by S. L. Scott
Morning Glory
By
S.L. Scott
eBook Edition
Copyright © S.L. Scott, 2012
All Rights Reserved.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
Cover design by Jada D’Lee
Cover image by Bryan Mullennix
eBook design by AM Design Studios
Naturally, Charlie is published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop Publishing House.
To learn more about this author and her writing visit www.slscottauthor.com
A Personal Message
Mountains of Chocolate are owed to the wonderful people who helped me on the Morning Glory journey to publication. Thank you to Anne, Caryn, Flavia, Irene, Jada D’Lee, LemmieJen, Mary, Susi, Suzanne, Sydney, and Wyndy. Without your wisdom, this wouldn’t be the story I’m proud to share. To my husband, kids, family, and friends—without your encouragement, there wouldn’t be a story at all. Thank you.
Much love,
S.
Morning Glory
I always thought I’d be married by twenty-five—so much for the fairy tale ending. As I take a sip of wine, I glance at my watch for the fifth time this hour. “It’s been two days, nineteen hours, and forty-seven minutes since I last heard from Alejandro.”
“Let him go, Hayley. And it’s official. You’ve crossed the line from sad to pathetic,” Nick says, smirking.
I twist my long blonde hair up into a hair band on top of my head before stretching my legs across the couch and hogging all the space. Then I hold my glass in the air and say, “Wine me.” He does, topping my glass off with the last of the Pinot Grigio. We usually have beer while watching the college bowl games, but this year is different because of my recent breakup. I thought wine would complement my whine better. “So, I’m pathetic now?”
He smiles because he knows I like those better than his smirks. They’re softer, more personal. Holding my feet up off of the couch, he sits down then places them on his lap. “Knowing the days and hours is bad enough, but when you start tracking minutes, you’ve crossed into obsessive… or maybe depressive. I’m still undecided.”
I notice how his hair falls over his forehead when he laughs. His brown hair has grown out a little, and it reminds me of how he wore in college. But tonight is not about how good he’s looking as he lives the high life as a single man these days. Tonight is apparently about me being pathetic post break-up, so I delve into that subject again because I like to torture my self-esteem that way. “You’re undecided if I’m obsessed or depressed?” I close my eyes while I balance my glass on my stomach. It almost tips, so I hold it in place.
He rubs his hand up my leg and slides it over my hip. Then he takes my glass and his and sets them on the coffee table. “Scoot.”
I do, and he lies down next to me. Once he settles, I rearrange my body against his and rest my head in the crook of his arm.
“He’s your ex now, Hay. When will you at least admit it to yourself?”
I don’t like it when he forces an issue. “I’m not ready to admit it. He’s just…” I stop to think of what I’m trying to say. “He’s making a mistake.”
“I think you are. He wasn’t worth the six months you gave him and his cheating on you proves that point. Why would you want to waste any more time on him?”
“Nick,” I say, my tone firm. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”
“Why not?”
When I sit up, I keep my back to him and say, “Because I know how you feel about him and where you stand on the matter. We’ll end up arguing, going round in the same circles we always do, and I don’t want to do that. I’m tired.”
There’s a long silence that separates our thoughts and our bodies. He whispers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I feel his hand on the back of my neck, and he gently caresses. He’s comforting me, and it works. It always does. I can’t stay mad at him. “Half-time’s over. Lie back down with me?”
I maneuver silently back into my spot, and he drapes his arm over my waist again. We clasp hands and go back to watching two college teams that neither of us usually cheer for, but watch because it’s our tradition.
* * *
All weekend I’d dreaded Monday. Now here it is all sunshiny with birds singing outside my window, as if I hadn’t been devastated just a few nights ago. New Year’s Eve was three nights ago to be exact, when I was still one half of a couple. But I’m not one half of anything anymore. With reality sinking in, I roll out of bed, open the curtains, and start my day.
Walking into the newsroom two hours later, I greet the guard and receptionist like I do every morning and hope that neither can see behind the mask of false happiness I’m wearing. If they do, I appreciate that they don’t say anything.
I scan the board for breaking news and headlines then walk into my office and shut the door. The door is a barrier that gives me a sense of peace—usually from the realities of working at a chaotic television news station. But today, it’s protecting me. I hope my humiliation is hidden from the keen eyes of the reporters who reside on the other side.
The hours slip by as I bury myself in my duties until there’s a soft knock at my door. Nick peeks his head in before I have time to answer. He smiles, and it’s sympathetic. I’m conflicted by how I feel seeing that emotion on him.
“Hey there. How are you doing today?”
“Good.” My automatic answer. “Were you in the field this morning?”
He walks in and shuts the door behind him then takes a seat on the other side of my desk. “Yeah. Filmed two stories. You want to grab lunch?”
I glance at my monitor and the two-hundred emails I have left to handle. Marketing for the top-rated station in the city keeps me busy. “Um, I should work.”
“Are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, obviously uncomfortable.
We don’t normally dance around our feelings. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
He evades, so I insist. “Tell me.”
He stands and walks to the door. “I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to wo—”
“You open that door, and I’ll ban you from Wednesday night bar-hopping.”
“You wouldn’t.” He narrows his eyes to test me.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. I can play hardball, too. “I so would.”
“You don’t play fair, Hayley Girl.”
“And you’re keeping secrets.”
“Fine.” He holds the doorknob, ready for a quick getaway. I might need to prepare myself for what he’s about to say. “I’m thinking about asking someone out on a date.”
I’m not prepared for that. “What? When did you have time to meet someone?”
“New Year’s.”
“You met someone from the party? Before you took me home?”
“You make it sound so sordid.” He releases the knob and leans back against the door.
I sit forward, surprised by his little bombshell. “I don’t mean to. I’m just shocked, I guess. I don’t remember you even talking to anyone else at the party. You know, before we left.”
Suddenly, he’s defe
nsive, and I’m not sure why. He crosses his arms and says, “That’s because the night was about you, Hay.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that as soon as Alejandro left, it was all about you. I’m not complain—”
“It sure sounds like you are.”
“Don’t be this way. I’m just saying I was talking to someone before I had to leave.”
“Leave to babysit me, you mean?”
He opens the door. “I’m gonna go. This isn’t why I came in here.”
“Why did you then, Nick?”
“I need to go.” He walks out the door, but before he shuts it, he says, “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I just wanted to check on how you were doing.”
My stubborn side makes an appearance, and I sit upright. I grab the papers in front of me and straighten them by tapping them on my desk. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, fine,” he replies. He closes the door behind him.
I close my eyes and spin around in my chair, my back toward the door just in case he decides to come back. “Damn it!” I drop my head into my hands. The tears come easily these days, and roll down my cheeks. I think of my boyfri… my ex, and I think about Nick. He’s always here for me. Always, and yet I just treated him so poorly.
I jump from my chair and run out the door to search the newsroom for him. When I run to the back lot, I spot him. He’s packing his camera into the back of the news van.
“Nick!”
Looking over his shoulder, he sees me then turns back to the reporter, Greg Grayson, who’s standing next to him. I overhear Nick say, “I’ll be right back.”
He walks over to me. When he gets there, he doesn’t say anything, though I know he’s struggling not to.
I apologize because I can’t stay mad at him, but more importantly, I don’t want to. “I’m sorry about that. You’re right. I’ve been selfish the last few days.” I nudge him and smile. “Give me a second chance? Let me buy you lunch.”
He looks into my eyes before he responds. “I was just called out on assignment, so I can’t do lunch, but Hayley, you haven’t been selfish. You have every right to be upset over the breakup. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about asking someone out.” He looks down and pauses before looking up again. “I’m struggling with what to do here. You know I support you, but you also know how I feel about Alejandro.”
I sigh. “He treated me all right, better than you were privy to most of the time.”
“Hey, Nick. We’ve got to go,” Greg shouts.
Nick waves to him then turns back to me. “I care about you. You know that, right?”
“Yes. I care about you too.” I hug him, and it’s like being home, full of warmth and security. As soon as he lets go, I feel the cold winter air. “Be safe, all right?”
He nods and smiles all cute and mischievous as he walks away. After a quick wave, he hops in the van and it takes off.
I return to my office and attempt to work, but something inside me stirs—an unease in the pit of my stomach. My mind is restless with thoughts of Nick. He’s worked dangerous assignments before, but because of our argument this morning, I’m worried about him and what might go wrong. I walk back into the newsroom and approach the producer on-call. “Where are Nick and Greg going?”
Without looking up from the assignments desk, Rick points to the whiteboard behind him. “They’re covering a fire in the Valley.”
My heart races. “How bad?”
“Two homes, but I hear the fire trucks just arrived. I’m thinking it’s going to be four homes because of the winds, though.”
“Keep me updated, okay?”
He looks up at me with his seen-it-all-newsman expression, but he softens. “Sure, Hayley.”
“Thank you.” I walk back into my office and close the door. Then I grab my phone out of my purse and text Nick: Dinner at my place at eight. Making your favorite. Be safe and don’t be late.
He doesn’t reply. I remind myself he’s busy and the camera is heavy, so he needs both hands. Two hours later, I run a hundred excuses through my head to justify why I haven’t heard from him, but none of them soothe me.
I check the team stats every half hour. They’ve filmed two live shots, so I know he’s all right, but I’m still worried. The fire has gotten worse, and Greg is known to take risks for a scoop. Nick will follow to get the shot, but I hope he’s not led into the danger.
At three, I head into a meeting for a new account I’ve been trying to land. Their advertising dollars could boost my numbers and put me on top for the month.
It’s hard to concentrate during the meeting. I muddle through my presentation then decide to give them a tour of the studio, so we take the elevator down one level. When the doors open, everyone is scrambling, and Rick is shouting out orders.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, already running to the board behind Rick. I glance at it, but no new information is listed. “Rick?”
“Hayley.” He walks around his desk, takes hold of my arm, and tries to pull me with him. “We should talk in your office,” he says in a whisper while eyeing my clients.
I stand my ground. “Tell me now.” He stares at me for too long. Seconds feel like hours, and it makes me testy as my worry amplifies. “Is it—”
“It’s Grayson. He’s been taken to the hospital.” He sits back down. “We’ve been told it’s minor and to stay focused on our jobs.”
I want to feel sympathy for the injured reporter, but I’m still worried about my best friend. “Nick’s with him?”
“He’s fine. He drove him to the hospital.”
I nod before releasing a huge sigh of relief.
* * *
After work, I grab the ingredients to make Nick’s favorite meal and get to work boiling the lasagna noodles. I seem to hear every tick of the second hand and can’t stop myself from constantly checking my phone for any new messages. I haven’t heard from him, and that worries me. He’s safe. He’s just busy. I try to convince myself that’s all it is.
By eight o’clock, I pull the lasagna out of the oven and open a bottle of red wine. I bring my glass with me and sit at the table to wait.
8:05 – I check my watch and see it’s only been five minutes since I last checked it.
8:10 – I’ve drunk more than half of my wine.
8:15 – After filling my glass up again, my mind tests my nerves by running wild.
8:30 – What has to be my tenth text to Nick is sent. My mind wanders, and I’m really worried. It’s not like him not to respond.
8:45 – Wanting to close my mind off to the dark thoughts, I rest my head on the table.
8:55 – A knock on the door startles me.
I swing it open, and there’s Nick leaning against the doorframe all cocky smiles and dirty clothes from the events of the day. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Throwing my arms around his neck, I close my eyes, and let myself cry. Although I know I’m acting a bit over the top, I don’t care. I’m just so happy to see him.
I feel the urge to kiss him, to kiss him all over, but I suppress the feeling, assuming I’m just overemotional these days.
But I do take out my frustration by hitting his chest. “You can’t do that to me! You can’t leave me like that! You scared the life out of me.” Even though I’m furious with him, I have tears streaming down my cheeks as every overwrought emotion exposes itself.
He grabs my wrists and moves me backward as he kicks the door closed with his foot. Looking me straight in the eyes, he says, “I missed you too, Hayley Girl.”
After I wrangle free, I walk across the room, needing the distance, needing time to cool down and process the feelings I’m having right now. “It’s not about just missing you, Nick.”
“Then what’s it’s about?”
“Why didn’t you text me back, or better yet, call me?”
“I was working and then when Greg got hurt, I took him to the
hospital. They wouldn’t let me use my phone. The nurses said I could compromise the medical equipment.”
“I was worried.”
“I was, too.”
I can’t be mad. I want to be, but what he did today was for someone else. I cross the room and hug him hard.
He takes my chin between his fingers and angles my face up to him. “Don’t apologize. No need.” He hugs me this time and says, “I’m sorry I’m late. Do I still get dinner?”
Through my tears, I burst out laughing. That’s just like him. He tells me not to apologize for getting angry with him, but he apologizes to me for being late because he took someone to the hospital. I look him in the eyes and smile, loving that my best friend can bring me out of my sad moods so easily. “Of course. Hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starved, but do you mind if I take a shower?”
There’s soot on his clothes and dirt on his cheek, so I say, “You know where everything is.” He has a drawer of clothes in my dresser because he spends so much time here. Alejandro never understood the bond, the friendship I have with Nick, so he didn’t stay over here much. He preferred that I stay at his place. We only did that a couple times a week, if that, due to his crazy work schedule.
Alejandro also would have flipped if he knew that sometimes I wear Nick’s shirts to sleep in. Nick doesn’t even know I do this, but I find them comforting, like him.
Over dinner he tells me all that happened at the scene today and how Greg snuck under the police tape to get footage of a burning swing set. Nick didn’t follow with the camera but was the first one to help Greg when the winds changed causing the awning to blow down and wrap around Greg’s legs.
“His burns are mild to second degree. He’s lucky,” he says.
I rest my chin on my hands and look directly into his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you as his partner.”
“Anyone would have helped.”
“That’s not true. But what is true is that I’m lucky to have you in my life, and I’m glad you’re safe.”