And Now, Back to You — Chapter no 21

CHAPTER 21

JACKSON

I stop what I’m doing and stare at Delilah, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her on the floor next to her suitcase.

“That is . . . certainly something.”

“I think what you meant to say is”—she adjusts her ski goggles so they’re over her eyes, tipping her head back to look up at me—“Delilah, baby, you look incredible.”

My stomach pulls and then twists. “‘Baby,’ huh?”

I can’t read her expression with the giant opaque goggles, but I can see the way her mouth parts. The pink that spreads over the tops of her cheeks.

I have to clear my throat and look away, studying my backpack like Delilah isn’t basically on her knees next to me.

I came out of the bathroom to find her in her hot pink snow pants again, fluorescent goggles across her forehead. She looks like a bag of Skittles— and now that I’ve kissed her, I know that she tastes like them too.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m just being silly.”

I stop messing with my zipper. Delilah’s head is angled down toward the floorboards. I’m not sure where our boundaries stand after last night, but I go with my gut, reaching for her goggles and lifting them gently. She stares up at me as I rearrange them across her forehead, smoothing her hair carefully out of the way.

“Delilah, baby,” I say, rolling my voice low to let her know I’m teasing.

But she makes a small unconscious sound, and it doesn’t feel very much like a joke. “You look incredible.”

The color on her cheeks deepens to a furious red, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinks up at me.

“God,” she says. “My brain knows you’re being sarcastic, but I’m still —” She gestures at her face and sighs. “Really didn’t think that one through.”

There are lines on the bridge of her nose from where the eyewear was cutting into her skin. I rub at one gently, and then the other, trying to walk myself back from the edge I just tiptoed toward.

After Delilah fell asleep last night, I spent a lot of time lying in the space next to her, thinking. She believes this is some sort of personality experiment. I need to prove to her that’s not true.

I can be patient.

I drop my hands from her face. “You look like a cupcake with those pink pants.”

“A cupcake?” Her forehead scrunches. “I don’t want to look like a cupcake.”

“Why not? Cupcakes are sweet.” My eyes flick down to her mouth.

“Cupcakes are delicious.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Both can be true.”

Delilah, despite her hesitations last night, doesn’t seem to be holding it against me this morning. When I woke up she was already in the shower, a cup of coffee waiting for me next to my glasses. A Post-it, right next to it, with a smiley face. I stared at it for a long time while listening to the water run in the bathroom, feeling like a balloon was lodged somewhere in my sternum.

My phone buzzes across the table where our notes are stacked, distracting me from the woman still wrapping herself in winter gear on the floor next to me. I check the ID.

“Maggie is calling,” I tell Delilah. “I’m going to take it in the hall while you finish up. We can go down to the lobby when you’re ready.”

“Oh.” Delilah looks up at me from her knees, elbow deep in her suitcase as she searches blindly for something. “That’s fine.” She holds up a pair of goggles that matches hers. “Do you want me to bring these for you?”

I shake my head. “No, thanks.” I keep my attention firmly fixed at a spot

just above her head. My dark thoughts are winning. Honestly, the hot pink pants should be more of a deterrent than they are.

“You sure?” she asks. “You might regret it.”

I shake my head with a tight smile. I think I’d regret looking like the Terminator even more. We’ve given the people of Baltimore enough to talk about without adding matching snow gear to the conversation.

“I’m good. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Eager to be somewhere that isn’t a cozy hotel room with Delilah in the middle of it, I make my escape to the hall and swipe at my phone.

“Hey, Maggie.”

Silence greets me on the other end of the phone, then, “Why are you

breathing like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a caveman.”

I wander down the hall to the window at the end of it, leaning heavily against the frame, my forehead pressed to the thick glass. All I can see is white, the towering evergreens and the sweeping view of the lake hidden behind a blanket of snow. The storm slowed just as we were expecting.

Outside the window, Deep Creek is getting absolutely pummeled.

I’m not faring much better.

“I’m breathing the same way I always do.” I dot my finger against the glass, drawing a line in the frost clinging to the edges. “What’s up?”

“We have a problem,” she says.

“Which one?”

“The biggest, most annoying one,” Maggie says. “Keith is turning out to be a giant fucking problem.”

I drag my hand over my forehead, pressing my thumb and index finger against my temples until I see spots. They’re still cold from the window. It’s not as soothing as I want it to be.

“Delilah told me her conversation with him went fine. What’s he doing?”

“What isn’t he doing?” she grumbles.

“Maggie.”

She heaves a long-suffering sigh from her end of the phone. I bet if I stuck my head out this window, I’d hear it all the way from Baltimore.

“The numbers on your segments with Delilah are good. And after your little mishap”—she clears her throat—“they’ve skyrocketed. Aiden almost

exclusively got calls about the two of you during Heartstrings last night and —”

“I told you,” I say, voice sharp, “my relationship with Delilah isn’t going to be content.”

“And I told you,” Maggie singsongs back, amused, “that I understand.

Trust me, Jackson. You were very clear on that point yesterday.” She

hesitates. “But—”

“No,” I immediately say.

“Let me finish.” Maggie laughs. “But I would like to know what’s going

on. As your friend.”

So would Aiden. So would the girls.

So would I.

I settle on the one thing I know to be true. “I like her,” I confess quietly.

“I like her a lot.”

Maggie hums. “I’ll protect you as best I can, but your little slip has made people voracious, Jackson. You’re going to have to address it.”

“Not if I can help it.” Whatever is happening between Delilah and me is for us. No one else. I’m not going to trot it out underneath the harsh glare of everyone else’s opinions. “What’s going on back home?”

Maggie grumbles under her breath about coming back to this later. “Like I said, the broadcast numbers are good. Really good. The executive team is paying attention. I think we’re making a strong case for keeping us local.

And we’ve certainly scared Orion away for the time being.”

“That’s good news.”

“Great news,” Maggie agrees. “Cooper hasn’t harassed me in four days.”

I frown, trying to place the name. “Is Cooper their acquisitions VP?”

“He’s their overlord of corporate greed, yes.” Something slams on her side of the phone. “But I believe his reign is coming to an end.”

“Are you . . . upset about this?”

“I’m thrilled. Everything is going to plan, but for some unfathomable reason, Keith has become unbearable. You have no idea the barrels I’m dodging over here on your behalf, Jackson.”

I think about that hotel across the street. The mysterious stain on the carpet. The . . . thing . . . that was living in the closet. “Trust me. I’ve got an idea.”

Halfway down the hallway, Delilah sticks her head out of our room.

She’s still wearing the goggles across the top of her forehead, but she’s added her beanie beneath the band. She gives me a little wave.

I lift my hand back.

“What do you need from me?” I ask.

“Nothing at the moment. I just wanted you to be aware.” She pauses.

“Yesterday he came into my office and bumbled around for fifteen minutes before he very clumsily asked if I had any concerns about your performance.” She scoffs, sounding disgusted. “The man couldn’t con his

way out of a wet paper bag.”

“What’s his angle?”

Delilah’s face turns interested, the door closing behind her. She moves down the hallway toward me, her snow pants a bright streak of color against the creams and blues of the lodge hallway. She hasn’t put on her boots yet and I can see her socks. They’re mismatched. One of them has little printed strawberries. The other is a Nike ankle sock, plain black.

I think that one might be mine, actually.

What’s going on? she mouths. I shake my head and angle the phone away

from my mouth.

“Keith,” I whisper back.

She rolls her eyes.

“Is Delilah there with you?” Maggie asks. “Put me on speaker.”

I do as she says. Delilah and I tuck our heads together over the phone.

“Hey, Maggie,” Delilah says. “Is Keith giving you trouble?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. He seems intent on making your life as difficult as possible,” Maggie says. “I think he’s planning something.”

Delilah’s gaze flicks up to mine. She looks tired, defeated.

“Should have known that phone call was too good to be true,” Delilah sighs, frustrated.

“I think he hates how much this city loves you. He’s looking for any opportunity to minimize your credibility. But we’re not going to let that happen. Are we, Jackson?”

I nudge my knuckles under Delilah’s chin. A fierce surge of protectiveness settles across my shoulders, pulling tight beneath my breastbone. This is how I prove it. This is how I show her.

“No,” I say. “We’re not.”

Mark is waiting for us in the lobby, his supplies stacked in a neat pile by the door. Camera. Wires. A large backpack with a transponder inside that will feed our footage back to the station, hundreds of miles away. The one that only works, apparently, when I’m begging Delilah to kiss me.

“I thought you’d be setting up for the shot,” Delilah says, reaching for some of the wires. She hoists them over her shoulder. “Do you need help carrying this stuff out?”

“I was just bringing it back inside.” Mark rubs his hand over his head.

“Our broadcast has been canceled this morning.”

“I’m sorry. It sounded like you just said our broadcast is canceled.”

“That is what I said.”

She snorts. “I’m so glad you finally feel comfortable enough to joke with me after three years but now is not the time.” She reaches down and grabs the bag too. “I’m not sure the deck will be a good choice for today’s shot.

How about we go down the path a little bit. There’s a grove of trees that should shelter us from the worst of it.”

Mark darts a quick glance at me, then back to Delilah.

“I’m not joking about the broadcast, Delilah.”

“You are.”

He shakes his head. “I just got a call from the production team. They won’t be tapping us in. We’re not broadcasting this morning.”

Delilah looks out the window where the snow is falling in earnest. “But this is—” She has to pause to take a deep breath. “It’s the whole reason we’re here, Mark. The snowstorm. The historic snowstorm. The one that is

happening. Right outside.”

“I know,” he says.

“Last night we got almost a foot and a half. There’s so much more coming. They’re cutting our footage now? It’s just getting good.”

“I know,” he repeats.

“Who made this decision? Who canceled the broadcast?”

Mark just stares steadily at her, his jaw jumping. We both know the answer to that question.

Delilah huffs. “He can’t—he can’t cancel the fucking news, Mark. What are they going to report on back in Baltimore? The Trash Wheel again?

Maybe the goose migration?”

I lightly touch the small of Delilah’s back and she exhales a harsh sound.

Something that sounds suspiciously like this motherfucker.

“What did the production team say?” I ask.

Mark rocks back on his heels, reluctant. He keeps shooting Delilah concerned, apprehensive glances out of the corner of his eye like he expects her to start wielding the aux cords as a weapon. Delilah notices his hesitation and wilts like a flower.

“Don’t spare my feelings, Mark.” She yanks off her beanie and shoves it into the same pocket she put her snow goggles. “I’m going to find out whether you tell me or not.”

Something in his face turns faintly pitying, and my stomach free-falls.

“Delilah,” I try, “maybe we should have some coffee over—”

She reaches up and puts her palm over my mouth without looking away

from Mark.

“Tell me,” she demands.

“They switched the segment to snow preparation. Keith says the city is their main focus, not—” He swallows, cutting a look around the small lobby. Lottie is still placing out the rest of the breakfast items. A few wayward truckers are huddled at the window, staring out at the storm. “Not a bunch of snow in some backward backcountry. He also said he wants someone more professional on the news.” He scratches his jaw. “Leon is going to do the report.”

Delilah stares. “Leon is going to do the report,” she repeats, her voice sounding like she’s just done several laps around the perimeter of the lake.

She drops her hand from my mouth without looking at me. “Leon is going

to do the weather report?”

Mark nods.

“Leon is—Leon is going to do the weather report,” she says again, a different inflection, sounding out the sentence, picking up speed in some parts and slowing it down in others. “Leon is going to do the weather report.

Leon is going to do the weather report. Leon—who I believe has a degree in political science and public communication—is going to do the weather report.” She bares her teeth in a snarl. “Leon is more professional than me?”

Mark reaches out and offers her a short, awkward pat. “I know, Delilah.”

“It’s my weather report, Mark.”

He pats her again. “I know.”

“Can he do that?” I ask. “We have a partnership. Doesn’t he have to ask for permission from Maggie?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Yeah, Keith can make that decision without consulting your people. The anchors dragged their feet, but ultimately, it’s Keith’s call. He got full control of content decisions with his last contract negotiations. Production said he used your—ah—moment the other day as justification.”

So much for Keith taking it in stride.

Delilah blanches. “Of course he did.”

She turns toward the window and scrunches her nose, her teeth working at the corner of her bottom lip. She’s trying to compose herself, pack it all away. She does that a lot. Hides behind her smile and her sunshine personality. She uses them to distract from all the bits she thinks will be too

ugly for everyone else.

But I don’t want her to hide from me.

“What am I supposed to do?” she whispers. “Jackson.” She grips the sleeve of my jacket. “What am I going to do?”

I get that heavy twinge in the middle of my chest again. The one that feels like a rope, being pulled taut. The twist of a key in a rusty lock.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Half of me is so mad I want to call Keith and give him a piece of my mind. The other half wants to hide.” Her eyes dart to Lottie at the breakfast table, to Mark fumbling around in his backpack by the door, and then finally, back to me. “I’m so embarrassed,” she whispers.

“Why?” I ask, just as quiet.

“I thought I’d have a real chance with this coverage. I thought I’d get to prove myself. But Keith has been waiting for an excuse to discredit me, and I handed him one on a silver platter.” Her voice breaks and that feeling in my chest strains and buckles. She takes a trembling breath. “My grandpa watches every afternoon, Jackson. I don’t know how to explain this to him in a way he’ll understand.” She rubs at her nose. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” she adds in a whisper.

I finally let myself cup her shoulders, squeezing firmly. “You’re not going to disappoint him.”

“He’s going to look for me and I won’t be there.” Her chin wobbles until

she firms it. I shake her shoulders.

“You’re going to be there.”

She blinks at me, face crumpling in confusion. “How?”

I glance at Mark evaluating his supplies by the door. The cords, the wires,

the backpack. We have everything we need. Delilah and I are already prepped. We have our notes and, for once, my anxiety is nowhere to be found.

“How do you feel about a hostile takeover?”

SIMONE LEEDS: And now for the weather.

SIMONE LEEDS: Leon, I believe you have an update for us?