step back in unspoken invite.
The pizza guy shows up right behind him. I pay for the pizza, close the door, and fetch Reed from the living room.
"Come eat with me."
He glances at the sweeping grand staircase leading up to our rooms. "Is anyone home? Your parents?" Kellan hangs in the air, unsaid.
"Kellan. My parents are in Atlanta for the weekend."
"Were you going to share this – " He nods at the pizza and the stairs.
I consider. What do I say? "If he gets hungry, he can order food."
* * *
We sit together at the breakfast bar. I offer Reed a beer, hoping he won't accept. I'd feel the need to explain its absence to Bruce, since I'm not only underage but don't really drink, and since he's trusting Kellan by keeping his own beer in his own home. Reed asks for a soda.
"If you're no longer operations manager," I start.
Reed nods. "I'm no longer with the station. But I'm not dead. Zach let me know."
An irrational little thrill of anger. "Are you keeping tabs on me?"
Reed doesn't react except to narrow those piercing blue eyes, just a little. "Of course I am. You're new to the station and the job. I spent a lot of time getting that station to where it is. I'm not just going to dump it."
"You dumped it on me," I flare.
"Still a spitfire, I see. So when you realized there was someone in the station with you in the middle of the night, did you chase them?" He looks half amused, half worried.
"No," I snap. Then, "The desk got in my way."
There's a beat of silence, then we both break out laughing. I choke on the pizza and Reed pats me on the back. When I can breathe again, he says, "Tell me everything."
"I thought Zack already had."
"He did. A good reporter gets all the stories. Tell me everything."
So I do. When I'm done he tells me about other incidents, from broken windows and graffiti, which seem random, to vandalism when someone didn't like a story about racism and another about campus sexual assaults. There have been random break-ins over the years, equipment stolen and once trashed. Though I don't know if it's his point, when he finishes I feel better about everything.
"Be careful, Willow, OK? If you're going in at night, take someone with you. Emmy wouldn't have minded." He takes another bite of pizza, jolting when I slap his arm.
"Did you talk to her, too?"
He looks at me carefully like I'm a wild animal. "No," he says slowly. "You told me Emmy dropped you off there and wasn't comfortable with doing so."
Oh. Yeah, I did. Oops.
"OK, OK."
We end up talking about Boston, and about what he's doing there. He's so happy with the job there's no point worrying about the fact his father set the whole thing up to get him away from the awful Willow Blake and her Terrible History. I tell him about the day to day and the ideas I'm throwing around for the next documentary series. He tells me about Boston culture and nightlife and that he misses everyone from the college, carefully not saying he misses me, but I see his eyes flick upwards, as if judging where Kellan is, and why he hasn't come downstairs.
He leaves about 90 minutes after he arrived. By then I feel a lot better. If I'd had friends like this in Seattle, recovering would have been much
The pizza guy shows up right behind him. I pay for the pizza, close the door, and fetch Reed from the living room.
"Come eat with me."
He glances at the sweeping grand staircase leading up to our rooms. "Is anyone home? Your parents?" Kellan hangs in the air, unsaid.
"Kellan. My parents are in Atlanta for the weekend."
"Were you going to share this – " He nods at the pizza and the stairs.
I consider. What do I say? "If he gets hungry, he can order food."
* * *
We sit together at the breakfast bar. I offer Reed a beer, hoping he won't accept. I'd feel the need to explain its absence to Bruce, since I'm not only underage but don't really drink, and since he's trusting Kellan by keeping his own beer in his own home. Reed asks for a soda.
"If you're no longer operations manager," I start.
Reed nods. "I'm no longer with the station. But I'm not dead. Zach let me know."
An irrational little thrill of anger. "Are you keeping tabs on me?"
Reed doesn't react except to narrow those piercing blue eyes, just a little. "Of course I am. You're new to the station and the job. I spent a lot of time getting that station to where it is. I'm not just going to dump it."
"You dumped it on me," I flare.
"Still a spitfire, I see. So when you realized there was someone in the station with you in the middle of the night, did you chase them?" He looks half amused, half worried.
"No," I snap. Then, "The desk got in my way."
There's a beat of silence, then we both break out laughing. I choke on the pizza and Reed pats me on the back. When I can breathe again, he says, "Tell me everything."
"I thought Zack already had."
"He did. A good reporter gets all the stories. Tell me everything."
So I do. When I'm done he tells me about other incidents, from broken windows and graffiti, which seem random, to vandalism when someone didn't like a story about racism and another about campus sexual assaults. There have been random break-ins over the years, equipment stolen and once trashed. Though I don't know if it's his point, when he finishes I feel better about everything.
"Be careful, Willow, OK? If you're going in at night, take someone with you. Emmy wouldn't have minded." He takes another bite of pizza, jolting when I slap his arm.
"Did you talk to her, too?"
He looks at me carefully like I'm a wild animal. "No," he says slowly. "You told me Emmy dropped you off there and wasn't comfortable with doing so."
Oh. Yeah, I did. Oops.
"OK, OK."
We end up talking about Boston, and about what he's doing there. He's so happy with the job there's no point worrying about the fact his father set the whole thing up to get him away from the awful Willow Blake and her Terrible History. I tell him about the day to day and the ideas I'm throwing around for the next documentary series. He tells me about Boston culture and nightlife and that he misses everyone from the college, carefully not saying he misses me, but I see his eyes flick upwards, as if judging where Kellan is, and why he hasn't come downstairs.
He leaves about 90 minutes after he arrived. By then I feel a lot better. If I'd had friends like this in Seattle, recovering would have been much
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