Chapter 10 Double-Edged Sword
Chapter ten
Double-Edged Sword
Marigold Belmore
The paper’s work hours are almost done, and I still haven’t talked to Jameson.
I had an idea about combining our perspectives in one of the articles, but doing so would require working together.
It wouldn’t be a good idea to try and discuss over email.
The work would suffer, and Charlie wouldn’t be happy about it.
I can’t let him down, not after he complimented me.
So, once most everyone has snuck past Charlie’s office to leave early, I lift my eyes from my work.
Jameson is staring at his laptop, jaw clenched as he types.
His dark hair is messy as per usual, and there’s a tiredness around his eyes that makes foolish worry prick at my heart.
Lack of sleep during the season isn’t good.
It could prove dangerous in a sport like hockey.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
“If you keep clenching your jaw like that, you’re going to break a tooth,” I blurt out.
Jameson’s gaze slowly moves from his screen to me.
“I’d fit in with most NHL players.”
I scrunch my nose at his words. He knows how I feel about players losing teeth. I told him that if he ever did, he better have them fixed right away and not leave them missing like some guys do. His mouth ticks up at the edges.
“Is there something you wanted to talk about other than my teeth, Belmore?” he asks.
I raise a brow. “I’m Belmore to you now?”
His expression softens as he replies, “No, you’ll always be Goldie to me, but I thought you might prefer the professionalism.”
My jaw tightens. I clench my hands into fists under my desk and try to breathe.
If only I could know why he says things like that without having to ask him.
The curious journalist in me wants to interview him until I understand, but I’m far too scared to do that.
He’s bound to say something I don’t want to hear.
“Now who’s in danger of breaking a tooth?” Jameson asks. I can tell he’s trying to infuse his tone with amusement, but it falls flat. There’s too much tension between us to be jovial for long.
“You were right. I do prefer professionalism.” I do my best to keep my voice level. “I was getting your attention because I think we should work more closely on this article. This kind of project won’t work over email.”
Jameson lets out a laugh that sounds more like a scoff.
“It’s almost like I tried to tell you that when this first got assigned.”
Anger flares at his reminder.
“You know why I wanted distance between us,” I say pointedly.
His soft expression from before turns to stone.
“No, I don’t, because you refuse to talk to me.”
I glance around to make sure there’s no one nearby enough to hear our conversation. Paisley left with the others a few minutes ago, and Charlie’s door is closed. There’s an editor across the room, but she has headphones on and seems to be focused on the work in front of her.
“We don’t need to talk for you to understand why I’m upset, Jameson.” I glare at him. “You’re the one who threw away a lifetime of friendship for a chance to get ahead.”
Jameson shakes his head, as if he’s denying my words.
But there’s no denying the truth. The night we don’t talk about might have poured gasoline on our friendship, but he lit the match by applying for the internship without telling me.
My every worry about us was proved right in that moment.
He was bound to hurt me once feelings were involved.
It’s good that he did it sooner rather than after we …
I push away the thought. No. I can’t think about that.
“If you’d let me explain—”
I cut him off. “There’s no explanation you can give to make me forgive you, okay?” My words are sharp as a dagger, intended to cut to the marrow. “Either you can be professional and drop it, or I’ll tell Charlie you aren’t being cooperative and I need to work on this alone.”
It’s a bluff, and Jameson knows it. He’s the favorite between us. Charlie would take his side unless I had evidence proving Jameson was sabotaging the article. But the harsh sentiment is enough to get my point across.
Jameson’s shoulders sag. My throat tightens as his eyes meet mine. His expression looks defeated. I’ve never seen him look this way. He’s always been determined, ambitious to a fault. On the ice and off it.
“What do you need from me?” he asks, his voice almost robotic from the amount of control he’s exerting.
My mind falters. I try to grasp my thoughts from earlier, but they’re flitting around my brain like ever-moving hummingbirds. I can’t catch one. I look down at my open journal, trying to focus.
“I was thinking,” I start as I skim my notes. “I thought we could—”
The words don’t come. My heart races in my chest. A sharp pain pinches my lungs. I close my eyes and feel my face heat. I open and close my mouth once, the words stuck in my throat.
“Goldie, just breathe,” Jameson coaches gently.
The kindness in his voice only makes the panic raging inside me increase.
I fist my hands in the fabric of my skirt and try to ground myself in the feeling of it.
I can’t deal with this right now. Having an anxiety attack at three in the morning on my bedroom floor is one thing, but in public?
In front of Jameson? My stomach clenches.
“Remember that time we went to the beach for spring break in fourth grade?” Jameson asks, and my brow furrows.
Why is he bringing this up?
“We both got ice cream cones, and this kid was trying to catch a football and ran into you, making you drop your ice cream in the sand. I was going to fight him, but you held me back and took what was left of your sandy ice cream and mashed it on his head.”
A laugh bursts out of me, some of my panic dissipating as I recall the look on Jameson’s face when I turned around from getting my revenge. He was shocked, but then one of his rare full grins stole across his face. I take a deep breath and imagine it’s the salty air from that day.
“The kid tried to tattle to his mom, but she saw the whole thing and told him he should have been paying more attention. Didn’t she buy you an ice cream to replace the one you lost?” he asks.
I blink my eyes open, my eyelashes wet with tears that thankfully don’t fall.
“Yeah, she got me a whole sundae. We shared it, I think,” I reply quietly.
Jameson’s smile is hesitant. There’s worry lining his eyes. I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way, especially after I snapped at him. It confuses my heart even more.
“And my mom got mad because we were too full of ice cream to want dinner later,” he finishes the story.
I draw in another shaky breath. My face is still hot with embarrassment. I was cruel to him, then had a panic attack. How utterly mortifying.
“Better?” Jameson asks in a low voice.
I nod, not able to find the right words. I want to thank him, but I also want to scream at him. My heart is in pieces, and this whole time I’ve made him out to be the one that broke it, but moments like these make me question whether I’m the one who tore it apart to save him the trouble.
“Good.” I hear him let out a deep breath of his own. “How about you email me what you were thinking and we get together another time? You’ve got my schedule, so just tell me what works best for you.”
“Okay.”
I keep my eyes trained on my desk as he packs up his things. The paper’s hours are over, and I’ve got a ton of work for other classes. I’m sure he does too, since we share most of them.
A shadow falls over me as he pauses by my desk.
“I talked to my parents earlier.” His voice is so low it’s practically a whisper. “They said they love and miss you. I know you hate me, but I just thought you should know they don’t know that. So if you ever want to talk to them, you can.”
Oh. I blink back tears. My relationship with my parents is tumultuous at best, so I’ve always leaned on Jameson’s family for support.
The past few months without their family dinners and supportive chats have been miserable.
I took a chance and texted his mom happy birthday last month.
She invited me to brunch with her book club, but I made up an excuse.
I wasn’t sure if it would be some kind of trap.
Not in a vindictive revenge sort of way, but more like a plan to get Jameson and I back on good terms. That’s the kind of family he has.
They lovingly meddle and give well-meaning advice about things like car maintenance and eating more vegetables.
The only advice my mom ever gave me was to avoid pain in relationships.
“You have to take care of yourself. You’re the only one you can trust. Men will always disappoint you in the end.”
Given that she and my dad spent the majority of my life either arguing or coexisting in habitual passive aggression, I figured she was right.
Or at least that by coming from her, I’m doomed to the same fate.
My tongue is as sharp as hers. My heart is guarded like a palace, only I’m not sure there’s anything of worth inside anymore.
“Thanks,” I whisper after too long of silence.
Jameson doesn’t say anything more. His shadow leaves, yet it feels more like the sun disappearing behind the clouds.
Cold starts to set in. I’m reminded of how alone I am.
I’ve got my roommates, but I haven’t let them in beyond telling them about the situation with Jameson.
Even then, they don’t have the whole story.
I’m afraid if they did they’d tell me I was in the wrong. Then I’d lose them, too.
I swallow down my emotions and begin to pack my things.
There’s no time for wallowing. I’ve got dreams to chase.
Maybe those dreams used to include Jameson, but just because that changed doesn’t mean I give up.
If anything, I need to push harder. Prove that I can do it without him. Just like my mom said.