CHAPTER 4 JACKSON
JACKSON
Once when Penelope was six, she decided to take a vow of silence until I bought her the Polly Pocket Groom and Glam Poodle Compact she wanted. Unfortunately for her, I’ve always enjoyed silence. She caved before I did and had to settle for a secondhand barrel of Legos instead.
I’ve been channeling that same energy since I left the YBAL News studio two days ago. I didn’t agree to a partnership with Delilah and Delilah didn’t agree to a partnership with me. Maggie has been trying to get me to commit, but I feel fundamentally unable to comment on the situation.
“Hey, buddy.” Aiden Valentine, host of the late-night romance hotline and my supposed best friend, edges his way into my office. “I brought you some cookies.”
I grunt in acknowledgment of his presence, not looking up from the weather model on my screen. I’ve been running dual projections every day with the European model and the Global Forecast System model. The differences aren’t huge, but they’re there. And one thing is glaringly obvious.
Delilah was right about the European model. It is more accurate for this type of storm prediction. I dismissed her because I thought I knew better, but—
Delilah was right.
I minimize the forecast screen. “Did Maggie send you?”
“Yep.”
“Because she wants an answer about the broadcast?”
“Correct.”
“Great.” I click around some more, trying to pretend I’m doing something productive. “I still don’t have an answer for her. You can leave now.”
“Don’t be like that.” Aiden holds out his peace offering and shakes it. “Have a cookie, at least. I brought you your favorite.”
I eye them speculatively, then turn back to my computer screen.
“One is missing,” I say woodenly.
“What?” He looks down at the box. “How do you know?”
“Because Berger Cookies don’t come with the plastic wrap torn open and you have chocolate on your chin.” Aiden immediately lifts his hand to wipe at the spot that doesn’t exist. I snicker. “Guilty, asshole.”
Aiden rolls his eyes and tosses the box of cookies at me, collapsing in the one small chair I have wedged up against the wall. When Maggie said I could have an office at the station, she neglected to tell me it used to be the cleaning supply closet.
“What’s going on with you?”
“You mean besides being guilted into accepting an absolute disaster of an assignment that sends me to the wilderness of Western Maryland three hours away from Baltimore to report on a historic snowstorm that will probably leave me stranded with a woman who thinks chocolate pudding is an acceptable dish at a potluck?”
“You and this pudding,” Aiden mutters.
“It was my favorite shirt,” I defend. “She spilled pudding all over my favorite shirt. And I lost my second-favorite shirt to the coffee incident on Tuesday. I now have a collection of shirts ruined by Delilah Stewart. How many more shirts need to sacrifice themselves before enough is enough?”
“All right, bud.” Aiden tries to hide his smile and does a poor job of it. “I get it. Anything else holding you back?”
“I have a lot on my plate right now,” I deflect, dragging the projections up on my screen again, staring at them like I can change them by sheer force of will. They’ve only solidified in the two days since our meeting at YBAL News, both of them aligning in agreement on one thing.
There is a storm coming and it’s a big one. Some of the heaviest snowfall Maryland has ever seen.
And Maggie wants me to get in a car, drive two hundred miles west, and place myself smack-dab in the middle of it . . . with Delilah.
The rest of the meeting at YBAL was an out-of-body experience. Everyone’s voices faded into low, droning womp womp womps as I stared a hole into the carpet, my hands clenched so tight against the armrests I had marks on my palms for the rest of the day.
Joint broadcasts.
Covering the storm live.
You’re going to do it together.
Together.
Together.
At the end of the meeting, I stood up and left without a word. I walked straight out the front door of the television station to my car, where I sat unmoving until it was time for my radio shift to start.
Aiden creeps forward and reaches for the box of cookies. I swat it out of his reach.
“What did Maggie say?” I ask.
“She demanded I get an answer out of you by whatever means necessary.” He nods at the box. “Cookies were the first step.”
“And the next?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet.” He kicks his long legs out. “Why haven’t you given her an answer?”
“Because I don’t want to give her an answer,” I grumble, picking at the edge of the cookie box.
“Well, you have to. You can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist.” Aiden tilts his head to the side, considering me. “You know, this is a real role-reversal situation. Usually, I’m the one being surly and difficult.”
“I preferred you when you were surly and difficult. Now you’re optimistic and irritating.”
Aiden grins. “That’s the power of love, my friend.” His head tips to the side. “And biweekly therapy sessions.”
I snort. A year ago, Aiden would have punched this version of himself in the face.
He was busy trying to pretend all his emotions were inconvenient impulses he could bury under a terrible attitude and denial.
But then a kid called into the station looking for relationship advice for her mom, and their phone call went viral.
Aiden was roped into helping Baltimore’s favorite single mom find her match.
When Lucie made her 101.6 LITE FM debut, she bowled Aiden over.
It was delightful watching him try to keep his head above water, but now that he and Lucie have been together for a while, his attitude has officially lost its shine.
Now he’s in tune with his feelings.
It’s the worst.
“Let’s talk it out, buddy.” I give him a dark look and he chuckles, sprawling himself in my spare chair like he has no intention of leaving anytime soon. “Bit by bit. What’s your biggest holdup?”
“Delilah,” I bite out immediately.
Aiden grins. “Ah, yes. The weather woman you love to hate.”
“I don’t love to hate her.” I don’t even hate her, but no one believes me when I say it.
Maybe it’s because I descend into a grunting, groaning asshole whenever her name is mentioned.
Maybe it’s because we argued about weather models for half our meeting on Tuesday.
Maybe it’s because the prospect of working with her sent me into a catatonic tailspin, and I sat silently in my car for close to three hours. “I just find her irritating.”
“Because she doesn’t like spreadsheets? Because she does things differently than you? I think she’s fun.”
“Fun,” I repeat.
Aiden nods. “She does a good job with the weather, when they actually let her report on it. The two of you are actually more alike than you think.” I take an oversized bite of cookie. “You’re both massive nerds.”
“You’ve been watching her reports?”
“Why did you say that like I’m cheating on you?”
“Because you should come to me for your weather reports. Not Delilah.” I grab up a half-crumpled piece of paper wedged under my pencil cup and thrust it at Aiden. “Look at this. I found it taped to my car window this morning. She wants me to pay for the turtle suit.”
I thought it was a parking ticket. But then I saw it was stuck to my window with a wad of chewed gum and knew immediately who it was from.
Aiden’s forehead crinkles in confusion. “The what?”
“Her turtle suit. She wants me to pay to have it dry-cleaned, even though she was the one who ruined it when she ran into me.”
Aiden looks delighted. “Is she leaving you notes on your car now?” He reaches for it. “Good for her.”
“No.” I yank the note away, thrusting it in the top drawer of my desk. “Not good for her.”
“Jackson,” he sighs. “You have got to relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You are hunched over your desk and shoveling cookies into your mouth like a troll. When I came in here, you were muttering under your breath about low-pressure systems. You are not relaxed.”
I tug off my glasses and toss them on the desk, digging my palms against my eyes until I see spots. I hear the creak of leather as Aiden shifts in his chair. The slow slide of the cookie box against the desk as he seizes my moment of weakness for his own advantage.
“Do you want me to coddle you, or be honest?”
“You’ve never coddled me a day in your life,” I grumble.
Aiden snickers. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Maggie won’t force you. It’s a good opportunity for the station, but we’ll have better. Our numbers are strong. This isn’t the same situation as last year.”
Last year, when we were so close to having to shut down completely. We’re better than we were, but not by much. I’m the one who runs the numbers. I know exactly how thin of a line it is between us staying on the air, and everyone looking for new jobs.
I feel the press of that truth like a weight in the middle of my chest. I struggle with choosing my own comfort when other people are depending on me.
If this arrangement will benefit the station, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to say no.
Which is exactly the issue I’ve been wrestling with for the past forty-eight hours.
“But if the only reason you have for not doing it is Delilah, well—are you really going to let someone who infuriates you dictate your behavior?”
I clench my jaw so tight my teeth grind together. “No.”
“You sure? Because that’s what it looks like.” He plucks another cookie from the box with a smug look on his stupid face. “It looks like you’re afraid of a five-foot-nothing woman who dresses in amphibian costumes.”
“Turtles are reptiles, you idiot.” I scrub my hand against the back of my head. “And I meant no, that’s not the only reason I have for not agreeing to Maggie’s plan.” I swallow heavily, my mouth going dry just thinking about it. “I don’t want to be on television.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because you get a little tongue-tied?”