“He’s good,” she smiles. “He’s slept through this whole situation,” she holds her hands out in front of her.
“What’s going on here?”
She sighs heavily. “I’m supposed to be at my shift at the hospital right now, but I got stuck. As you can see. I called his dad to see if he could come help us,” she seems to be fighting tears. “He said he’d be here and that was three hours ago, and I’ve just gotten stuck worse.”
“Claud, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she sniffs. “It is what it is.”
“Let’s see if we can get you out.”
I walk around the car, trying to figure out what the best way is to get her out of the embankment she’s gotten herself stuck in.
“What do you want me to do?” She asks.
“Get back in the car, I’m gonna push,” I press on the bumper. “Roll down your window so you can hear me.”
“Thank you so much, Declan,” she says before getting into the driver’s seat.
“Not a problem, and don’t thank me until I get you outta here.”
I rock the car back and forth, trying to get it out of the hole she’s dug herself into my continuing to spin the wheels.
“Turn it to the left and give it some gas,” I instruct.
She does as I’ve told her to and I take a little bit of a running start to get some force behind my push. It starts to move. My footing begins to slip but I continue pushing. “Gas, gas, gas…don’t be scared.”
Claudia continues.
“No crank it to the right slightly. Okay, back to the left and gas, gas, gas.”
“Yay!” She claps as she gets back onto the road. The brine and sand allowing her tires to grip the surface, although it’s slick.
Since it’s just the two of us on the road, she gets out, coming around. “Thank you so much.”
“Are you still going to work?”
“Yeah,” her eyes don’t meet mine. “I can’t afford to lose the hours. Even though I’m late, I’ll still be able to get paid for something.”
“Do you feel comfortable driving yourself?” I eye the ice and snow-covered asphalt.
“We’ll just take it slow,” she shrugs.
Mind made up, I grab her hand, ignoring how good it feels. Walking her over to the passenger side, I open the door. “Get in, I’ll take him wherever it was you were taking him, and then we’ll swing you by work. Just let me know what time you get off and I’ll make sure to be there.”
“No,” she protests. “We’re not your responsibility.”
“Maybe not, but I think we both know Riley would have my ass if she knew I left you alone in this vulnerable situation.”
She makes a noise in the back of your throat. “She would definitely have a few choice words to say.”
Raising an eyebrow, I look at her. “A few?”
“Alright Declan, we appreciate it.”
After getting into the driver’s seat, I buckle in and then ease onto the street, aware of the precious cargo I’m transporting.
* * *
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Shadows - Chapter One
Isabella
“You want me to what?” The words stumble out of my mouth and I raise my eyebrow, hoping to convey just how much I’m confused at the words he said.
He takes off his glasses, rubbing his eyes vigorously with the tips of his fingers.
I let him sit with what I’ve asked, not wanting to frustrate him any more than I already have. Hopefully giving him a few moments without my voice will lead him to re-think what he’s requesting of me.
“Isabella, you have to prove how much you want this.”
My stomach drops as I hear what he says. He hasn’t reconsidered, he’s doubling down. “What does me interviewing Fury Sampson have to do with any of this?”
“Fury isn’t even his name, Isabella.” He’s looking at me over the frame of his glasses, now. His brown eyes staring into my soul.
They look as worn out as I am. I’ve given everything to this paper the entire four years I’ve been at this school. This right here? It feels like a huge betrayal. Like everything I’ve held close to me, all the pieces of my soul that were wrapped in this have been completely shattered. Scattered against the ground like glass shards.
“What is his name, then Pete?” I speak to him in the same tone he spoke to me in.
He sighs deeply, looking at me pointedly. “You’re lucky we were friends before I became your professor. No one else would put up with this attitude.”
“It isn’t an attitude. I’m asking you a legit question. What’s his real name?”
“That’s one of the things you’ll learn in the interview,” he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “You’ve coasted through the past three years here, it’s time for you to show me what you’re made of.”
Tilting my head to the side, I shoot him a death glare. I haven’t coasted in any type of way. I’ve paid my dues, done everything each editor of this paper before me has done. “So you’re threatening me with my degree? Need I remind you of all the accomplishments we’ve received while I’ve been editor-in-chief?”
“Let’s be honest with one another. Most of those accomplishments had groundwork lain before you showed up. You and I both know, all you had to do was keep status quo. You brought nothing new to the table. What I’m telling you, is that if you want to graduate with your Bachelor’s in Communications, you need to prove to me you can do the hard work. Even if this particular story isn’t considered hard work for you.”
“It’s not considered a sport to me,” I argue. “And that’s not what I’m going into Journalism for, Pete. I don’t have this great dream to write about the next MMA star.”
“Who’s to say you’ll be able to get the job you want? When you’re out there in the big, bad world, things aren’t always what they seem. What if the only job available is at the local newspaper for the sports section? Will you tell them no? How will you live, and all of us in this business know that word gets around. If you give up more than one job, you won’t get offers anymore. You know it’s true.”
A part of me wants to say I would tell them no. I would keep my pride and refuse to do things that compromise my belief system. There’s a stubbornness in my mind that wants to argue I’d be the exception, rather than the rule. At the same time, I know I have to eat, and my parents will expect me to pay my own bills once I graduate. They’ve floated me while I’ve been here, and they’ve been more than clear that once I have that piece of paper in my hand, it’s all on me. What he’s saying does make sense, even though I hate to admit it. “Are you setting up the interview for me?”
He chuckles before taking a drink of his water. “Negative. You’re going to do this all on your own. From contacting him, to securing the interview. I’m wishing you luck though, because in the seven years I’ve known him, he’s never given an interview. He’d prefer to not speak, rather than. It’s going to take a miracle to get him to talk to you in the first place.”