“Skyler, thank you.” We should have been finished but Carrie didn’t transition. “So there were two intruders or was it more?”
I blinked. “At this time, the police are unsure of how many entered the home.”
“You said perpetrators. Plural.”
“Carrie, what the hell?” Kristin said in our ears. “Hand it to weather.”
I nodded, holding steady. “I did, Caroline, but the truth is we just don’t know.”
“I see. Thank you for clarifying that detail for our viewers. Now let’s turn to Genevieve with what sounds like a wet week ahead. How soon are we gonna need our umbrellas?”
“We’re out,” Ty said, stepping back from his camera and dropping his arms.
I stared at the ground, feeling blindsided. “I said perpetrators. The default should have been perpetrator if we didn’t know how many. Why did I do that?”
Ty shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. That was fucking uncalled for. She didn’t need to put you on the spot. I’ve never heard her do that before.”
I hadn’t either, and I’d watched her for years. “Doesn’t matter.” I let my arm still holding the microphone drop to my side. I didn’t like the stunt Carrie had just pulled, but at the same time, the error was mine. I’d misspoken. I thought about my family watching at home, the viewers who were just getting to know me. Embarrassment bullied its way on the scene, followed by frustration, anger, and the feeling that I was just done with today. I’d been swindled, stood up, and now humiliated.
Stick a fork in me.
* * *
I didn’t go home. I should have, but I didn’t.
It was pouring. The storm came out of nowhere with big dark clouds and made itself known with ominous rumbling. I couldn’t help but feel the parallel to my own life’s trajectory. Though I was upset and worn down, I was also hungry. Luckily, I had some chips in my desk. For now, a warm cup of coffee would help wake me up, so I could come up with what the hell I was going to do now that I’d pretty much lost the heart of my story. I was dead in the water, with Carlos likely racing around town, gathering all the pieces I couldn’t seem to grab hold of. I was near tears about it.
Checked the clock. It was well after eleven, and only a skeleton crew remained in the newsroom, working in the now dimly lit office space to prep for the morning broadcast and cover whatever breaking news happened overnight. When I arrived in the break room searching for coffee, it was empty with the exception of Caroline, who’d come off the ten o’clock broadcast that night. I paused, letting that realization wash over me. Fabulous. She usually headed home after the ten wrapped, so I was surprised to run into her now, knowing better than to make small talk. She’d only say something snarky disguised as helpful about my live shot, and I didn’t have thick enough skin for it tonight.
What I needed desperately was java. Caffeine. A slap across the face to wake me up. I brought my own each morning and therefore had never had to master the station’s contraption before. I quietly bypassed Carrie, made my way to the machine, scanned the knobs and buttons, and sighed internally at how complicated the thing looked. What happened to the kind with the easy little carafe at the bottom? Why did everything have to be so hard? I held back frustrated tears and stared at the diagram on the side of the machine, attempting to mimic its instructions, pressing the required buttons, which just caused more lights to blink angrily. I opened the cabinet above, searching for an instruction manual, only to have a ton of insulated paper cups tumble out onto my head in a full-on attack. “Fuck,” I said, slamming the cabinet closed and watching it bounce a few times, cups hitting the floor all around me. I angrily picked up the cups, returned them to the cabinet, and slammed the door again. Hard.
“Something wrong?” Carrie asked from her spot at one of the round break tables. She had her laptop open and a cup of coffee because she apparently knew how to work space-age machines.
I swallowed. Regained my composure. “It’s fine. It’s been a day.”
“Oh yeah?” She was watching me, giving me her full attention. “Something happen beyond Carlos?”
“Well, the live shot thing.” She nodded and winced. That was something. “Plus, a source I thought would pan out didn’t show, and I’m dead in the water. Again.”
“About the dispute with the sheriff over the cruisers?”
I nodded. “I had a woman from Kendall’s ready to talk in depth about the feud. After Kristin gave me the go-ahead, I went to meet the woman, who must have gotten cold feet.” I still couldn’t believe I’d lost my shot at my first big story for the station. And now the coffee machine wanted to go a round with me, too, like the little bitch it was. I glared at it, sitting there smugly across the room.
Carrie took it all in. “Okay. Well, that happens. Do the cabinets really have to pay for it?”
I whirled around, my anger taking hold. “Yeah, I think they do, because you know what? It’s too much. All of it.” I kicked the bottom of the counter and instantly regretted it as pain shot through my big toe, fueling my anger. “The damn coffee machine won’t work, sources lie about what they’re offering, reporters blatantly steal, you and your condescending high horse, and stupid Kacey, and do you know what else?” I was on a roll. “The hot water in my apartment was out this morning, and I took a cold shower. It’s too much, okay?” I opened and slammed the cabinet again, even though I didn’t need anything inside. “Too, too much.”
“Wow,” I heard her say.
I stalked past Carrie on my way out of the room without coffee only to have my right foot catch the leg of one of the empty chairs, catapulting me forward. I collided headfirst with the edge of the counter on the opposite side of the room with a sickening thud. For a moment everything went black. Not good. That was before the searing pain hit. I took stock. I was flat on my ass on the floor. That much I could tell. The black I’d seen had now turned red and that was because there was apparently blood running into my eye from somewhere on my forehead in a drizzle. My stomach turned, and I pressed my hand to my head to try to stop it, which just got blood on my hand and on the sleeve of my good suit jacket. Not good, again.
“Shit. Skyler.” I was vaguely aware of Carrie kneeling in front of me, though I was too stunned by the force of the collision to process much else. She quickly scanned the room and came back with a dry rag that she pressed to a spot near my eyebrow. That hurt, and I hissed. “Just hold still. You’re going to be okay.” I could smell her perfume or lotion or something amazing. Probably expensive. Definitely memorable. Like a meadow full of flowers. I tried to imagine myself there. She bit her bottom lip as she removed the rag and surveyed the damage. “Oh yeah. You might need a stitch. You’ve got a little gash.”