The Breakup Mix

by Carter, TK

  She appeared in the hallway pulling her black hoodie over her head and smoothed her hair. “I’m out of product. Guess I’ll have to look like an idiot today,” she mumbled.

  “We’ll run to the store tonight. I could use a few things myself.” I grabbed my purse and coffee and waited for her to gather her backpack.

  The drive to school consisted of me clock-watching and her texting——no doubt telling all her friends how her selfish mother had time to go to the gym but not to the store to buy the seventh jar of hair putty this month. We pulled up at the edge of the high school where I’m supposed to drop her off to meet her friends so they can walk the remaining half a block together and catch up on what they missed while being separated for the evening.

  What I would have done to have instant communication with my girlfriends when I was a kid. I had a great childhood, don’t get me wrong. I had normal parents with normal careers with normal siblings and normal schedules. I had to share a house phone with everyone in the house, had time limits per phone call, and I dared not have phone calls past nine o’clock. I spent my nights working on homework, practicing my clarinet, and telling my innermost secrets to the pages of my favorite journal. Nowadays, kids have Facebook, Instagram, email, texting, Pinterest, and God knows what else I don’t even know about. But they will never know the anticipation of having a roll of film developed, never appreciate the exchange of hand-written letters from their dearest friends before first hour and the anxiety that comes from trying to read them before the teacher realizes you’re not paying attention. I was nearly busted once in English class while reading Alissa’s most recent gush about the “cutest boy ever” on the track team. I don’t even remember his name, now. I really wish we hadn’t had the “bond-burning” when we graduated and all tossed our shoeboxes full of letters from each other into the senior class bonfire. It was symbolic at the moment, but now I’d love to read those letters and remember what it was like to be just a girl in love with a boy with friends I couldn’t stand be away from.

  And they’re leaving me. Well, not all of them. Katie will still be here, but while I should be able to relate to her the most, she’s the one I feel most disconnected from. We have such similar lives that I don’t want to hear about kids, bills, repairs, and sleepovers; I live that life every day! I want to hear about Chance’s exciting news chases, Alissa’s crazy boy stories, and Dani’s easy way of making my life sound like bliss. I never have anything interesting to share——I’m sure they’re really excited to hear about fighting with a husband every day, replenishing wardrobes every three months to accommodate growth spurts, and researching the best “twenty-minute meals” to add a little spice to the redundant menu we’ve rotated weekly for years.

  On the other hand, maybe they’d like to hear what it’s like to work on your feet for eight hours a day, eat peanut butter and jelly three days a week, and bring home a weekly paycheck that never hits over $300 after taxes.

  I shook my head and realized I was pulling into the driveway at the daycare; I didn’t even remember driving across town. I reached in my purse and grabbed my phone to turn it off. Not like it really mattered as I still have a flip phone and have to click each key multiple times to type out a simple message. I don’t get half of the texts the other girls send because my phone is too old to get group texts. It just looks at me all confused.

  Dani texted me last night to tell me that Alissa and Dani were supposed to go today for the ultrasound to find out how far along Alissa is. After this appointment, they’ll finalize the timeline, and their big, fancy trip will be all set. No doubt there will be a friend meeting called that I will most likely have to miss.

  And how the hell does Brandon get to take a “lazy day” off from work and number one, not tell me in advance, and number two, get pissed at me because I interrupted his morning by asking him to take his own children to school? How does that work? I can’t just take a day off from work and stay home to read or take a nap, so how does he get to do that?

  I turned off my phone and slammed it into my purse so hard it bounced out and slid under the front seat. I glanced at my dashboard clock and shook my head. “I’ll have to get it after work.” I grabbed my coffee and headed into the daycare.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Be Without You

  Chance

  Leave it to Alissa to schedule her ultrasound on a morning when I have to be out of town chasing down the president of the United States while simultaneously trying to avoid and run into my ex-boyfriend——it changed every hour.

  By seven o’clock, I was dressed in my three-piece black pencil skirt suit checking in to get my press tag and coordinating with the road crew on the best background angle preparing to go live as long as Jack didn’t miss his cue . . . again. I only had a ninety-second spot to advertise the broadcast we’d be doing later in the day covering the president’s tour of St. Louis. It sounded lame that they even wanted me to bother with this when the real story was taking place behind the scenes, and that’s what I wanted to scoop. But I wiped off my irritation and smiled when the camera rolled.

  I dropped my mic to my waist after the camera cut off and stuffed my notebook into my briefcase. I grabbed the press schedule of the president’s visit and looked at the crew. “We’re blacked out during his breakfast meeting and—” I looked up and saw Tony standing on the sidewalk about twenty feet from me. His face was contorted in disbelief. “Tony?” He took a few steps toward me then paused before taking a few more. I looked at the crew. “I’ll meet you at the van.” Then cleared the distance between us. “I wondered if I would see you here. You’ve never been one to miss a scoop.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re here! I mean, I wondered if you’d make it up for the press dinner, but wow, you look great, Chance.”

  I smiled. “Back atcha. It’s great to see you, Tony.”

  He fidgeted and chuckled. “I . . . I honestly don’t know what to say right now. Wow, it’s great to see you.” He hugged me—oh he smelled so good. “How long are you in St. Louis?”

  I waved at the van. “I’m here until this whole thing is over. I got in last night.”

  Tony ran his fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t you call me? You should have told me you were in town.”

  I shrugged and lied. “It was late when we got into town.”

  “You’re still a terrible liar, Chance. For a journalist, that’s not a good thing.” He winked.

  I laughed. “So are you covering the whole thing?”

  “No, I’m here with the anchor.” He pointed toward the prettiest redhead I’ve ever had the pleasure of hating at first sight.

  “Wow,” I mumbled.

  “That’s Miriam O’Bannon. She took the anchor position I offered you last year.” He looked back at her then looked at me and grinned. “You can stop cutting her with your eyes anytime you’re ready.”

  I blinked and smiled at him. “She looks extremely . . . professional.” I cleared my throat. “Where did you find her, at the strip club?”

  “Nah, that girl didn’t work out—turns out she couldn’t read. It was a tough decision.”

  I smacked his arm and chuckled. “You’re a pig.”

  He shrugged. “What? I’m a man and have an appreciation for a beautiful woman.” His eyes locked on mine and reached into my throat, cutting off my oxygen.

  I looked away and tucked my hair behind my ear. I couldn’t help but stare at Miriam’s elegant figure and salon-perfect hair. Every move she made seemed perfectly choreographed by years of reform school. “Jesus, is she even human?” I muttered.

  Tony touched the small of my back and leaned toward my ear. “Now, Chance, don’t be jealous. Green never looked good on you.”

  “Bullshit, green is one of my best colors. And, I’m not jealous by any means. I’m taking great satisfaction in knowing she stays hungry eighty percent of the time to keep herself so skinny.”

  Tony laughed and pulled away. “I better g
et back over there.” He tilted his head and smiled. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Chance.”

  I smiled back. “It’s great to see you, too, Tony.”

  “Save a dance for me tonight,” he said with a wink and walked away. He has the best swagger I’ve ever seen—confident and aware that people (read: me) are watching.

  A redhead. She’s a fucking redhead. He loves red in every shade, and his bombshell Barbie anchor is a redhead. I had an overwhelming desire to drench her in the worst shade of pink I could find to drown out her inconvenient beauty. I looked at the crew standing by the van and readjusted my briefcase. I was here to do a job, and I was going to make sure that bitch didn’t get a better story. “Guys, we have work to do. Most of these guys are going to be following the president like a puppy to get the best shot of his tour, but I want to scoop the story behind his visit. I know there’s more behind this than breakfast and a ball. Let’s get busy.”

  I told the crew I’d meet back up with them at eleven and assigned each of them an area to work to see if they could drum up any local rumors that might give us a starting point. I drove three blocks and found the latest copy of the Post-Dispatch and a coffee shop. I looked at my watch and decided to sit inside and see if the locals were riled up. I grabbed my briefcase and took off my press badge—no need in advertising to the general public that I was out sniffing a story.

  I ordered my coffee and chose a table near a group of businessmen shop-talking before work. The television above me flashed to an advertisement of Tony’s station, and there was Miss Miriam staring at the camera with her perfect smile and luxurious locks spilling over her malnourished shoulders.

  “Tramp,” I whispered as I flipped open the newspaper and took a drink of my coffee. I scanned the headlines and found nothing other than the waning talent of written journalism and four typos in one article. One of the men at the table next to me cleared his throat and smiled at me when I made eye contact with him. He tipped his coffee cup at me and winked. Even in the lowlighting, the gold in his wedding ring glowed with caution. I smiled and returned my attention to the newspaper while hoping he spilled coffee on his groin and wiped it up with his eyelids.

  Another man at the table asked, “So how’s your daughter doing, Paul?”

  “Still in the hospital. They’re running more tests on her today.”

  “Any ideas? Are they leaning toward anything specific?”

  “Nah, just some virus going around school. The children’s wing is full, though, so I hope they figure it out quickly.”

  I shuffled the paper two pages back to read an article I’d skipped. Local Children Hospitalized with Respiratory Virus. The article indicated forty-two children in the St. Louis area had been admitted with severe respiratory problems and high fevers but no cause could be determined. Bingo.

  I folded the paper, stuffed it in my bag, and looked up the address for the nearest hospital. As I stood, Tony walked in the door.

  “You’re easy to tail, Miss Bradley.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I still carry mace, Tony. You must be really bored if you’re tailing your ex who is simply going for a cup of coffee to kill time.”

  “Ah, see, I call bullshit on that. You smell something, and I know it.”

  I shrugged and took a drink of my coffee. “It’s called caffeine. Where’s Barbie?” Tony smirked and rubbed the back of his neck, but I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Wait, let me guess. She’s already lining up waiting to get that perfect shot for the twelve o’clock live broadcast.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “And you’re not?”

  I huffed and started toward the door. “No, I’m certainly not going to stand around waiting to get a waving glimpse of the president.”

  “So you do smell a story.” He whispered in my ear, “So do I.”

  My heartbeat quickened with the warmth of his breath and the validation that I was onto something big. I turned toward him and grinned. “You’re off your game, old man. The big story is the president is touring the St. Louis area. Maybe you should have Barbie climb up the Arch to get the best view of his trip she can. Wouldn’t that be a great story? Then she could rappel using her long, red Rapunzel hair.”

  Tony laughed and shook his head. “You gonna tell me where you’re going, or do I get the thrill of the chase again?”

  God, he’s sexy. Visions of us making scandalous use of a cheap hotel room crossed my mind, and if there weren’t sick children counting on me to discover the cause of their illness, I would handcuff him and take him to the room myself. “I have nothing to tell you, Tony. I’m surprised you left the puppy unattended, so maybe you should go check and make sure she hasn’t chipped a nail or lost an eyelash.” I tilted my coffee cup toward him. “Cheers!” I opened the door and headed to my car. I stopped a few feet from my door and felt the rage brewing in my gut, slowly making its way up my neck to erupt on my face. The car in front of me was parked normally; the large media van behind me, however, was parked so close to my bumper it could be considered part of my license plate. I spun on my heels and started toward the coffee shop when I saw Tony leaned up against the building intently studying his fingernails. His satisfied grin and failure to make eye contact with me told the story that he’d bested me and knew it the whole time.

  “Tony, move that piece of shit before I—”

  He held his hand up. “What are you going to do, Chance, smash your beautiful little car into my hunk of shit? Come on. You’ll total your car and I’ll get another scratch.”

  “The only scratches will be my nails down your face if you don’t move that van!”

  “I much preferred your nails down my back, but I guess that goes without saying, my lady.” He bucked off the wall and sauntered over to the back of the van. “Yeah, I think I can get out of here. Maybe.”

  I stormed over to where he stood and assessed the closeness of the car behind the van. “This isn’t funny, Tony.”

  He turned. “Tell me where you’re going, or better yet, just get in, and we can go together.”

  “Not on your life,” I muttered.

  “Come on. This is my town. I can get you there faster, and I think I’ve proven that a time or two.”

  I kept the sophomoric chuckle embedded in my chest and stared at him. “Why are you such a dick?”

  He threw up his hands. “It’s a gift—genetic. Get in.”

  “No, we’ll take my car. I don’t want to drive around in a press van and advertise that the media is sniffing around.”

  He looked at the van and nodded. “Good point.”

  “And, no way are you driving my car. I’ve seen you drive and I’d rather not throw up today, thanks.” I fished my keys out of my purse and opened the car door. I tossed my bag in the back seat for good measure and sat in the driver’s seat waiting for him to back up.

  The second I had enough clearance, I threw the car in reverse, flipped my blinker on, and peeled out of the parking spot into the street. I opened my sunroof and flipped Tony off as I squealed tires heading east laughing maniacally the whole way.

  Thanks to the traffic I cut off to make my escape, I had a half-block jump on him and was gaining distance. I took turns I didn’t need to take to shake my tail and giggled through the exhilaration of being in a car chase. I felt like I was in a James Bond movie without the ridiculously expensive car.

  My cell phone illuminated with the contact, “Do Not Answer,” I’d been craving for over a year—just not under these circumstances. I tried not to sound like I was smiling when I answered. “This is Chance.”

  “Very clever, Ms. Bradley,” he purred.

  “Rule number one, Sir Tony: never trust a journalist.”

  “Rule number two, Ms. Bradley: never try to beat a pursuing journalist in his own town.”

  I glanced around to find him sitting at the red light to my right. My eyes locked on his as he gave me a finger wave. His voice purred in my ear, “You may go now, Ms. Bradley. Point—To
ny.”

  I continued through the intersection. “Well done, master navigator. The story involves sick kids and a possible cover-up.”

  “That’s a dead story, Chance. We’ve already looked into it. There’s nothing there. It’s a random strand of virus that’s mutated and has to run its course.”

  “Maybe so, but maybe it’s not.”

  “Look, don’t go Brockovich on us. I’m telling you it’s a dead end.”

  “The president has access to nearly every city in the world. Why is he in St. Louis?”

  “He needs a PR visit—baby kissing, shaking hands with the elderly and the vets, and then back to Washington with renewed hope in his constituents.”

  I thought for a moment. “Still not buying it. There’s a story around here.” Tony was quiet on the other end, so I checked my phone to see if I still had a signal. “Tony, are you there?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here, Chance. I just . . . I was . . . I really missed you, Chance.”

  My nose burned with tears forming in my eyes and my throat constricted. I whispered, “I missed you too, Tony,” and hung up before he could tell he’d gotten to me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jar of Hearts

  Alissa

  I looked at the time on my cell phone then looked at Dani for the twelfth time in six minutes. “What’s the point of having an appointment with a doctor if the appointment is give-or-take forty minutes?” When she didn’t respond, I asked, “Do you know how many germs are on that magazine you’re holding?”

  Dani flipped the page. “Do you know how many germs are on your cell phone?”

  I studied the phone and frowned. “Really?”

  She chuckled. “When was the last time you cleaned it?”

  “I never thought about it.”

  “Okay, that’s disgusting.” She showed me a picture of a woman with a buzz cut. “I think you should cut your hair like this.”