Unforgiven Page 10

  “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Most of the guys I pick up aren’t selling; just possession.”

  Landon nods his head. “Thanks, man.”

  We eat and observe the people coming and going from the sandwich shop. It’s part of the job; we’re always watching everything—observing people and their behaviors. Landon turns sideways in the booth, as he doesn’t like not being able to see what’s going on behind him. He used to do this when we rode patrol together as well.

  “So I was thinking,” he says, pausing to take a drink of tea. “We need to start doing poker nights again.”

  “Yeah, we kind of let life get in the way of that,” I admit.

  “We did. But let’s do it. How about Thursday night, my house? I’ll let Reagan know that a few of you are coming over.”

  “Will she care?”

  “Nah. She doesn’t mind. Plus she loves to cook for all of us.”

  “Think you can tell her no antipasti tray?” We both laugh.

  “It’ll be pizza and wings. Trust me.”

  “I’m in.”

  When I finish my sandwich, I toss a twenty-dollar bill on the table to cover our lunches. We take turns buying lunch and, if memory serves me right, today was my turn.

  “Thanks for lunch.” Landon wipes his mouth with a napkin before tossing it onto his empty plate. “Let’s plan for seven o’clock on Thursday. Does that work?”

  “What can I bring other than some beer?”

  “Nothing, unless Reagan insists on salami and artichoke hearts.” He rolls his eyes. “Then I’ll have you bring the man-food.”

  I laugh. “Deal.” Landon’s cellphone rings and he gestures that he needs to take the call.

  “See ya Thursday.”

  As we exit the café, I notice Melissa, wearing her work scrubs, walking toward me—a smile on her face.

  “Hey,” she says as she approaches with a to-go bag in her hand. She stands a little closer than she normally does, and I take a step backwards. I catch Landon watching us out of the corner of my eye. He stands next to his unmarked police car, taking his call.

  “Hey,” I respond and take another step back, putting even more distance between us.

  “Did you get my voice message the other night?”

  “I did. Sorry I haven’t responded—just been busy.” That’s a lie. I have more time than I’ve ever had. I just spend it thinking of Lindsay.

  “Did you want to hike this weekend? Maybe on Saturday? I haven’t been out in a couple of weeks, and the weather is supposed to be great.”

  “Um, yeah, sure.”

  She looks at me hesitantly, as if she wants to say something. “Okay. Well, I have to get this lunch back to the office.” She lifts up the plastic bag in which she is carrying several to-go boxes. “So, I guess I’ll see you Saturday.” She raises her hand in a small wave. Landon stands leaning against his car, pretending not to pay attention to me, but I know he was watching me talk to Melissa. He waits until I get into my squad car and put myself back on duty before leaving. Today, I’m thankful to work some overtime and use this time to focus on something other than Lindsay or Melissa.

  I glance at the screen on my phone when it pings, alerting me to a new text message. Jess. I swipe my finger across the screen and smile when I see her message.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you.

  I tap out a quick response.

  Me too. I’m anchoring this weekend. Found out Monday. You’re coming to work with me Saturday morning.

  She immediately responds.

  Perfect. So proud of you, Lindsay.

  Something in those words makes my heart smile. I feel like I’ve let everyone down, so it’s nice to hear someone say they’re proud of me. I pull my thoughts away from Jess and her visit to focus on the list of story ideas I plan to submit at our morning production meeting.

  “Venti skinny vanilla latte, madam,” Mike says as he sets the paper cup on my desk in front of me.

  “You’re a life saver.”

  “You’ve been antisocial since Monday, sweetheart.”

  “I’m on Rob’s shit list. I need to keep my nose buried in work.”

  “Lindsay, you’re entitled to a break every now and then. So tell me, what did he say anyway?”

  I sigh, remembering the conversation I had with Rob two days ago over my deleted story. “He just couldn’t understand how my story was deleted from my computer and the raw footage from the SIM card.”

  “Did you tell him you thought that dirty whore Amanda did it?” He chuckles.

  “No.”

  “No? Why the hell not?”

  “Because it’s just not worth it. I’m not going to snitch her out. I’m going to work my ass off and prove that I’m better than her.”

  “There’s nothing to prove. You’re a better reporter, a better person…”

  “Well, I want everyone else to see that.”

  I lift the cup of coffee to my lips and Mike leans back against my desk. “Look at me,” he says. I lift my chin and look at him as I swallow the coffee he brought me.

  “Lindsay, I get what you’re doing. You’re young and you’re motivated—and you don’t want to start shit with Amanda. But you’re worth it. Your career is worth it—do not let her destroy you.”

  We sit and sip our coffee while I let the weight of those words sink in. “Come on; let’s go.” I smile at him as I grab my notebook and pen. We walk side by side and I bump shoulders with him as we walk down the hall to our morning production meeting. We normally sit along the back wall, away from the conference table, but today we grab chairs around the table and settle in. Amanda sits directly across from me, turned slightly, her chest extended forward, her attention focused solely on Rob. I don’t miss her sarcastic eyes and her long sighs, as if she’s bored when I speak.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the dirty look Mike flashes at Amanda and can’t help but smile. I’m so thankful for Mike, my little pit bull of a friend, for looking out for me. I present all of my story ideas during the meeting—damn good story ideas. Jan, the assignment manager, smiles and nods her head, frantically taking notes, but Rob quickly kills all of my story ideas. I’m being punished for my slip-up on Monday. I bite my tongue, smile gracefully, and take diligent notes, trying not to let being snubbed bother me—at least not here in the meeting. Keep it together, Christianson, I repeat over and over in my head.

  My hands begin to betray me and start shaking as I write notes. I feel little beads of sweat form across my upper lip and forehead and I discreetly try to wipe them away with my shaking hand. I fold my hands into my lap in hopes that the shaking isn’t noticeable to anyone other than me, but Mike reaches out and places his hand on top of mine under the table to stop the noticeable shaking. A wave of nausea overcomes me and I jump up from the conference room table.

  “Excuse me; I’m not feeling well.” I take off for the bathroom, hoping that I make it in time. Pushing the door open so hard that it slams against the wall behind it, I stumble into a stall and heave the little bit of coffee in my system. Another wave of nausea hits and I heave again—this time just bile. There’s a knock on the bathroom door, which I choose to ignore.

  “Linds,” Mike’s voice echoes through the tile bathroom. “You okay?”

  “Can you grab my purse from my desk drawer? And my cosmetic bag too?”

  “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

  One more bout of dry heaves and my stomach aches—the muscles burning from clenching over and over. I hear the bathroom door open again. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “Coffee just didn’t settle well with me, I guess.”

  “I’m just going to set everything on the counter and go back to the meeting, unless you need me here.”

  “No, go. I’ll be back as soon as I clean myself up.”

  I hear the door close and I pull myself up from the cool tile floor. I straighten my coral shift dress and blow my nose with some toilet paper, tossing
it into the toilet as I flush it one last time. My legs are wobbly as I walk to the sink and wash my hands and use some paper towel to wipe the tears that have leaked from my eyes.

  I pull my toothbrush and toothpaste from my cosmetic bag and brush my teeth and tongue. I splash some cool water on my face to ease the red splotches before reapplying my make-up. Thankfully, I pulled my hair up into a twist and that came out unscathed. Inside my purse, I reach for my little pill container and shake two of the OxyContin pills into my hand. I toss them into my mouth and use my hand to scoop some water from the faucet into my mouth to help them go down.

  Gathering my belongings, I head back to my desk, dropping my purse and cosmetic bag into my drawer. The newsroom begins bustling with activity and I glance at the clock, noting that the morning production meeting must have just ended. I rest my elbows on my desk and drop my head into my hands for a moment, willing the pills to start working. I close my eyes, rub my temples, and breathe deeply, knowing that relief is minutes away.

  “Found this. Heard you lost one.” Amanda’s voice is cynical. I open my eyes just as a SIM card lands on my desk directly in front of me.

  “I didn’t lose it.” I try to contain my voice as I spin my desk chair around to look at her. She’s standing in the open entry of my cubicle. Her hands are on her hips and her mouth is twisted into a devious smile. She leans forward just a bit and whispers, “Better keep track of your stuff. If this becomes a habit, there won’t be any room left for you here.”

  And that’s all it takes for me to snap. I lunge from my chair and push her backward. She stumbles on her heels, out into the hall. “Don’t fuck with me, Amanda. I’m the wrong person. I will take you down with me,” I scream in her face. I have her backed against the wall, holding her by the shoulders. She has a look of shock on her face.

  “You’re fucking crazy,” she seethes.

  “Keep this shit up and you’re about to find out how fucking crazy I am,” I spit out.

  “Lindsay.” Rob’s voice is strong, angry. “In my office. Now!” I look down the hallway where he stands with Mike and a few of the other daytime reporters.

  “This isn’t done,” I mutter through gritted teeth before I back away from Amanda and walk down the hall to Rob’s office. He’s waiting for me and shuts the door with a loud bang as I step through the entrance.

  “Take a seat,” he barks.

  “I’d rather stand.” I remember reading that if someone is standing, so should you. It keeps the playing field even. Plus, I’m fucking angry and I’m tired of Rob treating me like I’m the one who did something wrong.

  “Sit down,” he demands and gestures toward the chair that sits in front of his large, mahogany desk. I cave, sitting down and quickly crossing my legs. Taking deep breaths, I hope it helps calm me down as my pulse races. “What was that out there?”

  I choose my words carefully. “Amanda mysteriously found my SIM card that went missing.”

  “What’s going on with you and Amanda?” he asks as he circles behind his desk and places both of his hands on the back of his high-back leather desk chair.

  “She’s been at me since the day I started. I’m not pretty enough, I’m too fat, I’m too young—accusing me of doing lewd things to get this job.” My voice trails off as my throat tightens and my words become weak. I clear my throat and choke back my emotions. “I know it was her that stole the SIM card from my computer.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because who else would do that, Rob? She’s mad because you gave me the desk this weekend with Mike. She’s jealous because viewers are responding to my stories. She’s just a vile person,” I say angrily. He stands still, watching me. I can almost see the wheels in his brain turning. He watches me closely as I fold my hands together in my lap and breathe loudly.

  “There won’t be a desk this weekend, Lindsay.”

  “What?” I interrupt him. “But I earned it.”

  “And you lost it,” he quips.

  I snap my mouth shut. I can feel myself on the verge of losing control. My hands ball into tight fists and I look away from him.

  “Lindsay, you’re done for the week. I’m placing you on leave until Monday. You physically placed your hands on Amanda, and you verbally threatened her. If she really wanted to, she could come after you for assault. At the very minimum, I cannot have that happening in this building on my watch. You’re off until Monday. Take this time to think about what’s important to you; this charade with Amanda or your career.”

  He walks out from around his desk and opens his office door. I remain seated, trying to gather my thoughts before I push myself up from the chair I’m seated in.

  “Guess I’ll see you Monday,” I say with an attitude as I walk past him to my cube to get my purse and shut down my computer.

  “Linds,” Mike says as he catches up to me in the hall. “What happened?”

  “Not now, Mike. I’ll call you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To my condo.”

  “Shit,” he mumbles as he stops following me.

  I kick the solid, wooden door closed behind me and juggle the large grocery bags over to the kitchen island. Setting them down, I rub my arm, which has gone numb from carrying all of the heavy bags at once instead of making more than one trip back to the car. I stopped by one of the local specialty grocery stores to pick up some food to make while Jess is here, but as I unpack, I realize there is less food and more wine. Typical.

  I open the drawer of the island, pulling out the wine opener, and twist the metal corkscrew into the cork on a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I twist and twist, then try to pull it out, and nothing. My hands are shaking again and I fish out the small container in my clutch with my pills, along with my cell phone. As I toss a pill to the back of my throat, I text Jonah to see if he can help me.

  While I wait to hear back from him, I stuff cheese and meats into the fridge and wash fruit. The door swings open and Jonah steps in.

  “Do you ever knock?”

  “What’s wrong? Your text sounded urgent.”

  My head falls back as I laugh. “I said I needed your help. That’s not urgent.”

  Jonah eyes the bottle of wine with the corkscrew stuck in the top. He points at the bottle. “Is this what you needed help with?” His eyebrows lift and he shakes his head in disbelief. Reaching for the bottle, he gives it a pull. In one swift tug, the cork frees itself and Jonah gets a smug smile on his face. He pours me a glass and sets the bottle on the island.

  “Want to stay for a glass?”

  “Yeah, but I need to run next door for a few minutes. I have to finish something.”

  “I’ll be here. Not going anywhere until Monday,” I say sarcastically, raising my glass of Pinot in the air.

  He looks at me suspiciously. “Sounds like there’s a story there. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.” The door shuts quietly behind him and I pull my phone and the little container of pills from my purse. I rattle the bottle, noticing that it’s almost empty. I put the remaining grocery items away and sigh to myself when I realize how I’m going to have to get more pills.

  Checking my phone, I realize I have no missed calls, no voice messages, no text messages, and no emails from anyone I love. I’ve pushed them all so far away that I fear they’ve given up on me—rightfully so, I think. I’ve all but given up on myself. I pour another glass of wine and lean against the kitchen island, waiting for Jonah to return. Needing more than one pill and wine, I toss my phone aside and open the small pill bottle, pouring another single pill into the palm of my hand. I place the pill on my tongue and roll it around my mouth before washing it down with two swallows of wine… the burn in my throat from the wine is both soothing and painful all at the same time. The warmth settles in my belly and I wait for the relief the pill will offer—an escape from feeling anything—physically or emotionally.

  I close my eyes and let my head fall back slowly as I wait for numbness to take o
ver me. Focusing on my breathing, I inhale and exhale slowly three times, allowing the deep, cleansing breaths to calm me. My cellphone rings, but I ignore it as I feel myself slipping into a place I’ve become so familiar with lately—oblivion. My cellphone rings again and again. I ignore the calls until it begins ringing a fourth time. I snatch the phone from the counter to see Jack’s name glaring brightly at me.

  “Jack,” I answer it coldly. I know Rob must have called him. I haven’t heard from Jack since he boarded his plane back to Chicago.

  “Lindsay, goddammit! Robert called me; what the hell happened today?” I hear the door click shut and I glance up to see Jonah watching me. He keeps his distance as I talk to Jack.

  I chuckle. “No ‘nice to hear your voice’? No ‘how are things going’? Just, ‘Robert called me; what the hell happened today’?”

  “Lindsay…” His tone is argumentative and I can tell he is pissed.

  “I pushed Amanda Stephens. She’s been fucking with me since the first day and I lost it today. I pushed her up against a wall and told her to quit fucking with me. Got a problem with that?”

  I hear him sigh loudly. “Lindsay, you cannot lose control. You have to prove yourself to Robert. This dream of yours is hanging by a thread.”

  “I don’t want this dream, Jack. I thought I did. I thought I wanted all of this, but if this is how it is, I don’t want this,” I scream through the phone at him, my voice full of emotion. “I don’t want this.” My voice breaks.

  “Lindsay, you’re in a one-year contract. That is unheard of in this business. Give it a year. Focus and give it one-hundred percent and don’t let bullshit like Amanda Stephens get in the way of your career.”

  “Jack, I’m losing control. Everything is slipping through my fingers.”

  “No, it’s not, Lindsay. Pull yourself together.” With those words pull yourself together, there is an abrupt click and the phone call ends. I set the phone on the counter and feel my shoulders begin shaking at the same time an arm wraps around my waist from behind, giving me support.