Chapter 2
LANEY
It’s always difficult interviewing athletes after a loss. To get their emotional responses, even when they would rather hide in a closet and never talk to the media again. I have those moments, and I’m not even the one putting my skills out there for people to critique.
I’m a sideline reporter under the Stockton Media Group umbrella, meaning I’m there for interviews in between periods, quarters, and halves. In a few weeks, I’m even slated to travel with the new baseball team in town, so I’ll soon add innings to my résumé.
This is my first year back in Utah, technically my second week, after getting three years of experience with an organization in Seattle.
There are benefits to both places, but I do love having the full four seasons, even if they sometimes don’t start when it’s typical.
Like it being the first of May and the snow is just now melting.
It’s also been nice to be closer to my grandparents. They were instrumental in my childhood, and it’s good that I’m near, especially now that they’re getting older.
I take the TRAX train to my apartment, west of Salt Lake City.
When I moved back, I thought about living downtown, but knew it wouldn’t be good for me in the long run.
I don’t do well in crowded spaces, and the place I’m living now definitely has more room.
Do I have to put up with a very eccentric roommate who doesn’t know how to clean up after herself?
Yes, but I’m taking it as a character-building exercise.
My phone rings, and I see Jessa Stratton on the screen. She’s been so great at helping me feel included ever since I got here.
SMG lost both of their reporters within a few weeks. One to maternity leave and the second was lured by a better offer in another city, which is why I was brought in so late in the hockey season. I’ve been pulling double duty while they wait for Elizabeth to come back.
“Hey, Jessa,” I say, smiling wide. She’s got a spunky personality, and sometimes I feel like she’s my sister, even though we haven’t known each other for very long. As an only child, I always hoped for siblings and the typical family atmosphere.
“Laney! I was going to talk to you before you left the building, but the meeting I was in went long. What are you doing tonight?”
I glance out the window of the train and try to think of anything I had planned already. Mostly, I’m hoping my leftovers from last night’s dinner aren’t gone.
“Just prepping for the game tomorrow. Did I forget something?” I ask, a pit forming in my stomach. I hate it when I forget anything, especially work things.
“Oh no, sorry. We’re trying to come up with some marketing ideas for the lacrosse club. Clark is hoping to do something fun for the fans to open the season, and I feel you’d have some good ideas we can use since you’ve been with other clubs. Would you be willing to come and brainstorm with us?”
“I’m not the best with marketing,” I say, laughing a bit. I struggle with talking myself up, so interviewing for jobs is always hit-and-miss. Planning ideas for a party are also on my not-great-at list.
“Well, I need another woman’s opinion. These boys would be fine with telling everyone it’s a potluck, and then it would be a mess.” She chuckles and I laugh. I’m still trying to remember the players for the hockey team, and I haven’t met any of the lacrosse club, but I can picture what she means.
“I’m on the train right now. But I can always get off and head back into the city.
I’m not sure how to get to your house though.
” I could probably take an Uber, but those things cost way more than my weekly allotment for transportation right now.
I have a car, but it needs some TLC and money to get it running again, which is why I rely on public transit.
“We can come get you. Send me your address, and we’ll drive over soon. I’m leaving the office in about twenty minutes and then however long it takes to get to your place.”
I nod, still unsure about the whole thing. I’ve hung out with Jessa twice at work things, but I didn’t think we were close enough to warrant doing stuff outside of that. Then again, it almost sounds more work related if it involves the sports teams we cover.
It beats sitting in the apartment most of the night, though. And if I don’t have to battle the train again, that’s even better.
I get off and walk the six blocks to my apartment, wishing I’d brought my second pair of shoes. The kitty heels I wore to work today aren’t ideal for walking this distance.
Opening the door to my apartment, I wrinkle my nose at the smell.
What is that?
I check the garbage can first and then the fridge, and while those both stink, they aren’t the dead smell I’m detecting.
Did it stink this morning? Or was I nose-blind?
The sink has only a couple of dishes since I washed them all last night. I don’t have a ton of time to check for any festering smells if I’m going to change before Jessa gets here.
Is this a more formally-attired event? Or can I get comfortable?
I’d love nothing more than to wear a pair of sweats right now, but I’ll probably opt for joggers. Maybe it will help channel the warmer temperatures, so we can have at least a week of spring before the blazing summer heat kicks in.
I change, grabbing a hair tie to pull my hair back.
Once I’ve got everything I need, I walk down the hallway, and the smell hits me in the face.
I gag, trying to decide if it’s even worth it to investigate further.
There’s not much in my stomach since I haven’t eaten for several hours, but I don’t want to be cleaning up vomit.
Am I excited to be invited out? Way more than I should be. Most of my friends from high school are married or moved away, and I’ve only been here two weeks, so this feels like progress, even if it’s just a meeting about balloons.
Standing in front of my roommate’s door, the smell is like a combination of rotten food and industrial strength cleaner, two things that should ordinarily cancel each other out.
I knock once and then again. “Chandie?” I call out.
There’s no sound from the other side of the door, so I turn the handle, pushing the door open a crack.
It’s dimly lit inside with the curtains drawn, but I scan the room for any sign of life. And then my eyes search the floor, my body freezing when I see the silhouette of what looks to be a sheet over a body.
This feels like a situation where I should slowly back away and let future-me deal with it. But let’s be honest, I’ll probably just be putting this on a mental loop for the foreseeable future.
Again the gagging sensation takes over, and I have to shut the door and run to the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and catch some water in my hands, pressing it against my face. It doesn’t erase the brain image of a body on the floor, but at least it’s pulling some of my focus to my nervous system.
Maybe I imagined something was there. It’s not like that smell can come from a mirage, though.
My shoes are on and tied within seconds. I grab everything I need for the night, still terrified of what I saw. What if Chandie is involved in a murder plot and I’m the next victim? Or the police think I’m in on it?
Easy there, Laney. No need to spiral now.
I’m outside pacing the parking lot way before Jessa should be here. Maybe I’ll use this time to look up whether what I just saw is a crime. If it is a dead body, then yeah, it’s a crime. My brain is going into overdrive, and I can only hope Jessa comes soon.
But will she think I’m crazy? I’m already questioning my sanity as it is. I don’t need to bring others into it.
“Laney,” Jessa calls out. She’s hanging out of the window of her little car and gestures to the back seat.
I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s here. Why though? I’m outside the apartment. Maybe I was worried Chandie would come home before Jessa got here?
The guy I recognize as Jessa’s boyfriend from pictures she’s shown me is in the passenger seat, so I walk to the back door and pull the handle. It reveals a man who looks like Shaquille O’Neil trying to fit into a smart car.
“The other side is open,” Jessa says, leaning over so I can see her face.
“No problem,” I say, shutting the door and walking around. My movements are robotic and slow, but I finally make it to the other door. Maybe I should just go back inside and go to bed instead of bringing others into my panic session.
But I’ll be honest, I don’t see myself sleeping in there anytime soon.
I’m a sideline reporter. I can roll with the unexpected. And I was in the school play for two years. Channeling those dusty acting skills can help me get through a few hours, right?
Once inside, Jessa turns to me and points first to the guy in the passenger seat and then the one sitting behind him. “Laney, this is my boyfriend, Clark, and his teammate, Burton.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Burton? Is that a nickname?”
At least I know my inquisitive side can take over despite how fast my brain is spinning scenarios about other things.
He scowls and shakes his head.
“I’ve never really asked,” Jessa says, staring at the large man in the back seat.
Clark lays a hand on her forearm and says, “It’s just easier to call him Burton.”
It’s a strange interaction, but maybe the guy is sensitive about his name. I’ve been mistaken for a guy named Lane more times than I can count.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, giving him a small smile. He nods, but the look on his face is pained.
“How long until we’re back at the house?” Burton asks. “My hips are dying here.”
“Turn to the side, gomer,” Jessa says, putting the vehicle in reverse and pressing on the gas.
Burton shifts so his knees are angled toward me. The guy’s feet are almost double the length of mine.