by Claire Adams
Suddenly the words welled up, and I could barely contain myself. I felt like shouting it out his office door. The thought of interrupting the newspaper with a headline of my own was tempting but terrifying.
Ford saw me shifting from foot to foot in his office door. He initialed the stack of proofs without taking his eyes off me and then dropped the papers on the intern's desk. He marched clear across the floor and swept back into his office.
This time I was ready for the tsunami. "I love you," I said.
He stopped in the doorway and held on to the frame for support. Then Ford looked around as if he'd been dazed with something heavy. When his eyes focused back on me, I said it again.
"I love you, Ford."
This time, he was at a loss for words, but there was no doubt how he took the news. Ford strode across the office and swept me up in his arms. We spun three times before he pulled me to him, and in front of the entire Mirror staff, we kissed as if the world had faded away.
The raucous cheer that met our ears was enough of a reminder.
"The walls are glass, aren't they?" Ford asked. His face was still a mix of wonder and relief. "Everyone saw everything."
"Isn't it great?" I asked. "We don't have to worry about who sees us or not."
Ford brushed his lips against mine again. "Because we're just two people in love."
"Yes," I laughed. Then I unhooked my arms from around his neck. "But you are also the person under deadline and, trust me, I know how that feels."
Ford spun away with a hundred last-minute things to do, but he stopped at the door and circled back to me. "You came all the way to my office just to tell me you love me?"
"Yes. I didn't say it this morning, and I didn't know why."
He stopped, and his face sobered. "Why didn't you?"
I reached up and brushed a hand over his cheek. The caress drew the scent of his aftershave to my senses, and I was dizzy with happiness. "I've never been in love before," I confessed.
Ford laughed and scooped me back into his arms. "Then I've never been in love before either because I've never felt like this before."
"Like what?" I asked with a challenge in my eyes.
This time, it didn't matter that the walls were glass. When our lips met it felt like time stood still. Outside, the office worked at a frantic pace, but for just a moment longer, there was only Ford and I in the world.
I thought of Lexi and her engagement ring, Jasmine and her new romance, and my father finally with his dream artist. The world slowly came back, but I welcomed each part of it. The people around us had seen it from the very beginning, and Ford and I had just caught up. It felt good to finally know what everyone had realized long before us.
"Please wait right here. Jackson didn't give you any homework, did he?" Ford asked.
"Just a few new comments, but nothing I have to do this weekend." I waved the short story pages.
Ford frowned at all the red marks. "I thought he liked it."
I smiled. "Professor Rumsfeld gives great feedback. And my story was very well received in class."
"So? Is it the one?" Ford asked.
It felt like sunlight spreading across my chest. Everything felt right. "Yes, I think it's the one."
Ford kissed me again. "I'm so proud of you, Clarity. You're going to do it, right?"
"Yes, I'm entering the contest. There's no predicting if the judges will like it but—"
"But if you win, you'll be on your way to getting published at the same time as you graduate from Landsman College." Ford grinned and squeezed both my hands. "That's a reason to celebrate if I ever heard one."
"I've heard one better," I said.
Ford pulled my hands to his lips. "Tell me again."
"I love you, and you love me. That's the only reason I want to celebrate."
An alarm clock sounded on the floor, and all the newspaper staff members jumped up from their desk. A big monitor on the far wall flickered to life, and the IT staff fluttered around getting the last-minute codes in place.
Ford looked from the newspaper floor, poised to publish, and then back to me.
"Go on; I don't mind waiting," I said.
"Put that in the top drawer of my desk. It locks, and it will still be here when we get back."
"Get back?" I asked.
"Sorry, I have to go take care of this," Ford slipped onto the floor and took care of the final details before he could publish the new online edition of The Mirror.
I took a seat at his desk and unlocked the drawer he suggested. Once my short story was inside, I sat back and took a moment to breathe. It was impossible to not want everything all at once. Then I thought about how far we'd come. From strangers at my father's party, to a student and professor, to journalists fighting against a well-funded enemy.
"What's that look?" Ford asked when he returned.
"Life just keeps getting better and better with you," I said.
Ford sat on the corner of the desk and tapped the locked drawer. "Listen, Clarity, I understand if you want to spend the weekend working on your short story. It's a huge deal. When you win the contest, you'll have the chance to find an agent or a publisher."
I shook my head. "I'm not in it for the money or the accolades," I said.
"Those things are important," Ford said.
I leaned back in his office chair and fixed him with a sharp look. "This coming from the man that is currently missing his own awards reception at Landsman College."
"It's only for being a good example. They don't expect me to actually show up to receive it," Ford joked.
I crossed my arms. "I thought we had fun the last time we were dressed up and on campus."
He smiled at the memory of me in my formal, black dress. "Well, we could go and do that, but I really had something else in mind."
"Do I have to remind you again that these walls are glass?" I joked.
Ford grinned and stood up. He held out both hands and pulled me to my feet. "Nah, I don't have to hide this from my staff because they covered for me while I went home and got everything packed."
His intern lugged two suitcases to the office door and dropped them off with a jaunty salute.
I looked from the suitcases to Ford in surprise. "What's this?"
"This," Ford said, taking my arm and gathering up the suitcases in his other hand. "Is me taking you away on a road trip."
We went out the office doors and found his car waiting at the curb.
"A road trip?" I asked with tears of joy. "I hope it has plenty of detours."
EPILOGUE
"It's okay to admit if you're lost," I said.
Ford scowled and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. I'd never seen him so tense on a road trip. He pushed the accelerator down and seemed determined to beat the clouds to the horizon.
"I'm not lost, I'm just trying to find something special," Ford said between clenched teeth.
"Hey," I joked, "I thought I was your something special."
Ford's jaw relaxed a little. "You're something else, that's for sure. I was just hoping to catch a good sunset before we have to get back to town. Hang on!" He pulled hard on the wheel, and we skidded into the gravel parking lot of a scenic overlook.
I laughed. "This is the same exact overlook you brought me to two years ago. Remember? We finally left on our first road trip, and we stopped here to enjoy the sunset."
Ford leaned back in the driver's seat and shrugged. "Really? I can't quite remember. That was two years and two dozen adventures ago."
"Come on, was the book tour really that bad?" I asked.
"Twelve cities in ten days? No." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "I loved every minute of it."
"You're just anxious to get back to The Mirror and dive back into work," I concluded. "I get it. When you find the work you love, it's hard to be away from it."
"I think people say that about people more often than work," Ford chuckled.
"So, I'm ambitious. I thought you l
oved that about me. Besides, I'm not the one under deadline at the moment. Don't you have the first fall publication due out at the end of the week?" I asked.
Ford shifted in his car seat and smiled softly at me. "That's right. It's almost Thanksgiving. It's almost exactly the day that I first met you."
I grinned. "Remember what we talked about?"
"I remember you telling me about the headline game you liked to play. How about this one: Couple Misses Stunning Sunset, Stuck in Car."
I laughed and reached for my door handle. Ford jumped out and ran around to open the car door for me. "Here's one for you: Exhausted Editor Fills Empty Spaces with Headlines."
Ford laughed and pulled me out to the scenic overlook. The sun was still warm as it nudged against the horizon. Still, there was chill sent to the air that meant autumn was on its way. It was my favorite season, especially when Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away.
"Did I tell you that my father and Polly will be home from Cuba in time for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
"I know. Your father mentioned it when I talked to him the other day." Ford popped his mouth shut and admired the sunset with a sudden keen interest.
"Oh, no, what are you and my father planning now?" I asked. "I can just imagine the headline: Men Plan Elaborate Feast, Use Every Dish in the Kitchen."
I laughed at my own joke and turned, but Ford was gone.
He was down on one knee. The sky streaked with reds and golds as he reached for my hand. "I have one last headline for you: Will you marry me?"
I dropped to my knees and kissed Ford a dozen times over before I took a breath and said, "Yes. And you can quote me on that."
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ADDICTED
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Nate
I rolled the window of my car down, letting some fresh air in. The planes above looked really big taking off and landing. You sort of forgot how freaking huge they were when they were flying above you.
My assistant told me that the flight was at eight in the morning. I'd been sitting in my car about ten minutes, watching the sun start to rise over LAX, wishing I'd got a later flight. It was six thirty in the goddamn morning; the only other time I was awake that early was when I'd been up the entire night and hadn't gotten to sleep yet.
What was I even doing here? I could have asked Dad to use his plane. I was Nate Stone; I didn't have to fly commercial.
I shut my eyes and leaned back against the driver's seat. In ten hours, I wouldn't have to think about this place for another three months. I'd be in a fucking suite with a hula dancer sucking me off. I'd be eating seafood and drinking rum. I'd be too far away for any of the assholes in LA to get to me.
I watched a plane take off and fly into the distance, until I couldn't see it anymore. In two hours, that would be me. I just had to last ’til my flight. I'd checked in online already, and I was flying first class. Just two hours, man, I said to myself. This vacation was way overdue. I knew it was over when I tried to write a song the other day and got nothing.
Nothing. Not a word. The band didn't use my songs anymore, but fuck it, I did. The touring, the booze, the girls — it had done something. It had finally caught up with me. Yeah. That was it. Because there wasn't any fucking dope and booze in Hawai’i. I’d be fine if I just got away from it.
I checked the time again. Five minutes had passed. Fuck. Could I fall asleep? Go inside? Eat? Something? Anything other than just sit here and wait?
My phone was ringing. Still ringing. I'd ignored a phone call twice already. I didn't know who the fuck was trying so hard, but I was pretty sure you were meant to stop trying when it was obvious the person you were calling didn't want to talk to you.
Fuck, what if it was important, though? What if it was my manager? Or Dad?
The ringing stopped as soon as I reached for the phone to check who I'd been blowing off. I grimaced reading the name. Not my manager Doug. Not my father. Nope. It was Kirsten. I had her name on there as Kiki because that was what I'd called her when we were together, and I'd just never gotten around to changing it to something else.
Kirsten Andrews. Sorry, Kirsten Stone: she'd kept my last name.
Hmm, I wonder what she wants, I thought cynically. We didn't have any kids together, so it wasn't that. Couldn't have been her settlement because she'd cleaned the fuck up during the divorce. I'd call five million for three years of marriage a pretty good deal. Unless the bitch wanted more, which she was not getting.
I could still hear the wedding bells. Kirsten had filed for divorce, not me. I had told myself back then that it was so many different things. She was just a bitch, she wanted my money all along, and she had met someone else. She was one of those women who used marriage to marry and then divorce even richer people. I couldn't stand thinking she thought of me as her starter husband.
There was the little thing where I was drinking till I blacked out each day, but I had been too drunk to realize that that was it. And by the time I had, and lied to her that I would stop, I had already moved on to something a little stronger.
Was there a time I ever loved her? Every time we'd had to go to court, I wasn't so sure. It had been almost five months now since the split was finalized. There was nothing I still had to say to her. There was nothing she could have said to me that I actually wanted to hear.
She'd left me a voice-mail. Delete it, the voice in my head said. Delete it because you're going to listen to it and regret it immediately. My thumb hovered over the screen as I thought about that. Yeah, Kirsten drove me crazy, and yeah, I was here at the airport because I wanted to get the fuck away from her and everything else, but since I was going anyway, what was the harm in listening to it?
I'd listen, get mad, and this time tomorrow, I'd have two naked Hawai’ian girls in my bed, drunk off my ass in the middle of fucking paradise. I'd listen, and when I got to Hawai'i, I'd throw my phone in the ocean.
Was it worth it though? What was the worst thing she could say?
I played the message. Kirsten's voice filled the car, like she was in there with me. I frowned, listening; she had the bitch meter turned on high. Her voice got really shrill when she yelled.
"Nathan," she was saying on the message. She did that when she was mad at me. Talked to me like I was her kid. "Nathan, why aren't you answering your phone? You bastard, I know you have it on you. You always do." I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. Bad idea. Should have deleted.
"Where are you? You know what? I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway. Your manager's been calling me. He wants to know where you are. You can't hide, you know that, right? You remember you signed a contract, don't you?" she was saying. No, I forgot that, Kirsten; thanks so much for reminding me that I owe my next three albums to that bloodsucking label, I thought.
"I told him I didn't know where you were. I can't believe you're throwing this all away. How long were you making your music waiting for someone to sign you?
“Whatever. The band will do just fine without you. Doug taking a chance on you was obviously a waste of his time. It's sad, really. Keep hitting that bottle, babe. Go ahead and throw that dream away. What would you be without your rich daddy anyway? Nothing. Maybe Remus can dedicate their next album to you in their Grammy speech-"
I cut the message off. There was about half a minute left, but I didn't have to listen to her anymore.
Fuck.
I could feel it. It was happening. I shut my eyes and tried to stop it. It felt like hot wate
r bubbling up from my stomach to my chest, till I felt it in my head. It felt like being in a locked room with only one way to get out.
She was right. They didn't need me. They had producers and money from a major label. They could hire anyone to write. They could hire anyone to play and just put their names on it. They could just shit out album after album and watch the money pile up. They could keep going on tour — getting high, drunk, laid. Have a great time.
I wasn’t part of Remus, not anymore. They had our sound perfected; they could swap us all out and replace us the next day, and it wouldn’t make a difference. It was generic. It was stock; it wasn’t real. Obviously, they could make money with or without me. They didn’t need me.
Fuck. I couldn't think. I felt like my skin was trying to crawl off my body. I couldn't fly like this.
Good thing I came prepared. I kept my stuff in the glove compartment. I always had a kit close. My travel kit was small compared to my other one. Just the essentials. Syringe. Belt. Dope — pharma grade, of course; I wasn't trying to kill myself. Just a little something to take the edge off. It wasn't a big deal.
I quickly looked out the window, rolling my sleeve up. I belted my arm and filled the syringe. I could almost feel it already. The anticipation before the high was almost as good as the main event.
I flexed my arm, looking for somewhere to stick it. I watched the needle puncture the skin and shot one hundred percent pure, right in my vein.
I took the belt off and leaned back in my seat, sighing. Yeah. That hit the spot. It was like that feeling when you were cold and got in a hot tub. Just like a liquid orgasm spreading all over your whole body.
Right then, I forgot everything. I wasn't at the airport. I wasn't in my car. I was in heaven. I opened my eyes, watching another plane go by. It looked so happy. Maybe if I'd gotten Kirsten on heroin, she wouldn't be such a bitch.
Time must have passed; it felt like hours, but it must have been half an hour or something. Everything moved slower when I was high. Everything was better. I had to leave, though. I had a flight to catch.