Ruined (7 page)

"Oh. Well, you're an adult Willow, so you aren't required to call me. But next time, please do. I was just so worried. And thank you, Reed, for taking care of her." My mother seems grateful and a little excited that I've walked in the door with the son of a prominent attorney and not some reject from the dorms. I feel a lot of pressure coming soon.

She walks back into the kitchen and I turn to Reed who is smiling from ear to ear. He might not be an attorney, but he sure can talk like one.

"Well, that was surprising..." I say with my mouth gaping open. "You sure think quick on your feet, Reed Miller."

"Another part of being a Journalist, Willow. You never know when you'll have a live shot, and you only get once chance to tell your story."

A few minutes later, I come downstairs and Reed is waiting with my mother in the kitchen. Bruce must be off for the day somewhere because I still haven't seen him.

"Ready?" I ask as I come around the corner wearing white capri pants and a red tank top.

"Sure. Thanks again, Mrs. Avery. You're a wonderful host," he says, kissing her hand and winking. She seems to love him already, and I know this is only going to lead to lots of questions from her later.

We drive to the college station, making small talk along the way - the weather, what electives I'm taking, whether I like chocolate or vanilla ice cream better. He almost wrecks when I tell him I don't like ice cream at all.

"Come on in," he says as he keys the lock and opens the door to the darkened office. I follow him inside and put my purse down on the chair as he takes us into the editing suite. Filled with equipment that I don't yet know how to use, it's a little overwhelming. We spend the first half hour going over each piece of equipment, and I can tell he is definitely a "TV nerd". He loves everything about Journalism right down to the individual editing computers.

"Got all of that?" he says with a chuckle after explaining each black and silver electronic box.

"Um, that would be a big fat no," I say running my fingers through my hair. "Oh, gosh, what if I never get this?" The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. What if I am not cut out to do this job?

"Willow, relax. You're going to be fine." Just his words mean something extra to me. He has no idea how he soothes an old part of my soul that is still so raw and exposed.

"Your father doesn't really think of you as the black sheep, does he?" I ask out of the blue.

He looks at me and considers the question. "Yes. He does. My older brother, Evan, is the chosen one. I'm the let down. He thinks that I'll work around here for free forever."

"Why does he think that?" I ask, sitting cross legged onto the floor to get a break from the hard rolling chair. He joins me.

"Because I don't have a real job yet. The college pays for my books for running the station, but other than that I don't have a real job."

"But you're still in college..."

"This is my second degree. I have one in criminal justice also. I was preparing for law school because my Dad wanted me to go, but I realized that it isn't my thing. It doesn't light me up inside."

"I admire that. You're blazing your own trail." A grateful smile crosses his face, and I can tell I've said something he needed to hear.

"Thanks. Although, I don't think my father will ever think that way."

"I know it's hard, but just be glad you have a father, even if he makes you crazy." I say the words without thinking, and I immediately regret them as soon as they leave my mouth.

"You don't have a father, Willow?" he asks softly.

"No. He's dead. Wow, this conversation is quickly turning into a bummer. Can you show me something else?" I fidget, as I always do when conversations turn to talk of my father.

"Don't like to talk about it?" he asks gently. Man, why does his voice have to be so soothing to me? Something about it is silky, velvety and comforting. If he only knew who I am really am, what I've really done in my life, he'd never associate with the likes of me.

"Not really," I say shaking my head and trying to push back the tears that are threatening to bubble up. I don't cry, I don't cry. I keep telling myself that, and most of the time it works. I have no right to cry over my father. None.

"Then we won't talk about it," he says. "I lost my mother. I know what you're going through," he says as he reaches over and rubs my shoulder. No, Reed Miller, I highly doubt that you know what I'm going through.

"Sorry about your mother. How long ago?"

"Last year, actually. Breast cancer."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry. It's really fresh for you then..."

"Yeah. I adored my mother. She was a saint for living with my father. I mean, I love my Dad, but there's no pleasing him. He's set in his ways, and he has certain standards that I could never meet." The pain in his eyes is haunting. I can see flickers of sadness and guilt and regret flash across his face. Pieces of pain from his mother's death and shards of "not good enough" that his father has implanted into his soul. It pains me to see such a nice guy suffering in silence.

"Reed," I say softly as I return the favor by rubbing his shoulder. He jumps a bit and takes in a deep breath as if he was shocked that I reached out. Am I that much of a standoffish witch that he wasn't expecting compassion from me? "You have the right to live your own life. The only standards that matter are your own."

"Do you like music?" he asks with a smile. Change of subject. Good plan.

"Of course."

"Do you like piano music, by chance?" he asks.

"Actually, I love it. I played for years as a child, but I gave it up when I was fifteen. I really thought I'd go to college on a music scholarship one day."

"Why'd you give it up?" he asks as he fiddles with CDs beside the editing desk.

"My father died, and some things just didn't matter anymore." He stands up and flips the light off as the music starts to play. "What are you doing?" I ask, semi worried that he's about to attack me or something. Although, it would be unusual for rapists to turn on piano music first, I suppose.

"Relax, Willow. Just setting a good piano music mood. Lie down."

"Lie down?"

"Relax. Just lie down and relax, that's all I'm saying. Sometimes I do this to clear my mind," he says. I can feel him lie down next to me, and I can barely see his silhouette in the blue tint of the lights from all the equipment.

We lie next to each other for a few minutes listening to Yanni on CD. I can hear his breathing slow down somewhat, and I wonder for a moment if he's asleep. This is relaxing, I must admit, although I particularly enjoy using the ocean as my escape, my place of peace.

"Reed?"

"Yeah?" he answers softly.

"Aren't we supposed to be editing something for sports?" I ask laughing.

"Crap, I forgot," he says sitting up. He laughs and lays back down. "You know what? I'm not in the mood for that right now," he says. His voice sounds relaxed and sweet and everything I've ever wanted in a man all wrapped up into one. Wait. Where did that come from? He's not my man or my anything really.

"My escape is the ocean," I say out of the blue.

"I love the ocean too."

"There's just something renewing about it. The waves coming in and out like clockwork. The waves don't care if I've had a bad day or if there's been some tragedy in the world or who the President is. They still do their job all day everyday. In the face of everything going on around them, the waves remain strong and stable and predictable."

"Wow. That was deep, Willow," he says. At first, I think he's being sarcastic or making fun of me, but there's no laugh behind what he says. He's genuinely impressed with what I said. "You're very eloquent. You're going to make a wonderful Journalist." No one has ever said anything to me that meant more. He believes in me, and he only just met me. But, alas, he doesn't know the real me. He never can.

"Thank you. That means a lot," I whisper softly.

"You need something or someone strong and stable and predictable standing behind you, don't you?" he says, shocking the living hell out of me.

"Why would you say that?"

"I get the feeling your past is haunting you, Willow. Am I right?"

"Look, Reed, I..." I say, starting to get up. I don't know where I'm going. I can't run from him or my internship.

He grabs my arm softly, but firmly, and holds me there. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Let's just enjoy the music, okay?" he says. In the blue tinted light, I can see the blueness of his eyes. I can see his sincerity, and I lay back down.

And we lay like that for what seems like hours, but eventually our stomachs start to growl for lunch and the moment is over. But, I am more relaxed and not as scared about forming friendships with people at college. Sure, I can't ever let them know who I really am, but at least I can share a part of me. The new me.

"I guess we'd better grab something for lunch?" he asks me after turning on the lights and turning off the CD. Never in my life did I think I could lie on the floor in a pitch black room with romantic music playing and not pounce on the immensely hot guy beside me.

"Reed, you don't have to hang with me all day long," I say with a smile as I reach for my purse. "I'm sure you have things to do."

"Willow, there's nothing I'd rather do than spend the day hanging out with you. Really." The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard.

"That's just plain sad," I say with a giggle. He looks irritated.

"You've got to stop doing that," he says shaking his head as he turns off some of the equipment.

"Doing what?"

"Tearing yourself down. It's not necessary, and it's wrong. From what I've seen, you're an amazing woman with a past that nags at her, haunts her even, but you're still amazing." He flips off the light again and waves his hand for me to leave the editing suite with him, but my feet feel like they're in quicksand. What did he just say to me? Amazing?

I follow him back into the bright hallway which now smells of Pine Sol since the cleaning crew came through. The smell conjures up images of when I volunteered at a local nursing home when I was twelve.

"You like pizza?" he asks me as we walk.

"Who doesn't?" I reply laughing. "Seriously, is there any college student who doesn't like pizza?"

"I'm sure there are some weirdos around here somewhere," he says as he throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me toward the stairwell. "Come on, Smoky. Let's get some pizza then," he says as I smack his arm again.

"Stop calling me that!" And we chase each other down the stairs to the car.

Reed and I go get pizza at some place called "Maggio's", and it is quite possibly the best pizza I've ever tasted in my life. We sit at a small table in the back corner, covered in a red and white checked tablecloth. We're only about ten minutes from campus, but I've never seen this place before. Of course, I don't go out much with friends or by myself, so my social life isn't exactly notorious.

"Like it?" he asks me as I wolf down my second slice of pepperoni and black olive pizza.

"Um, yeah. I think that much is obvious," I say after taking a sip of my Coke.

"For such a small girl, you sure can put down some pizza."

"That's not nice to say to a lady."