Just This Night (10 page)

BETH

W
hat are you doing?” I cried, staring at Stephanie in disbelief.

“What am
I
doing?” she repeated, her voice thick with contempt. Her normally sparkling blue eyes had frozen to icy daggers, aimed directly at me. “I should ask you the same question. How dare you just come back here, like nothing's happened? You think I'm going to let you live in
my
house after what you did to me?”

I shrank backward, suddenly all the puzzle pieces sliding into a sick sort of place. Oh God. Richard must have told her about her demotion . . . and, worse, my promotion.

“Look, Stephanie—”

She held up a hand, cutting me off. “Don't even,” she cried, her voice cracking at the edges. “Nothing you can possibly say is going to make this any better.” Angry tears spilled down her cheeks as she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you were my friend! I let you move in with me. And yet, here you were, all along, scheming to take my job!”

“It wasn't my fault!” I protested, my own eyes blurring with tears. “I didn't ask to be moved up.”

“You didn't exactly refuse, either,” Stephanie reminded me. “You know, if I was in that situation I would have stuck up for you. Fought for you.”

I wasn't exactly sure this was true, but that fact didn't help assuage the guilt from stabbing through my stomach as I stood there now. I should have at least warned her. Or discussed it with her before giving my okay. That way I could have tried to make her understand that this wasn't my fault. That the demotion and promotion were essentially unrelated. Or, at the very least, stopped her from throwing a deranged yard sale at the expense of my belongings.

Was it too late to call Richard and tell him I'd changed my mind? But no, I remembered the news director's warning all too well. If I screwed this up, I wouldn't be going back to the morning shift. I'd be gone for good. And the position would just go to someone else. Any grand gestures I might choose to make wouldn't help Stephanie in the end. And they could destroy me.

I sighed. “I'm really sorry, Steph.”

“Please. You don't even know the word sorry,” she growled. “But you will. I am going to make sure you will.”

She ripped my purse from my arms, fishing inside until she withdrew a set of keys. After removing my house key from the chain, she sent the remaining keys, along with the bag itself, sailing through the air. It landed in the yard with the rest of my stuff.

“Consider this your eviction notice.”

And with that, she turned, storming back into the house, slamming the door behind her. A moment later I heard the deadbolt slide defiantly into place.

I sunk to the front steps covering my face with my hands, not bothering to rein in my sobs. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? I'd have to find a new apartment. Buy new furniture. How was I going to afford either? I barely made enough to cover my shared rent with Stephanie. And
with only a handshake agreement and no official lease, I had no legal grounds to even ask for my security deposit back.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up, horrified to see Mac standing over me. Oh God. He was still here? Why hadn't he driven off? Had he just witnessed this entire thing? My face burned with humiliation as he plopped down next to me on the front stoop.

“I'm fine. You can go,” I managed to say.

He raised an eyebrow. “And leave you here like this? I don't think so.”

“I'll be fine. Really.”

“Sure you will. I'm still not leaving.”

I sighed, hating the fact that this made me feel a little better. “Fine, I guess I can't force you.”

“Goddamn,” he swore, looking out over the yard. “You told me your roommate was a piece of work. But I had no idea the extent of her craftsmanship.” He turned back to me. “What the hell happened?”

“She's pissed 'cause I got a promotion,” I explained flatly. “And she was demoted.”

He scowled. “Typical fucking reporter,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he corrected quickly. “Anyway, you need to call the police. She can't just kick you out like that. Get them to come over and mediate the situation.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “I wish I could.”

“What's stopping you?”

“If I call the police, this'll end up in the newspaper. The gossip columns will have a field day. Richard will be furious—he's very protective of News 9's public image. He'd probably fire both of us.”

“But it's not your fault.”

“No. But it won't matter.'

Mac closed his eyes for a moment, frustration washing over his handsome face. “Well, then, do you want me to talk to her?”

“No!” I looked up, horrified at the idea of him getting involved. As if he was my boyfriend or something.

Okay, fine, admittedly the idea of him storming in there and defending my honor was the slightest bit appealing. But I couldn't allow for it. This was my battle. I had to fight it alone. Or, perhaps more accurately, shrink away in shame alone.

“I'm good, really,” I assured him.

He gave me a pitying look, but thankfully didn't argue. “At least let me help you gather your things.”

Oh, right. I bit my lower lip. I'd have to do that, wouldn't I? I looked around the yard, sudden exhaustion blanketing me. I'd been up since three
A.M.
, worked two shifts, and only had a short nap on the beach. My sunburn was itching like crazy and all I wanted to do was crawl into my warm bed and go into a coma for the next twelve hours.

But my bed was still inside the house. Which meant it might as well have been on Mars.

“Do you have someplace to go tonight?” Mac asked as he walked over to the truck and pulled out a couple of large garbage bags. He handed one to me.

“Of course I do,” I retorted before I could help myself. What did he think, I was some kind of social reject with only one friend?

Okay, so that was kind of true. Having worked the morning shift, I hadn't exactly gotten out much to make friends and influence people. In fact, for the last two years, I'd pretty much put my personal life on hold for my career—not to mention my long-distance boyfriend. Which was pretty pathetic, I realized, looking back on it now.

But Mac didn't need to know any of that.

I could feel his eyes on me, but I ignored them, forcing myself to rise from the steps and slowly begin to grab articles of clothing and shove them into my bag.

“Where?”

I looked up, annoyed. “Where what?”

“Where do you have to go?”

“Why do you care?”

He sighed, placing a ripped black silk dress—my favorite silk dress—into his bag.

“I just thought you might like a ride.”

“I have a car.” I motioned to my Prius, parked in the driveway. The one with the four newly shredded tires.
Thank you, Stephanie.
I had to admit, she may have been a lousy reporter, but she was an expert in enacting revenge.

“I don't think you'll be going anywhere in that,” Mac remarked causally, grabbing my Kindle Fire, which, I noted, now sported a cracked screen. Seriously, why were we even bothering to pack up this stuff at all?

I dropped my bag, giving up the game. “Fine,” I said. “You got me. I don't have a place to go. I don't have any money. I guess I don't even have a car. I'm the ultimate loser. Happy?”

“Why would that make me happy?” he asked in a quiet voice. His intense blue eyes zeroed in on me. I turned away, unable to face the concern I saw in his face.
This guy walked out on you
, I tried to remind myself.
He used you and then tossed you away much like all of this garbage.

“Look, I'll be fine, okay?” I blurted out angrily. “I'll just sleep on the beach or whatever. Figure it out in the morning.”

His mouth dipped to a frown. “You are not sleeping on the beach.”

“It's not that cold out.”

“But it is that dangerous.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I wouldn't be able to sleep myself, knowing you were out here.” He sighed. “Look, this may sound crazy, but why don't you come to my house? Just for the night.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “No. No way.”

“Why not? It's a perfectly practical solution. You need a place to stay. I have a guest bedroom.”

Guest bedroom. I scowled. Just like I had a really comfortable couch.

“Look, Beth, this isn't some sleazy proposition,” he added, catching the look on my face. “Just a nice, friendly, platonic coworker offer.” His mouth quirked and held up two fingers. “Scout's honor.”

I sighed. I wasn't sure just how much honor a guy who
had just walked off after a one-night stand without leaving his number had, but I knew beggars couldn't be choosers. I had few options at this point and the exhaustion was starting to overwhelm any decision-making capability I might have had left.

Not to mention, I really, really didn't want him to just drive off now and leave me here alone.

“Okay,” I relented. “Take me home.”

MAC

O
kay, Mac, what the hell were you thinking?

I hoisted the heavy trash bag into the back of the truck, careful to wedge it in between two others, in case there was still anything left unbroken inside. Once it was secured, I turned questioningly back to Beth. She gave me a weary looking half smile, then shook her head. That was it. All she had left in the world, packed up into one small corner of a TV news live truck.

My eyes narrowed as they shifted to the locked front door of her now former residence, anger surging through me all over again, my nails biting into my palms as I squeezed my hands into fists. It was all I could to restrain myself from charging that door, from breaking it down with my bare hands. From giving that bitch a taste of her own medicine.

Instead, I bit my lower lip, forcing my fury at bay. This wasn't my fight. She didn't want me to get involved. Not to mention, I couldn't do things like that anymore. I was a father. I had responsibilities. Getting myself arrested for some stupid knight-in-shining-armor bullshit that wouldn't even make a difference in the long run—I couldn't do that to my baby girl.

But still . . . I scowled, glancing over at Beth, my heart wrenching in my chest. She looked so lost, so goddamned sad. The invitation to stay at my place had flown from my lips before I could help it.

I groaned. Here I was supposed to be keeping her at arms' length, remaining professional and uninvolved. Instead, I'd somehow essentially invited her to a sleepover at my house. Which was pretty much as unprofessional and involved as one could possibly get.

But what choice did I have? I couldn't have just left her here, sitting on the stoop, all alone in the world. She probably would have slept in her car, as she'd threatened to do. Or worse—I shuddered—the beach itself, which was beyond crazy. I supposed I could have rented her a hotel room for the night, but she just looked so upset—I didn't have the heart to drop her off to an empty room. There'd been too many nights in my own past, recently, where I'd lain in one of those cold, hard beds, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Unable to do anything but rehash over and over again what Victoria had done to us. At least I had Ashley on those nights; I could crawl out of my nightmare and soothe myself by listening to her rhythmic breathing in the next bed. But Beth would have no such comfort.

She needed a friend. And it appeared I was the only candidate.

I slammed the truck door closed. It wasn't a big deal, I scolded myself. It was just one night. And Ashley wouldn't even be there; she was at my sister's house, thanks to my original plan to stay up all night unpacking. The house would be empty. No complications, no big deal.

At least I hoped.

Hopping into the truck, I turned the key in the ignition. Beth joined me in the passenger seat and I pulled out onto her street. The station had instructed me to keep the truck for the night and bring it home the next morning for my shift. And so I pulled out onto the freeway and headed north to the small Escondido subdivision I now called home.

The house belonged to my sister and Joe. They had
recently moved to a bigger place to accommodate their growing family, but had decided to keep it as a rental until the market went back up. It was the kind of house Victoria would have loved: a mini-McMansion with little lot line and even less personality. Sure it had all the granite and the stainless and the upgraded comforts of home, but in truth I preferred something a little more unique and rough around the edges. Yet beggars couldn't be choosers and Sadie and Joe were letting us live there for almost nothing. And so, for now, it was home sweet home.

“Here we are,” I announced as I pulled into the driveway, hitting the garage door button to open it. It was packed floor to ceiling with boxes still, as was most of the house itself. Which, I decided, was probably for the best; the way it looked now, it could be a hotel. No photos or memorabilia on display to give Beth a peek into my personal life.

We headed through the mudroom and into the house proper. Beth, playing the part of the perfect houseguest, remarked admiringly on various details: pretty granite, great fireplace, love those hardwood floors.

“Not exactly the hip, happening bachelor pad you expected?” I couldn't help but tease as I made my way to Ashley's bedroom door, shutting it discreetly. I felt a little shameful for doing it—like I was trying to hide her, or something, which I would never do. But, at the same time, it felt too soon—too personal. Beth was my coworker, not my new girlfriend, I reminded myself. And the less she knew about my personal life, the better.

She snorted. “Not a leopard-sheeted bed nor a ceiling mirror to be found. I'm truly disappointed.”

“I could put some Barry White on the stereo . . .”

“Yeah, I think I'm good.” She gave a strained laugh, plopping down on the couch. My heart squeezed again. She was putting on a brave face, I realized, but she was still hurting inside. Poor thing.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “I haven't done a big grocery shop yet, but I could whip up some mac and cheese or something.”

She looked up. “I don't want you to go to any trouble.”

“It's opening a box and boiling water. I think I can handle that. Besides, I'm starving myself.”

“Okay.” She gave me a small smile. “Then that sounds good.” I watched as she kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet onto the couch, tucking them under her. Good, she was relaxing. Making herself at home.

“Can I pour you a glass of something?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Anejo Banjo?”

“Fresh out of that,” I said, filling my voice with mock sorrow. “But I think I can rustle up a decent cab.”

She sighed dramatically, flopping down on the couch. “I suppose that will have to do.”

I laughed, reaching into the cupboard to pull out one of the bottles of local wines from nearby Temecula that my sister had given me as a housewarming present. After opening it, I split the contents between two red plastic cups, bringing one over to her.

“I know, I know,” I said as I caught her looking at the “stemware.” “I run a classy joint here.”

She looked up at me and smiled. “It's perfect,” she assured me.

I nodded, turning away quickly and taking a big slug of my wine as I went to make the mac and cheese. It was kind of perfect actually. And not just the wine either.

Which was a problem.

A potentially really big problem.