Just This Night (24 page)

Until I drew out the phone and looked down at the caller ID.

It wasn't Mac. It was my sister.

I dropped the phone back into my bag, not bothering to answer. It was funny: Not a half hour ago, I'd considered forgiving her for what she'd done. Now I just wanted to throttle her all over again. Simply for not being Mac.

Give him time,
I told myself.
He told you he'd see you at work. That he'd explain everything then.

But deep down, I couldn't help but wonder. And when I did arrive at the newsroom an hour later, they told me he'd called in sick.

And at that point I couldn't help but assume the worst.

MAC

W
hat the hell are you doing here?

I stared at Victoria, watching her make herself at home in my living room. She looked so out of place here, sitting down on my simple furniture, and something inside of me fought the urge to apologize that it had come from Target rather than Pottery Barn.

But that was stupid. She had no right to judge how I furnished my place. How I lived my life. She had left us. And by doing so, she had abdicated her say in any of my affairs, never mind my choices in décor.

I sat down on the easy chair across from the couch, keeping as much distance between us as I could without seeming obvious. Even just looking at her now made the rage inside of me threaten to boil over, and it was all I could do to stay calm, to quell the scream that rose to my throat. How dare she just show up here, at the crack of dawn on a Monday morning, without even a courtesy call or text? So typical of her—she never did care about other peoples' schedules or lives. Only her own.

But I forced down the scream. And pasted a pleasant
smile on my lips. This intruder had the power to destroy my life. To turn my daughter's world upside down. I couldn't afford to piss her off.

“So . . .” I said, cocking my head as pleasantly as I could in her direction. “This is . . . unexpected.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Yeah, sorry. I know, I should have called. I was going to. After I was settled in. But the hotel room wasn't ready yet and, well, I got anxious. And I figured maybe I could catch you before you dropped Ash off at school. I had no idea you would have . . . a visitor.”

Now it was my turn to blush, even though she had no right to make these kinds of insinuations. We had broken up. We were through. I could have as many “visitors” as I wanted and she, of all people, had no right to make me feel guilty for it.

“What do you want, Vic?” I forced myself to ask, not sure I really wanted to know.

She stared down at her hands. “Jesus, this is awkward. I mean, I knew it would be. But . . .” She trailed off and then looked up, meeting my eyes with her own. “Oh, Jake. I've missed you so much.”

Nausea rolled over me. “Have you now?”

“Of course I have!” she cried, looking offended that I would even dare to second-guess such a statement. “All these months away, thinking about you and Ash. Wondering how you were. What you were doing.”

“You know, they have these great new inventions now. They're called telephones. If you want to know what someone's up to, you can use them to find out.”

She made a face. “Okay, fine. I guess I deserve that. And yeah, I know I should have called. Or emailed. Or texted. Or whatever. But truth be told, I wasn't sure you'd answer if I did.”

I sighed. “You might be right about that.”

She nodded slowly, tears welling in her big brown eyes. “And I don't blame you for that,” she said, her voice choking up. “What I did to you and our sweet baby girl. I don't deserve anything less.” She swallowed hard. “But, Jake, I'm sorry.
I'm so goddamned sorry. What I did. How I acted. The way I panicked and ran away.” She shook her head. “I'm the worst wife and mother in the world.”

I stared at her, unable to speak as the apologies spilled from her lips. All this time, all these months—
this
was what I'd been waiting for. Maybe not consciously—but deep down inside of me in the place I didn't like to look. I had wanted to see her again. For her to admit what she'd done. For her to want to be a family again. A mother to our child.

But now . . . Now that it was finally happening, I was no longer sure.

“Vic,” I tried, hating how strangled my voice sounded, “what do you want?”

She bit her lower lip in the way that always used to drive me crazy. For a moment she didn't speak, just stared down at her feet, as if they held the answers to the world. Finally, she looked back up. “I want to come home. I want to give our family another try.”

For a moment, I considered it. I truly, crazily considered what she was suggesting. What would it be like to have a family again? For Ashley to have her mother back in her life?

But in the end, I found myself shaking my head. “I'm sorry,” I said. “But that's not possible.”

“What?” It was clearly not the answer she'd been expecting. And, of course it wasn't. No one ever said no to Victoria. “Jake, I'm asking for forgiveness here.”

“And I'm fresh out. You don't deserve it after what you did to us.”

“You did things, too, you might remember,” she shot back. “In fact, you pretty much single-handedly destroyed my career. Everything I worked for my entire life.” She drew in a breath. “But I'm willing to let that go, for your daughter's sake.”

“That's really big of you. Sadly, I'm not that generous.”

Her face twisted into a scowl. “Is this about that little whore you had over this morning?”

My jaw clenched. “Do not even go there, Vic.”

She cast her gaze down, looking angry. Then she looked
back up at me. “Jake, we're a family. We have a child together! Are you seriously saying you'd choose some piece of ass over your own daughter's happiness?”

“Get out of my house.”

“Fine. But I'm not leaving without Ashley.” She rose to her feet, made a move toward the bedroom.

I leapt up, blocking her path. “You are not going in there.”

Thankfully she stopped. Sighing, she turned away from me pacing the room with uneven steps. I watched her, still standing guard at the hallway door. Not sure what I'd do if she attempted to push past me. I would never hit a woman. But I would protect my daughter by any means necessary.

Finally she turned back to me, tears slipping down her cheeks. She gave me a look that was so devastated, it broke my heart, despite my best efforts.

“You're a good father,” she said. “Ashley's lucky to have you. But she's my kid, too, Jake. You can't keep me from her.”

“Please, Vic, be reasonable,” I begged, my heart in my throat, trying to quell my rage. Yelling at her would only set her off again. “She's gone through so much already. She's finally settling in. You can't just take her, uproot her, all over again. It's not fair.”

“No, it's
you
who's not being fair. Not even attempting to fight for your family. You promised we'd be together in good times and in bad—you made a fucking vow in front of everyone we know. And now you're just ready to throw it all away? Even if it screws up your daughter for life?”

I cringed, her words more cutting than any knife. “Look, Vic—”

“Mommy?”

My eyes shot to the hallway, my heart sinking in my chest. Ashley stood there, dressed in her Sleeping Beauty nightgown, staring at Victoria with pure unadulterated joy written on her little face.

“Baby!” Victoria cried, pushing past me to run over and sweep Ashley into her arms. She twirled her around, then kissed her on both cheeks before setting her down on the ground again. “Mommy's back, baby. I've missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too, Mommy,” Ashley told her. “Daddy said you weren't coming back.”

“Well Daddy was mistaken, sweetheart,” Victoria said, after shooting me a look. “I'm back. Though I'm not sure Daddy wants me to stay.”

For a moment, Ashley stared at her. Then she slowly turned to me, focusing her eyes on me. Terrified, desperate eyes.

And at that moment, I knew I had lost.

I had lost everything.

“Please, Daddy! Don't send Mommy away. I want Mommy to stay, Daddy. Please don't make her go. I'll be a good girl, Daddy. I'll eat all my vegetables. Even the yucky ones. Just don't make her go away again.”

I could feel Victoria's stare burning a hole into me, but I refused to look in her direction. Mainly because doing so would probably make me throw up.

“Of course I won't make her go,” I managed to choke out. “She's your mother, Ashley. Of course she can stay.”

BETH

G
od, this day is never going to end.

I slumped down in my desk, scrubbing my face with my hands. I'd just gotten back from being out on assignment, working with my old morning show photog, Javier, who had agreed to pull a double when Mac called in sick to work.

But Mac isn't sick!
I wanted to scream when Ana had first informed me of the news. Instead, I'd only nodded miserably as my mind treated me to a million reasons why he might have changed his mind about coming to work—each more unpleasant than the last. It was all I could do not to jump in my car and drive back up to his house. To peek through the window and see what was going on. To barge through the front door to tell this woman to stay away from my man.

He was mine now. She'd given up her rights to him. She needed to go.

“You okay?”

I looked up to see Javier had come back by my desk. He handed me the drive with the video we shot earlier on it. I took it and gave him my best effort at a smile.

“Thanks. I'm fine. Just a little tired, I guess.”

“You're tired?” He snorted. “Try being up since three
A.M.
”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember those days, believe me.”

Javier peered at me for a moment. “You okay, kiddo? I mean, really okay?”

The concern in his eyes broke something inside of me. It was all I could do to hold back the floodgates of tears. Once upon a time, Javier knew everything about my life—after all, we'd been partners for two years and had shared a lot of really boring early morning hours together. But how could I tell him this? That I had fallen for a coworker who was essentially married and now I was upset that his wife had returned?

“Is this about
her
?” Javier asked suddenly, surprising me with the question. “Is she messing with you again?”

I looked up, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Her?”

“Stephanie,” he clarified. “Joy was telling me all about what she did to you. The blue hairspray, the fire ants.” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I never liked that girl from the start. But I had no idea she would go that far.”

“You don't know the half of it.” I stared glumly down at my desk. Awesome. So the whole station probably knew about Stephanie's sabotages. And here Richard had promised to keep the whole thing on the down low when he'd fired her. But journalists were a nosy bunch and very skilled at finding out things that were meant to stay hidden. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.

Javier cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“You ever hear of Dante Alvarez?” I asked, then told him a brief version of the story. Javier listened attentively and when I had finished he shook his head. “That's awful,” he exclaimed. “I mean, Richard must have been so pissed. You sure she destroyed the drive?”

“Mac found it sitting on a magnet. Completely blank.”

“And you can't get another interview?”

“I've tried. He won't answer his phone and now it's disconnected. I have no way of reaching him anymore.”

Javier gave me a thoughtful look. “I might be able to help you,” he said.

My head jerked up. “What?”

“It's a long shot. So don't get your hopes up too high. But my
abuela
used to go to church with Alvarez's mother back in the day. I remember last Christmas she was telling us some crazy stories about the guy—back when he first released his manifesto. She couldn't believe a sweet, Christian woman like his dear old
madre
would raise a boy who would go and say such things about his government. In any case, I don't know if they still keep in touch but . . .” He shrugged. “It couldn't hurt to ask.”

My heart started beating faster in my chest. “You'd do that?”

Javier smiled. “For my favorite ex-morning show partner?” he teased. “Anything!” Then he sobered. “But seriously. I know how hard you've worked to get here. And I know how much it means to you. I can't promise you anything—but I'll absolutely give it my best shot.”

“Thank you,” I gushed. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. And, as they say in the biz, ‘Stay tuned.'” He gave me a comical bow. “Now if you'll excuse me. I have a very nice king-size bed at home that's been calling my name for some time now.”

We exchanged good-byes and I watched him head back to the photographer's lounge, trying to quell the adrenaline that had spiked in my veins. It was a long shot, he'd said. It might not come to anything. But the fact that there was even a chance . . .

I turned back to my desk. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed my phone and sent Mac a text. Nothing crazy—just a
what's up?
kind of thing. I told myself I just wanted to tell him about the possible development with Alvarez, but I knew, in my heart I was only fooling myself. And I felt like a total loser once I hit send.

A stirring of anger wove through my gut as I stuffed my phone in my bag. I knew it wasn't his fault. I mean, not
exactly. After all, he certainly hadn't planned for his ex-wife to show up on his front doorstep the morning after we'd finally gotten together. But still! After all he'd said, after all he'd promised, and now he just goes radio silent on me? Even if Victoria was still in the house—even if they were still trying to work things through—could it have killed him to sneak into the bathroom to send a quick, reassuring text? I mean, he had to know this was driving me insane, right? He had to know that I wouldn't be okay until I heard from him.

Stop being so self-absorbed,
I scolded myself. This wasn't about me. And it wasn't even necessarily about Mac. For all I knew, Victoria wanted nothing to do with Mac—she'd just come back because she'd missed her daughter, as any mother would. How could I begrudge little Ashley the joy of waking up and seeing the woman who had given her birth? Ashley, who had been holding out hope for so long, never faltering in her belief that Mommy would someday come home. And now, she finally had. This had to be the best day ever for her.

Even if it was shaping up to be one of the worst for me.

I turned back to my computer, staring at it miserably. I tried typing a few words, then gave up. I couldn't focus on anything at the moment. Thankfully I didn't have to go live tonight. I could just tape my reporter stand-up and go home early. Go home and try not to stare at my non-ringing cell phone all night.

You should call him.

No. You need to give him space.

As my mind continued to grapple with the implications of both options (the risk of disturbing him vs. my continued efforts at sanity), my hand decided to take action, reaching into my bag and grabbing my phone again. Then, thinking better of it, I stuffed it in my desk and slammed the door shut.

I stared at the closed drawer, my heart pounding in my chest. This was getting completely ridiculous. I needed to get a grip. Or, you know, lock the drawer and swallow the key. That would work, right?

Or you could just call him . . .

I forced myself up from my seat, determined to go get a soda and remove myself from the temptation. But then, just as I was about to walk away from my desk, it erupted into song, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. It was ringing. My phone was ringing.

It's probably not him. There's no reason it's him.

I yanked the drawer open. My eyes fell on the caller ID.

It was.

I grabbed the phone, my hands shaking so violently I almost dropped it as I tried to pull it to my ear. “H-hello?”

“Hey, Beth. It's me.”

He sounded awful. Tired, drained, sad. Suddenly, all the anger I'd had for him not calling earlier evaporated, and all I wanted to do was reach out over the phone lines and give him a comforting hug. To hold him close and assure him everything would be all right. Even though I had no idea if that statement was even remotely true.

“Mac. Thank God. I was so worried. Is everything okay?”

“Not really.”

He paused and the silence stretched out between us. I gripped the phone with white-knuckled fingers, barely able to breathe as I waited for him to continue.

Don't push him, Beth. Give him time.

Finally he spoke. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier or show up to work. I thought . . . Well . . . Let's just say things are . . . complicated . . . here, to say the least.”

Bile rose to my throat and I swallowed hard, forcing it back down.
Complicated.
What did that mean? Was Victoria still there? Was he letting her stay? And if so, for how long? A quick visit with her daughter . . . or something else entirely?

“Look, can I . . . meet you somewhere?” he asked. “I need to talk to you and I don't really want to do it over the phone.”

“Sure,” I managed to choke out. “I'm about to leave in a few minutes anyway. Do you want me to come by the house?”

“No!” he cried, his voice filled with panic. Then he cleared his throat. “I mean, what if I meet you down at the beach? By the OB pier?”

Frustrated tears sprung to the corners of my eyes and I angrily wiped them away. If that didn't answer my question as to whether she was still there, nothing would.

Now the question became: why.

“Sure. That's fine, I guess. Whatever.”

There was more silence on the other end of the line. As if he wanted to say something else, but couldn't find the words. Then, “Great. I'll be there in an hour.”

I set down the phone, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. I tried to tell myself I was jumping to conclusions, but at the same time, in my heart I knew that was probably not the case. If things were fine, he would have just told me over the phone. This fact that he needed to see me in person could only mean bad news. The fact that he couldn't meet at his house, meant something even worse.

Somehow I managed to go through the motions, finishing voicing my script and taping my stand-up as if nothing were wrong. After all, the last thing I needed was to let my personal life interfere with my work.

Especially since soon it might be all I had left.