doesn’t involve working off the back of better writers than you.”
I stand up, satisfied at the look of shock and rage on Brenda’s face. I turn around and walk to my desk. Jim walks by me and whispers under his breath. “That’s the way to be a journalist, Hayley. Your dad would be proud of you.”
I’m startled that he was listening and I’m left speechless as he walks the other direction.
I hoist my purse up higher on my shoulder and march to my desk.
I’m ready to write this story. Ryan and I are over. There’s no hope there anymore.
This needs to turn into something good.
Otherwise, I just lost a good man over absolutely nothing at all.
The thought just makes me write faster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RYAN
I wake up to another mercifully cloudy day. My hangover is pulsing in my head. My mouth tastes like copper.
I don’t know what day this is of drinking in a row, but I’ve barely had time to stop and get a hangover, so this is a good sign. Groaning, I toss myself out of bed and run a hot shower for myself. I stand under the water so long my fingertips turn to prunes.
As I’m toweling off, the doorbell rings.
“Just a minute!” I yell downstairs. I wrap the towel around my waist, my hair still dripping. I pad down the stairs and pull open the door without looking.
A woman stands there. She’s moderately attractive and really familiar-looking. She has sandy blonde hair and green eyes, and is tall like me.
“Hello,” she says in an English accent. “Are you Ryan Mackenzie?”
“Who’s asking?” I say to her, looking over her shoulder to make sure there’s not a cameraman hiding in the bushes.
“May I come in?”
“Would help if I knew why you wanted to,” I retort. “I don’t normally ask strangers to come sit inside my home with me.”
The woman lets out a small smile and nods lightly. She wrings her hands. I can tell she’s uncomfortable. “I just feel like it would be better if I could come inside.”
“Listen, lady, I don’t need religion or a set of encyclopedias, so if you could just cut to the chase-“
“I’m your half-sister. My name is Megan.”
My heart stops and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. When I finally do, I have words to speak. “You better come inside, then.”
I step aside and she nods her head in thanks as she crosses the threshold.
I have a sister.
And she’s here. Right now.
This day just got a lot more interesting.
“You want some tea?” I ask her as she wanders into the front, formal sitting room. I’ve never actually used this space before. I feel like a guest in my own home.
“No, thank you,” she replies, sitting on the edge of the white sofa. She looks like she doesn’t want to get too comfortable or ruin anything.
I take a seat in the navy armchair. “So…how did you find me?”
Megan opens her mouth several times before speaking. She fidgets with the edges of her grey sweater. “My dad – our dad. He died recently. He told me about you before he went.”
The words smack me like a piano falling on my head. “Scott Mackenzie told you I’m his son?”
She nods. “That’s right.” She clears her throat, obviously uneasy with my reaction so far. “I mean, he was sort of out of it in the end, so I wasn’t sure if he’d just seen your name in the paper and said you were his son. But seeing you in person…we do sort of look alike.”
I know she’s right. We have the same hair, eyes, and nose. “Did Scott Mackenzie also tell you that he abandoned me and my mother? Did he tell you that he’s as good of a father as a dumpster fire is?”
Megan flinches at my words. “I know that Dad wasn’t perfect but-“
I laugh at her. “This is a joke, isn’t it? ‘Wasn’t perfect.’ So, how did he treat you and your mom?”
Megan sighs. “He was always there for me. He told me right before he died that he’d made a lot of mistakes. Mistakes that he regretted. I’m guessing some of those probably apply to
I stand up, satisfied at the look of shock and rage on Brenda’s face. I turn around and walk to my desk. Jim walks by me and whispers under his breath. “That’s the way to be a journalist, Hayley. Your dad would be proud of you.”
I’m startled that he was listening and I’m left speechless as he walks the other direction.
I hoist my purse up higher on my shoulder and march to my desk.
I’m ready to write this story. Ryan and I are over. There’s no hope there anymore.
This needs to turn into something good.
Otherwise, I just lost a good man over absolutely nothing at all.
The thought just makes me write faster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RYAN
I wake up to another mercifully cloudy day. My hangover is pulsing in my head. My mouth tastes like copper.
I don’t know what day this is of drinking in a row, but I’ve barely had time to stop and get a hangover, so this is a good sign. Groaning, I toss myself out of bed and run a hot shower for myself. I stand under the water so long my fingertips turn to prunes.
As I’m toweling off, the doorbell rings.
“Just a minute!” I yell downstairs. I wrap the towel around my waist, my hair still dripping. I pad down the stairs and pull open the door without looking.
A woman stands there. She’s moderately attractive and really familiar-looking. She has sandy blonde hair and green eyes, and is tall like me.
“Hello,” she says in an English accent. “Are you Ryan Mackenzie?”
“Who’s asking?” I say to her, looking over her shoulder to make sure there’s not a cameraman hiding in the bushes.
“May I come in?”
“Would help if I knew why you wanted to,” I retort. “I don’t normally ask strangers to come sit inside my home with me.”
The woman lets out a small smile and nods lightly. She wrings her hands. I can tell she’s uncomfortable. “I just feel like it would be better if I could come inside.”
“Listen, lady, I don’t need religion or a set of encyclopedias, so if you could just cut to the chase-“
“I’m your half-sister. My name is Megan.”
My heart stops and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. When I finally do, I have words to speak. “You better come inside, then.”
I step aside and she nods her head in thanks as she crosses the threshold.
I have a sister.
And she’s here. Right now.
This day just got a lot more interesting.
“You want some tea?” I ask her as she wanders into the front, formal sitting room. I’ve never actually used this space before. I feel like a guest in my own home.
“No, thank you,” she replies, sitting on the edge of the white sofa. She looks like she doesn’t want to get too comfortable or ruin anything.
I take a seat in the navy armchair. “So…how did you find me?”
Megan opens her mouth several times before speaking. She fidgets with the edges of her grey sweater. “My dad – our dad. He died recently. He told me about you before he went.”
The words smack me like a piano falling on my head. “Scott Mackenzie told you I’m his son?”
She nods. “That’s right.” She clears her throat, obviously uneasy with my reaction so far. “I mean, he was sort of out of it in the end, so I wasn’t sure if he’d just seen your name in the paper and said you were his son. But seeing you in person…we do sort of look alike.”
I know she’s right. We have the same hair, eyes, and nose. “Did Scott Mackenzie also tell you that he abandoned me and my mother? Did he tell you that he’s as good of a father as a dumpster fire is?”
Megan flinches at my words. “I know that Dad wasn’t perfect but-“
I laugh at her. “This is a joke, isn’t it? ‘Wasn’t perfect.’ So, how did he treat you and your mom?”
Megan sighs. “He was always there for me. He told me right before he died that he’d made a lot of mistakes. Mistakes that he regretted. I’m guessing some of those probably apply to
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