trace them back to the case from last year and see if there are any links. I started a quick write-up in the office right before I came over here. Just put down all of the facts so far. If we get something concrete, any shred of evidence, we can run the story immediately. The residence head dodged me when I tried to visit.”

  Ian tried to get up from the couch and winced in pain. He gave Simon a weak smile, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, “I just wanted to get some water, but I can do it later.”

  Simon was even more concerned now. Were his injuries worse than he had let on? Simon stifled his doubt, his insecurity, and before he could help himself, he blurted out, “Ian, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look like yourself. I’m worried about you.”

  Ian’s head sank then, and his weak smile faded. “I went to see the doctor again today. He says that the tear in my ligament is too severe and I won’t be able to be on the rugby team for the rest of the year.” His gaze was distant and he gave a deep sigh. “Nothing I can do about it though. I just need to keep pushing on.”

  Simon went and sat down next to Ian on the couch, feeling the closeness of Ian’s body to his, again, and remembering the night on the floor of his flat, where they shared an intimate moment. Why had Simon ruined it then? Why had he been so scared to be vulnerable in front of Ian? His stomach was aflutter and he felt his neck break out in sweat. But he was not going to get up and walk away. “Ian, what exactly happened to cause your car accident? How did you just drive off the road?”

  Ian stared at the floor, a heavy crease forming between his eyes. Simon became suddenly aware of the silence around them, and hung on Ian’s every word. “I’ve been such a coward. I’ve been trying to fight against… against myself. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been distracted, drinking too much at parties, trying to numb myself. School is almost over for me. Everyone respects me so much and thinks I live this charmed life. But I’m a coward.”

  He finally turned to look at Simon. His eyes were wet and red. They seemed to beg Simon to probe, to ask him what he meant. But fear once again overtook Simon. He felt lightheaded from being so close to Ian, but also felt like he was a thousand miles away.

  Ian started to cry then, big, heavy sobs that rocked his entire body. He covered his face with his big hands, and he said, “That day, crashing my car, I was thinking about what I really wanted, and I realized that I might never get it. I realized that I might just keep being the Ian that everyone expects me to be. That my parents expect me to be. The people at the paper. Margeaux.”

  Why did Ian have to ruin the moment by mentioning Margeaux? Simon was instantly upset, and wondered if something was happening between Ian and Margeaux. But his heart was still breaking for Ian, who sobbed on the couch next to him, and he decided to push his jealousy aside, and he moved in to hug him. He wrapped his arms around Ian’s broad shoulders, feeling the tears on his cheek. He moved his mouth to Ian’s ear, whispering to him, “I’m here for you.” And he kissed him, gently, on his cheek, tasting the salty tears Ian was crying.

  Simon savored the adrenaline rush, his head dizzy, reeling at the enormity of what he had just done, and desperately fought off his inner voice, urging him to retreat. In that moment, he didn’t care. He wanted to be close to Ian. He wanted to care for him when he was hurting the most. Ian was still crying and said to him, “That day, I just wanted to be someone else. My father had called me again, telling me how important it was that I get in for the best internships after I finish my studies, how I had a legacy to uphold. He said that when I take over his business I need to be ‘a man worthy of the Peters name.’ I didn’t want to think about that. My mind was somewhere else as I was driving. And I crashed before I knew it. I don’t even know… maybe there was a part of me that wanted to crash. To make it all different somehow. To not be this person that everyone wants me to be.”

  “You don’t have to change a thing,” Simon said to him, still hugging him tightly. “You’re perfect the way you are. You’re everything.”

  “I wish I could be more like you. Just being happy to focus on work. Not letting myself be so distracted by my feelings. But I feel like a fraud.”

  Simon paused, and found himself pulling back. Was that what Ian thought of him? That he was nothing but a robot who only cared about work? He considered taking Ian to task for it. He was hurt by the words for some reason. And a part of him was upset that Ian would say that when he was clearly trying to be closer to him. Maybe Simon had imagined it all. And he had mentioned Margeaux when he spoke about people he was trying to impress. It must have been a sign that there was more going on between them than he had let on.

  Simon, in a moment of spite and an attempt to gauge Ian’s reaction, said: “You must be happy that Margeaux is there for you, though. She seems to really be taken with you.”

  Ian stopped crying then, and a hint of confusion entered his eyes. “She hasn’t really been around much. She sent some flowers. But she says she’s working on some kind of story and doesn’t have time to visit right now.”

  Ian was more confusing than ever to Simon, but he knew, looking at the handsome, disheveled man sitting in f
ront of him, that his feelings would not go away. He knew that Ian was everything he could want. Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t he just take a chance?

  He decided to do the one thing he could manage to do easily - write. He excused himself, walked to the bathroom and took out his notepad and pen. He was determined not to give Ian the wrong impression again, not to be the cold, ambitious workaholic that Ian implied he could be. He wrote on the note: Ian, I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time. I don’t like seeing you in pain. I’m sorry I’m such a weirdo when it comes to talking about feelings. But I do care about you. I really do. And I want to be there for you. Simon.

  Simon walked out of the bathroom, taking a deep breath and feeling dizzy from emotion. He walked to Ian’s wallet which was on the kitchen counter and slipped the note inside of it. Ian would have to find it there, and no other eyes could see it by mistake. He needed to say it now before he lost his nerve.

  “I have to go, Ian,” he said when he returned to the living room. “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be okay, Simon. Don’t worry about me. I just had a moment of weakness. It’ll pass soon. You just focus on this story. Make me proud. And give me something to leave behind when I move on from the paper.”

  Simon smiled at Ian and walked out of the door. His heart was racing, and he almost didn’t notice his phone’s message tone sounding. He read it as he walked towards his car. It was Olivia: Simon, you won’t BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT. OH. EM. GEE. You, me, a bottle of champers, RIGHT NOW. xoxoxoxoxox. It had finally happened. Simon smiled with contentment, and headed home.