Page 15

Cameron

T he noise of the newsroom did nothing for the headache throbbing at my temples.

Doug, one of the sports reporters, was giving a loud, lively description of the Blue Jays game he’d covered the night before.

If he clapped one more time to simulate the sound of a home run, I might actually kill him.

I eyed the scissors on my desk and wondered if they would do the job, or if it would be easier to push him out the window.

Whatever bug this was, it wasn’t going away.

It had been days, and I wasn’t feeling any better.

The headaches, still intermittent, had progressed to migraine levels.

The nausea was so constant that I’d managed to mostly forget about it.

The gurgling in my stomach was a dull roar that accompanied me everywhere.

“Hey, Cam, do you want to order anything? We’re doing a whole office order for that sub sandwich place a few blocks over?” Tabitha, the copyeditor for the arts and entertainment section, leaned over my cubicle.

The mention of food caused the queasiness to surge once again. No longer able to ignore it, I pressed a hand to my stomach.

“No thanks, Tabitha. I’m good.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You haven’t looked good for a few days now.”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” I said, trying to brush her off.

“Okay, then. Let me know if you change your mind. I’m going to pick up the food in an hour.”

“Yup. Sure.”

Tabitha left, and I was alone with my work and my thoughts again. Rick’s words bounced around my skull, and for the hundredth time, I worried that I might actually be pregnant. There was, like, a zero-point-zero-zero-one percent chance of that, but I still needed to rule that out.

I’d been too busy and too sick to get to the pharmacy to grab a test, but I’d get one on Wednesday when Mom was home to watch Gael.

I hated that I needed to sneak around about it, but Mom would freak out if she saw a pregnancy test in the bathroom, and then she’d bombard me with questions.

I was sure I wasn’t pregnant, though. Almost positive.

My work was going slow because I had to keep stopping to look away from the screen due to the headache.

Along with that, the wound on my neck hadn’t faded yet.

It wasn’t hot to the touch, so I was still pretty sure it wasn’t infected, but it was weird it hadn’t gone away like my other injuries.

I was also feeling the beginning of a fever—another clue that this wasn’t a surprise pregnancy.

I’d searched online, and my symptoms were more in line with a bacterial or viral infection.

As bad as that was, it was better than a baby. My life couldn’t handle that right now. Maybe one day, but right now, I didn’t need a wrench thrown into the gears of my career. Rick was excited about the possibility, but the very idea of it turned the throbbing in my head to a rapid pounding.

I already had enough people to take care of, and a child would make everything that much more stressful. It had been years since I’d last seen my abuela . I could still remember that last moment when she’d pulled me aside to talk.

“Your mother,” she’d said. “She is a free spirit. A lovely bird who likes to flutter through life, but that is not safe. She loves hard, and she loves fast, but I fear that will be her downfall. Can you promise me something, el carino ?”

“Anything, Abuela .”

“Take care of your mother, child. She will need you. It’s a lot to ask, but I won’t be with you where you are going. Watch out for her, and take care of her. Can you do that for me, small one?”

“I will,” I’d said, and I’d meant it.

My fervor and desire to do the right thing had never faded, yet back then, I had no idea how much work that promise would entail.

It wasn’t that watching out for Mom was like taking care of a child, although it wasn’t far off.

She was mature enough, but it was like my abuela had said.

She loved hard and fast, which meant that heartbreak tended to follow her everywhere.

And I was left helping her pick up the pieces. It was exhausting at times.

“So then, Dobbins goes to steal third base!” Doug shouted, running toward my cubicle, pulling up short right next to me. “ Boom ! Ramirez tags him out, game over.”

He clapped his hands to emphasize the boom part, sending an electric jolt of pain through my skull. I’d fucking had enough.

I jumped to my feet and glared at Doug. “Could you possibly be any louder? Please shut up, Doug. Some of us are trying to work.”

He turned to me. “Damn, Torres, calm down.” He chuckled and glanced at his buddies, the other sports reporters.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your work. What are we reporting on now?

I think I heard there’s a sex toy convention this weekend.

I’m sure you’ll have fun asking about all the various dildo sizes they’ll have on display. ”

“Want me to call HR and report you for sexual harassment? Huh, cabron ?” I growled.

He waved his hands at me and rolled his eyes. “Chill out. Jesus, you’re uptight. Whatever.”

He strolled away and joined his friends at the back of the newsroom.

Fuming, I sat down. Whatever work I’d been trying to get done suddenly didn’t seem important.

I glared across the room at Doug and his sports cronies yucking it up.

All four of them looked like douchebags who’d been high school sports stars that had gone to seed—bellies hanging over their belts, hair thinning, and double chins beginning to form.

Nothing like the firm, toned, muscular body of Nate.

My eyes widened in shock and surprise at my own thoughts, and I turned back to my computer as fast as I could.

Why the hell had that popped into my head?

The private detective who’d intruded on my personal space, acting all smooth and suave, shouldn’t have registered at all.

I should have already forgotten his face, one of the thousands I passed on the street in a week.

God, was this more of my mother’s genes rearing their ugly heads?

In my situation, Mom probably would have thrown caution to the wind, broken up with Rick, and jumped into the arms of this new stud, consequences be damned.

I’d have to do everything I could to get that guy out of my head.

The very last thing I needed was a whirlwind romance with some random dude.

Not when things were going so well with Rick.

Unlike my mother, who was level-headed about almost everything else, I didn’t crave excitement and passion in my love life.

I wanted stability. The one thing my life had lacked throughout my childhood was what I desired more than anything else now.

Sure, a hot, sexy stranger was an exciting fantasy, but Rick was what I needed.

A successful and caring man, someone I could live with in a house with a white picket fence and help raise our two-point-four kids.

Maybe even a dog and a mother-in-law suite over the garage for my mom to live in and be comfortable.

It was all I’d wished for since meeting Rick.

Was he perfect? No. He could be clingy and a bit obnoxious about his wealth and privilege at times, but he was kind and nice and treated me like a princess.

What more could you ask for? Life didn’t have to always be about excitement and passion.

Maybe it was good enough to be stable and boring.

Speaking of Rick, I was starting to get worried that I wouldn’t feel well enough for the gala on Friday. It had been all I could think about since my date with him on Sunday. This bug or whatever I had needed to run its course and get the hell out of my body.

As though she’d somehow read my thoughts from halfway across the city, my mother texted me.

Mom: How’s your day, sweetheart? Going well?

I sighed.

Me: It’s fine. My stomach is still messed up, and my headache won’t go away. Other than that, I’m fine.

Mom: Do you want me to make you some pozole de pollo?

I imagined the chicken stew in my mind. The combination of peppers, hominy, sliced radishes, and seasoned broth was my favorite comfort food, but now it made me want to vomit. My appetite had gone to hell since the attack.

Me: No, Mom, it’s fine. Thanks, though. I need to get back to work. Is there anything you need on my way home later?

Mom: Can you get more paper towels? Make sure you get the cheap ones, though. I paid the electric bill, and the account will be low until you get paid again.

I gritted my teeth and breathed through my nose, letting the irritation fade before responding.

Me: Sure thing. I’ll grab them. See you tonight. Love you.

Mom: Love you, sweetie.

Shoving my phone aside, I tried to focus on work, smacking my fingertips onto the keys harder than I needed to.

It had always been like this—every dollar stretched to the limit, never being quite far enough ahead to breathe easy.

As a kid, I’d walked around town, popping into laundromats and searching the machines and floor for stray coins.

One summer, I spent the entire school break searching for old soda and beer cans.

By September, I’d found enough to trade into the recycling center and get twenty dollars.

It had felt like Christmas morning, and I’d bought a new pair of shoes for school.

They’d been cheap and from a wholesale place, but they were new.

That wasn’t the life I wanted for us, especially not for my little brother.

I’d made a plan early in life, and it was all coming together.

Since I was a kid, I’d wanted to be a reporter and decided that was the path I’d take.

First, I worked my ass off to get a full-ride scholarship, then I studied my ass off to graduate top of my class.

After that, I got a job at the paper. This serial killer story could rocket me up to star reporter, and then hopefully I’d end up editor-in-chief one day.