Big Man’s Happily Ever After

by Wylder, Penny

  “But you like it?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I really do. But even this job, which I thought would be a dream, isn’t what I thought it was going to be. WNSV is really good at investigative journalism, even for their anchors, which is rare. But the producers won’t give me a fucking story. Everything goes to Bill. So far I’m just a pretty face.” She frames her hands around her face and smiles up at me, batting her lashes.

  “They offered you my interview.”

  She downs the rest of her wine and rolls her eyes. “Only because you insisted. Alan was over the moon when I told him that I’d talked you into doing it with Jerry.”

  I frown. “That makes me wish that I hadn’t agreed.”

  “I just need one good story. Some kind of story that will make them sit up and pay attention and know that I’m more useful as a reporter than a face on a billboard, someone that just reads headlines. An exposé or something totally groundbreaking. Something big to make them take notice.” She shakes her head. “I just haven’t been in Nashville long enough to know whether there’s someone here worth taking down.”

  “Jack Singleton.” The name is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Like a reflex. And I instantly regret it. Jack isn’t someone I should be sending people after. He’s too dangerous.

  But of course, Sadie’s eyes light up with interest. “Who’s that?”

  “No one. I was just joking. Don’t listen to me.”

  “Come on. You can tell me.”

  “Sadie.” I pull her away from me so that I can look her in the eyes. “Leave it alone. I never should have said his name in front of you. He’s a dangerous man with dangerous connections. We can find you someone else—something else—that will make your boss pay attention. Just not him.”

  “We?”

  I manage to smile. “I’ll help you find something. Those assholes don’t know what they’re missing, giving everything to Bill. I’ve watched the news, and you are far, far more watchable than that expensive haircut in a suit.”

  “You’re just saying that because you want to get in my pants.”

  “If you remember,” I say softly. “I already got in your panties tonight. I’m completely and wholly telling the truth.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s true.” Slowly, I pull her in for a kiss, because I can’t resist her and I want more of her. She tastes sweet, like wine. “Promise me, Sadie. That you won’t look into him. That you’ll forget I even said his name.”

  She smiles softly, but she looks genuine. “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leaning away from me, she grabs the small bag that she brought with her and looks through it for a moment before giving me a mischievous look. “You may not have come prepared,” she says, “but I did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She holds up a small foil packet. “I wasn’t sure what would happen, and I didn’t want to stop before, but now, let’s do this properly.”

  I’ve never cleaned up food so fast in my life, and she laughs. The sun is truly setting now, golden light catching in the glass in the pavilion and lighting her up. This is perfect, and when I pull her to me, there’s still desperate urgency, but we also want to take our time.

  But the thought of her looking into Jack Singleton still shakes me to the core. I don’t like the thought of her in danger. I especially don’t like that I’m the one who put that little seed in her head. So if I hold her a little bit too tight, and kiss her a little bit too long, hopefully she won’t think too much of it.

  Because I can’t imagine letting Sadie Crawford get hurt, and life has taught me that the harder you hold onto something, the faster it slips away.

  7

  Sadie

  “And we’re out.”

  “That was really amazing,” Alan says, coming up to me. “Really great stuff, Sadie. I hope to see more from you.”

  I smile, grateful that he thinks that and knowing that I well and truly nailed the story, just like I wanted. Though I do feel a little bit guilty. Tonight was the second part of a two day investigative report the station ran on Jack Singleton.

  I told Jon that I wouldn’t look up Singleton, but I did as soon as I got to work the next morning. When he asked me to promise him, I deliberately didn’t. I just said ‘okay,’ which is a reporter’s way of avoiding a question, because I couldn’t let it go. Not until I knew who he is and why he would be a subject worth perusing. The journalist’s curiosity in me needed to know, even if I didn’t do anything about it.

  As it turns out, Jack Singleton is a really bad guy. He has a rap sheet longer than my arm, in and out of jail regularly, ties to organized crime, and the kind of person that shouldn’t be allowed to own animals even though I found records of him buying a property with kennels attached.

  I dug deeper, and was shocked to find out the connection that maybe Jon was afraid I would discover. Singleton and Jon had been foster brothers at one point. But they were split up after an incident where the police had been called to their home after what was labelled a domestic incident. Jon went to juvie shortly after.

  But the more I learned about Jack Singleton, the more I realized that he is exactly the kind of subject that I’ve been looking for. The big story that I’ve been trying to break. He’s flown under the radar for years in spite of doing some really shady shit. And people need to know. Especially if he is planning on starting up dog fighting again.

  There isn’t any proof that I could dig up that Jon’s dogs came from Jack’s last fighting ring, but I have my suspicions.

  I went into deep investigation mode and drove by the property that is listed under his name. There was barking coming from the back of the house. And I put out feelers into the local community. It wasn’t hard to find what I was looking for once I made it clear I was looking for high-stakes betting opportunities. Even if they weren’t legal.

  Jack Singleton was planning a dog fight, and he needed to be exposed no matter what Jon said. When I brought the idea to Alan, he looked at me like I’d gone crazy.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Dead to rights.”

  He brushed a hand over his face. “This is good. I think Bill would be the best face for this. People don’t want to see a beautiful woman talking about something as disturbing as dogfighting.”

  “No,” I said. “I’ve done all the work, and I’m the only one who can get the story. I’ve already set up the groundwork, and the fight is happening too soon for Bill to make his own inroads. If someone is going to do it, it has to be me.”

  I straightened my shoulders and met his eyes, then I stood my ground. Slowly, he relented. “Fine. But it needs to be good, Sadie.”

  “It will be.”

  And it’s going exactly as I planned. Calls are coming in quickly about the story from local activists. There was a protest in front of Jack’s property by nightfall after the first part, and there was no way in hell the dogfights could continue with that kind of scrutiny on them. Not to mention that the dogfight that I got wind of was raided, thanks to my tip, and all the dogs were rescued by the county. I left Jon’s involvement with Singleton completely out of the story. That wasn’t something that anyone needed to know.

  Alan is thrilled with the entire story, and he’s urging me to find more of the same. He thinks I can find a niche at our station in exposing injustices just like the dogfighting ring. And stories that attract activist organizations give the station a huge boost. We don’t just tap into our normal viewership, but an entire group of people who care about the issues.

  It’s been a week since my date with Jon, and we’ve texted back and forth, but we’ve both been busier than we expected and haven’t been able to see each other. I wanted to see him again, but honestly I wasn’t completely sure if he was going to want to see me after I did this.

  I know that I needed to follow this story because it is going to absolutely make the difference that I want in my career. But at the same time, as I drive home, there is
some anxiety in my gut about it. Will he think that I betrayed him? Will he think it was worth it? Will he be grateful that I took the chance on the lead anyway because Jack Singleton is a bad guy that needed to be locked away, no matter who did it?

  That’s what I’m hoping for. That he will think I am strong and a badass and brave. Not a liar.

  But fuck, I’m tired. I’ll talk to him in the morning about it. This week, tracking everything down, making the connections, and finally infiltrating the dogfight to take pictures and videos has me exhausted. All I want to do is collapse into my bed and sleep for about twelve hours. Which I can do if I go to bed now.

  Now that the story is out there in the world, I feel like I’m dragging on my feet. I drop my bag on a chair in the hallway as I walk in the door. I like my little townhouse. It doesn’t feel like home yet, but I’m working on it. At the very least I’ve got all the boxes unpacked. That’s step one of moving, I’ve found. If you let boxes just sit, your mind never settles and you’re constantly on edge.

  Tea. That’s what I need. A nice mug of chamomile tea to send me off into sleepy bliss.

  The crash of breaking glass makes me drop the kettle in the sink with a clang. There’s silence after, but my heart is pounding. Is there someone in here? The pepper spray that I carry is in my bag but I left that in the foyer. I don’t grab a knife from the block next to the sink. If there’s someone in my house, it wouldn’t help. I don’t have the kind of training that I would need for that to be effective.

  I need to get to my bag.

  Pushing off my shoes as quietly as I can, I duck down and creep across the kitchen and to the hallway that leads to the door.

  When the living room comes into view, I’m relieved and terrified. There’s no one in here, but the front window of my living room is shattered, a cracked hole in the middle of it and glass all over the floor, my window seat, my couch, everything. There’s a brick on the carpet in the center of the halo of glass.

  I grab a pair of sneakers from next to the door and put them on so I can walk on the glass. Fucking hell. The brick has a piece of paper wrapped around it with a rubber band. I’m not sure whether it’s worse that someone wanted to send me a message that warranted breaking my window, or be glad that they didn’t deliver that message in person.

  Carefully, I shake the glass shards off the brick and unwrap the paper.

  Fuck.

  The handwriting is scrawled, but still legible.

  If you say my name again, or even think it, my dogs will rip you apart.

  My entire body is covered in chills. Fuck. There’s no signature, but it doesn’t need one. I know that it’s Jack Singleton. I was careful to avoid interacting with him when I was reaching out and when I went to take the pictures. But he knows my face anyway. I’m the face of the story, just like I’d wanted.

  I didn’t think that he’d go this far, not right away, at least. Guess I was wrong.

  The problem is that I don’t know anyone here in Nashville. The only people I know are colleagues from the station. And Jon. Given that this was my big break, I don’t want to look like I can’t handle a little difficulty after a big story. Plenty of reporters get death threats on a regular basis. It’s normal and almost a badge of honor for some reporters. it means you’re striking a nerve. Making waves.

  That means there’s only one person I can call. Jon. Because I don’t think I can do this alone. I’ve never gotten a death threat before, and I don’t even think I’m completely processing it right now.

  Grabbing my phone, I hit his number before I can second guess myself.

  “Hello.” His voice doesn’t sound happy.

  “Hi.”

  “Guess your promise didn’t mean very much, did it?”

  Slowly, I take a breath. “I can explain. But I…I don’t have anyone else to call.”

  “What happened?” There’s suddenly a hard edge to his voice. Something protective.

  “A brick through my window. Death threat.”

  There’s a deep sound, nearly a growl. “Stay put,” he says. “Get away from the window and lock yourself in your bedroom. I’ll be there soon. What’s your address?”

  I give it to him and he hangs up. So much for going peacefully to sleep. I’m still exhausted, but I don’t think I want tea anymore, and I don’t know how I’m even going to close my eyes. But I go into my bedroom and wait, bringing my pepper spray with me this time.

  It feels like forever, waiting in the silence. But I don’t want to turn on the TV or music or anything in case they decide that the brick wasn’t enough. I don’t even really want to move from my bed to my closet to change out of my work clothes.

  The slam of a car door makes me jump. “Sadie?”

  It’s Jon’s voice. I run downstairs and to the door and open it for him. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, drop dead gorgeous, with plywood under his arm. He comes in and sets the wood down before pulling me close to his body. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just…shaken.”

  He doesn’t kiss me, just hugs me closer for a moment. “Let’s get this cleaned up. I’ll board up the window until you can get it properly repaired.”

  “Thanks.”

  I grab a broom and start to sweep up the glass. There’s not as much as I first thought, which is nice. I run a rag across the seat, the couch, and the floor after I’m done to catch the splinters, and Jon hammers the boards to the window. The entire surface is covered when he’s finished.

  He hasn’t said much, but I can feel the tension rolling off him. It’s never felt like this with him before. When he puts the last nail in, he returns the hammer to the tool box he brought with him.

  “I want you to spend the night at my house,” he says. “But before that, we have to talk.”

  “I know.”

  He sits on the coffee table across from me. “Why did you do it?”

  “I looked him up, and you were right, he’s a really bad guy. Exactly the kind of person that needed to be taken down. Permanently. And I wanted to be the one to do it.”

  “Sadie, you promised.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Jon gives me a look that tells me to cut the bullshit. “That’s how you’re going to get around it?”

  Sighing, I drop my head into my hands. “I’m sorry. When I saw that you knew him and that he was doing all this shit, I wanted to stop him. And I knew it would help me. And, when I pitched it to my producer he tried to give it to Bill because he said no one wants to see a pretty woman talking about dog fighting. And I couldn’t let that happen again. Not after everything that I put into it. I couldn’t set the precedent that I wouldn’t be tackling tough stories. If I’d given in, my career would have stalled.”

  My words hang in the air between us.

  “I am sorry for breaking my word. I didn’t think he would do this. All the public pressure…but I don’t regret exposing him. Someone had to do it. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

  I look up at him, and Jon is staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You think that I’m upset because this hurts me?” He leans closer, pulling me to the edge of the couch so our faces are close. His hand rests on the back of my neck, mouth so near to mine it’s tempting to just kiss him. “I’m angry because you put yourself in danger and I can’t bear that. I don’t want to imagine that. Jack is dangerous, Sadie.”

  “I know,” I say, fighting off tears from exhaustion and fear and adrenaline. Closing my eyes, I steady my breath. “Thank you for coming. You don’t have to stay.”

  A humorless laugh. “If you think you’re not coming back to my house with me, you’re mistaken.”

  “But—”

  “I can be angry with you and still want you safe, Sadie. My house has a state-of-the-art security system. Not to mention a pack of dogs. They wouldn’t hurt a fly, but everyone else doesn’t need to know that. Plus they’re so loud sometimes they’re better than the damn alarm.”

  “That does sound nice. I
could really use the sleep and I just don’t think I could fall asleep here tonight,” I say.

  “Pack what you need. Please.”

  I do, taking the opportunity to change into something more comfortable. Yoga pants and a t-shirt. I get my clothes and make up for a couple of days just in case, and within ten minutes I’m ready to go. Jon doesn’t say anything as he takes my bag, just waits for me to lock up and then takes my hand on the way to the truck.

  Once we’re inside the truck, he takes my hand again, which I think is a good sign, though there’s still panic in my chest. We’re quiet on the way.

  What do I even do about the death threat? Do I call the police, even though that might make the whole situation escalate? Do I pretend like it never happened, even though he knows where I live? Now that things at the house are taken care of, I need to let the studio know.

  I tap out a quick email to Alan letting him know what happened, and that I’m staying the night with a friend as a precaution. Then I turn off my phone. I don’t want to talk to anyone else tonight.

  Jon’s house is on the outskirts of town, and it’s gorgeous. It’s on a huge parcel of land, and from what I can see, it’s the kind of house that looks small from the front, but there’s actually a hill and it extends all the way down in the back. You can hear a river rushing not too far off, and I’m sure in the morning the view will be gorgeous.

  Inside, I’m nearly bowled over by a pack of dogs. Seven wiggling, barking, bundles of joy that are just full of tails wagging and big, slobbery smiles. If anything is going to make me feel better after all that happened tonight, it is this.

  “Wow,” I say, collapsing on one of the nearby couches as they follow me. “They’re amazing.”

  “We have Severus, Pluto, Georgie, Mason, Luna, June, and Laini.”

  “Which one is which?” I ask, as a smaller, white dog leaps into my lap, tail wagging. He immediately makes himself comfortable and settles down.