Deflected (Texas Mutiny Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  “You okay now?” she asks but doesn’t move.

  “No.”

  “You gonna let him get to you every time he talks trash?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You need to let it go.”

  I shake my head and run my hands through my hair in agitation, beanie forgotten at home. “How can you say that? He was in your face, screaming at you.”

  “I know. But he wasn’t gonna hurt me.”

  “Physically. Emotionally is another story. He has no right to say those things to you.”

  “I agree. But Rowen, he is grieving right now.”

  “That is no excuse…”

  “It’s not an excuse. But it’s a reason to give him a little bit of grace right now.” She pushes off the car and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Babe, you saw the way he used to look at Mariana. He loves her so, so much.”

  “Then he should have kept his dick in his pants,” I grumble.

  “I agree. But he didn’t, and he lost his entire family because of it.” I shake my head at the absurdity of her defending the guy who just called her a whore, but she refuses to lose eye contact with me. “Look, I’ve forgiven myself and made amends the best I can. And you know how long and hard that process was. Multiply that guilt by a million, add in some children, and you have a really, really depressed guy.” I look at the ground, not wanting to hear her justify his actions. “Think about it. If you had cheated on me—”

  My eyes snap up to hers. “Never gonna happen—”

  “—and I left, how would you feel? Your mistake wouldn’t take the pain away, right?”

  I put my hands back on my hips and blow out a breath. Fucking hell. She’s right, and I hate that. “It still doesn’t make it right…”

  “I know. But part of the reason you’re defending me is because you think he hurt me. Rowen, he didn’t.” I look at her skeptically. “No, really. He shocked me because I wasn’t expecting it. But he didn’t hurt me. I know where his anger is coming from. And I don’t want you to have problems working with him over something that doesn’t affect me at all.”

  Looking in her eyes, I try to assess if she’s telling me the truth. Her face looks relaxed. There’s a small smile on her lips. No tears in her eyes. She isn’t lying about how she feels.

  “I don’t get you sometimes.” Resting our foreheads together, I grab her around the waist and pull her to me.

  “You’re not supposed to. You’re just supposed to tell me I’m right.”

  That gets a half smile from me. “I’m not telling you you’re right about this. But I can respect that you don’t want this to be a bigger deal than it has to be.”

  “Good enough.” She kisses me softly and pulls away. “Come on. Let’s get this stuff to Quincy so we can go home and get back in our honeymoon bubble.”

  I smile and agree, because what else am I going to do? Besides, that’s where I’d wanted to be all along.

  The door clicks when it closes behind me as I walk into the newsroom. I’m immediately greeted by the sounds of the police scanners at the assignments desk, quietly squawking with whatever chatter emergency crews are talking about today.

  Rowen and I took a few extra days off work when we got back from Fiji so we could settle into our new routine as husband and wife. And settle we did. After a lot of consideration, Rowen ended up moving into my apartment with me.

  Although we liked the idea of living in the more secluded area of Rowen’s garage apartment, moving to mine won out. Not because it’s bigger and newer, but because it’s closer to my job, which means it’s less of a drive when I get off work in the middle of the night. Rowen also likes that since it’s a big complex, there are more people around at all hours. He said he’ll feel more comfortable about leaving me at home when he goes on the road.

  Not that I haven’t lived on my own for years, but he was raised to be chivalrous and protective. And boy does he take the idea of “protecting” me very, very seriously. I’m sure that would irritate a lot of women, but I find it to be amazing. He’s always talking about how we’re a team and we protect each other, so I have no complaints.

  Now that we’ve been back into our daily routine for a couple of weeks, you’d think I wouldn’t be excited about going into work again. Not today. I’ve been waiting for this particular day for weeks.

  “What’s up, Caleb?”

  He barely looks at me when I drop my bags and grab the papers out of my mailbox. “If one more person calls out today, I’m going to lose my shit.”

  Sorting through my mail, I find mostly trash. What I need are story ideas for the rest of the week. With a sigh, I toss the trash in the recycle bin. “How many are out today?”

  “Three photogs, two reporters, and one anchor. And I haven’t even called production yet. I have no idea if they’re missing people.”

  “Yikes.” I lean against the desk. “That stomach bug again?”

  “It’s never ending. Just keeps making the rounds.”

  “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  “Not just for me. Um… I have bad news.”

  My eyes widen. “No. Please don’t say it.”

  “I’m sorry Tiffany. I don’t have enough photogs to get the news covered.”

  “So you have to pull mine? From the one game we’ve been looking forward to all year?”

  Realistically, this happens all the time. If we’re short-staffed or there is an overwhelming amount of local news, the sports photographer can be shifted over to the news department for the night. Normally, I don’t complain. It’s just part of the territory. It also goes both ways. When the Super Bowl was in Houston, news photographers worked in our department for a couple of days. Today though, this is the worst possible timing.

  “I just don’t know how else to make it work.” He has the nerve to look sheepish, knowing he’s just broken my sports-loving heart.

  “But it’s the Cowboys, Caleb,” I plead. “The Cowboys never come to Houston.”

  “I know, and if there was any other way to make this work, I would do it.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I think of a plan. There’s got to be a way to shuffle things around so everyone can get what they need.

  I clear my throat. “Really, I don’t need video of the entire game. We can get that from the feeds anyway.”

  “Tiff…” Caleb knows I’m not going to let this go without a fight.

  “What I want is the last quarter and post-game interviews.”

  “Tiffany, what are you doing?”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. If I can just get him engaged, I might get what I want. “I think I know how this can work for both of us.”

  “All right, let’s hear it.” He’s still looking at his monitors. That means he already doesn’t think my idea will work. I’m going to have to work hard for this one.

  “Let me put in a call to Jason Hart’s manager. Tell him we want a post-game interview with him. It can be done in the locker room, or whatever. Doesn’t have to be a sit-down type thing. We tell them we want to ask a few questions about his foundation, Hart to Heart.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He’s not biting yet. Time to make it worth his while. “In the meantime, whichever anchor you have can start calling MD Anderson and see if they have the numbers of bone marrow matches from before Jason started the foundation until now. See if the numbers have increased.”

  He turns to look at me, eyes narrowed. “You have my attention now.”

  I smile at him. “I knew I would. Anyway, maybe the PR director at the cancer center knows a story or two about someone who waited for years to get a match but was unsuccessful until after all those bone marrow drives at the stadiums. Maybe the match was found because of that drive.”

  “I wonder if they could set it up where we could interview one of the survivors and their donor,” Caleb offers, and I know I’ve got him.

  “You read my mind. We could also share those stories with Jason and get his reaction to his found
ation’s hard work. In the meantime, I get my fourth quarter footage…”

  “And I get an anchor package since I’m short on reporters…”

  “Win-win.”

  “I’m going to need footage of the bone marrow drive when it was here. You think you can go through the archives and pull the b-roll for me?”

  I hate going through the archives. But in this case, I’ll do what it takes as long as I get the footage I want. “Absolutely. I’ll do it right now.”

  Caleb turns back to his computer screen. “Nice working with you, as always, Tiffany.”

  “Glad to be of service.” Picking up my bags and the little bit of usable mail, I head toward the stairwell. “I’m gonna be upstairs now, away from the cesspool of germs.”

  “You know you just jinxed yourself,” he calls after me.

  “Took my Airborne this morning,” I yell back with a laugh.

  Okay that’s a lie. But Caleb doesn’t need to know that. It’s too much fun getting a rise out of him. When I get to the sports office, Steve is already there.

  “What are you doing here early?” I toss my bags on my desk and plop down in my chair.

  “Wanted to make sure everything was set to go for the Cowboys game,” he grumbles.

  I don’t like his tone. “And that put you in a bad mood?”

  “No. Finding out today of all days our photog has been moved to news put me in a bad mood.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Caleb and I got it worked out.”

  His looks at me and blinks, obviously not believing me. “What does that mean?”

  I shrug. “Oh, ya know. We get fourth quarter footage and post-game interviews.”

  “How did you pull that off? Did you use your womanly charms against the defenseless Caleb?”

  “What? Defenseless Caleb? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Steve clasps his hands behind his head. “That boy has had a crush on you since the first day of your internship.”

  I roll my eyes. “He has not. Give me a little credit. I came up with a good idea on how we can work together.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m calling Jason Hart’s manager to set up a post-game interview asking about his foundation. And right now, someone downstairs is calling the cancer center to compare bone marrow numbers from before and after the drive at the stadium.”

  Steve nods his head once. “Wow. Nailed it. How come I didn’t think of that?”

  “My guess is, when you found out there was a switch-a-roo, you stomped off like a child, pouting instead of thinking it through.”

  “Ah, Tiffany, you know me well.”

  I spend several minutes booting up everything I’m going to need for the day, including digging through the archives.

  For the most part, Steve and I work in silence, which isn’t unusual. It’s like the calm before the storm of multiple games on at once. It can get loud in here during peak hours.

  But for now, the only conversation is when I call Hart’s manager, Adam, and get everything set up. He’s surprisingly pleasant about me calling last minute. But I guess Hart to Heart Foundation is important to them, since it was started when Jason’s own son was fighting leukemia.

  Going through the archives, I pull all the b-roll we’re going to need for both the news and the sports story. It’s above and beyond my job description, but everything about putting together a newscast is a team effort, so there’s no reason to complain.

  “Holy shit,” Steve says behind me.

  “What?” I’m only half listening, as I watch old video to make sure it’s what we need.

  “What do you think of New York?”

  “New York the city? Or New York the state?”

  “New York the market.”

  I freeze and look over at him. “As in the number one television market in the country?”

  He nods.

  “What about it?”

  “News One has an associate sports producer position open.”

  My eyes widen. New York City is the largest local television market in the country because it has the largest demographic. It is quite literally the top of the local news food chain and because of that, almost never has open positions. No one leaves New York unless they go to a national network or die. And even then, it’s not often. For a position to be open is huge, huge news.

  “Don’t you have family in New York?”

  Steve nods slowly. “My wife does. She’s always wanted to move closer to her family.”

  “Then I think you should go for it. You’ve gone as far as you can in this market. It would be a huge step up for you.”

  He nods thoughtfully and then quickly smiles, like the whole thing is ridiculous. “It’s just a pipe dream anyway. Everyone knows how hard it is to get in there.” He’s right. There are going to thousands of applicants. He knows it. I know it. Everyone who works in the biz knows it.

  “Yeah, but what a nice pipe dream.”

  I get back to my research but watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s downplaying his excitement, but I know he wants that job. And I want him to have it. Not just for him but for me.

  Steve is the best boss, and I won’t be happy to see him go. But if he leaves, that means his position will need to be filled. And maybe if we’re lucky, both our dreams will come true.

  Pepto. Soup. Crackers. Sprite. Deodorant…. What else?

  I can’t remember. Tiffany told me to make list this morning when I told her I was going to the store after practice. Did I listen? No. So now I’m wandering around Walmart, which I already hate, trying to remember what she told me to get.

  I look in my cart and run down my mental list again.

  Pepto. Soup. Crackers. Sprite…. Got all that.

  Turning down the aisle, I dodge a child who runs in front of my cart. That right there is why I’m okay with not having any kids right now, despite the inevitable questions from everyone asking why Tiffany and I eloped. I can’t remember everything on my shopping list. How would I be able to keep up with a kid? I love Tiffany, and when the time is right, it’ll happen. But I’m good with waiting for a while.

  Pepto. Soup. Crackers. Sprite… ooh! A three pack of my favorite deodorant is on sale! I snag that sucker and toss it in the cart. Athletes go through a shit ton of hygiene products. We have to unless we want to smell like funky BO all the time, which I don’t.

  Finally giving up, I grab my phone and dial. Tiffany picks up on the second ring and before I can even say anything, she proves why she’s my better half.

  “Maxi pads and tampons. I need maxi pads and tampons.”

  “How did you know that’s why I was calling?” I start looking up and down the aisle to see if I’m anywhere close to the lady Band-Aid section.

  “Because you didn’t write it down this morning when I told you to.”

  “I was practicing my short-term memory.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?” she jokes.

  “Not bad, actually. I found a three-pack of deodorant on sale while I was wandering around, trying to figure it out.”

  “That absolutely makes up for not writing out a list.” Her throaty laugh throws my libido in high gear again. It doesn’t matter that she’s been sick for damn near a week. I still want her with an intensity I can’t even describe. It could be because I’m still new at this whole sex thing, but it’s more likely because we have such a strong connection, not just physically. She’s my best friend. I like being with her more than anyone else in the world.

  “All right, all right. I’ll write it down next time. You can stop making fun. Now where am I going to find these things?”

  “Are you still in the deodorant aisle?”

  “Yep.”

  “Two aisles down when you head toward the exit.”

  I make my way around more children and an employee stocking the shaving cream. Because the middle of the day is a great time to stock shelves. “How are you feeling anyway?”

  “W
ell I haven’t thrown up in the last, oh, three hours. This stomach bug is brutal. No wonder so many people called out of work.”

  “And now you have your monthly friend, so that’s even better.”

  “No, I don’t,” she says with a grunt. I assume she’s shifting around on the couch, which is where I left her this morning. “I just happened to look under the cabinet today when I was praying to the porcelain god and realized I was almost out.”

  “What? You’re making me suffer this humiliation for something you don’t even need yet?”

  “First, you’d much rather me have them readily available for when I need them, than have to clean up that mess. Just trust me.”

  I grimace at the thought.

  “Second, this shows everyone around you that you’re man enough to have a good woman by your side.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll take your word on all that.”

  “Are you there yet?” she asks impatiently.

  “No. Still dodging random obstacles in my way,” I say as a third kid runs in front of me. Seriously, I play less defense on the soccer field than I do here.

  “So Steve called.”

  “Your boss, Steve?”

  “Yep.”

  “I hope he’s not giving you shit for calling out…”

  “No, no. Not at all. Adam, Jason Hart’s manager called.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in interest. “And?”

  “And they want permission to use my story from a couple weeks ago as part of their marketing for his foundation.”

  “That’s great, babe!” I congratulate. “That’s huge for your résumé.”

  “I know. I’ll have ESPN calling me before you know it.”

  I can hear the smile in her voice. Her biggest dream is to produce sports shows for that channel. Watching her make small steps the right direction is fun to see.

  “I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks. Are you there yet?”

  “Yep. I’m here, and no small children have been run over. What am I looking for?”

  “Look on your left. You see all the condoms and lube and stuff?”

  “Should I be worried that you can visualize the birth control aisle at Walmart?” I rib.

  “Shut up, Rookie. I have to hit that aisle once a month, remember? Look just to the right of those items, and you’ll see the tampons.”