Piston by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Nine

_{Why is it that every time my life seems to fall apart, a phone call is the catalyst to the destruction?}

Holland

Iwrap my body in a towel and step out of the shower. After cleaning the condensation off the mirror, I stare at my reflection. I have thirty minutes before I need to leave. When Piston told me to meet him at Infinite Motors, I didn’t have any clue what he was talking about. But it didn’t matter. He agreed to help with my story. Besides, I wanted out of that room so I’d have agreed to pretty much anything.

As soon as my hair is dry, I make my way to my bedroom and dig through my drawers for something to wear. Settling on jeans and a long-sleeved tee, I toss my towel on the floor and dress. I don’t bother with makeup other than a little concealer and lip gloss. I’ve never been one to get all dolled up and I’m not about to start now.

Just as I slide into my car, my cell phone rings. I dig it out of my purse and see a number I don’t recognize.

“Hello,” I answer as I start the vehicle.

“Holli?”

Immediately, I know who it is. “Hey Gary, how are you?”

“I’m doing well. I saw your article about that boxer, Black Bird.”

There’s something in his tone that I don’t like. Pity. Gary was right there by my side as my career took off and now he’s witnessing my downfall.

“Yeah. It wasn’t the story I wanted, but it’s what I got. I’ve got something bigger in the works.”

“That’s great Holli.”

A glance at the clock tells me I need to get going or I’m going to be late.

“I hate to cut this short, Gary, but maybe we could catch up another time? I’m kind of on a time crunch here.”

“Oh… hot date?”

A snort bursts from me, and I slap a hand over my mouth to catch it. “Hardly. Just meeting a… friend.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he takes a deep breath and continues. “I didn’t just call to catch up, Holli. I, um…”

I can picture him pacing whatever room he’s in, shoving his fingers through his hair in frustration. Gary agonizes over things, sometimes too much.

“Whatever it is, Gary, just spit it out.”

“It’s been a year, Holli, and I thought… I thought you'd be back in the game by now.”

Anger bubbles in my blood, but I manage to temper it.

“I told you I wouldn’t be going back overseas. I never misled you on that.”

“No, you’re right. You told me that I didn’t need to come back with you. But, Holli, you’re the only journalist I want to work with. Unfortunately, wanting to work doesn’t pay the bills.”

I chuckle but without humor. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Anyway, I put out some feelers and got a call the other day for an interview. I got the job offer yesterday.”

“That’s great, Gary.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “What uh, what’s the job?”

“Another gig overseas. I’ll be working with Connie Latham.”

I lean my head back against the seat as all the air rushes from my body. Connie Latham. Not only was she my biggest competitor in the overseas journalism game, she’s also one of the most obnoxiously self-centered people I’ve ever known. Everyone hated her, including Gary.

“I figured the news wouldn’t go over well,” he says when I remain silent. “Look, Holli, I don’t want to work with her. I want to work with you. Tell me not to take the job and I won’t. I’ll find something else, something local until—”

“You should take it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

No. Of course I’m not sure. But I’m smart enough to recognize that the part of me that isn’t sure is the selfish part of me.

“Yeah, Gary. I’m sure.”

He heaves a sigh. “Okay then.”

“When do you start?”

“Connie said we’ll fly out sometime next week.”

Tears burn the back of my eyes. I take a few deep breaths, trying to get my emotions in check. Being sad won’t fix this, won’t make my father’s health miraculously improve so I can go back to a job I love. And the jealousy mixed with the sadness won’t make this any easier for Gary.

“I’m so happy for you,” I lie. “Maybe we can grab lunch before you leave.”

“I’d like that. And Holli?”

“Yeah?”

“Just because I’m working with Connie doesn’t mean I won’t drop her like a hot potato the second you come back.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I know. And I love you for it.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you go. I’ll text you when, uh, when I know what day I’ll be leaving for sure. We’ll figure out a good time to have lunch then.”

We won’t have lunch and we both know it. Sure, we’re friends and at one time, we were close, but the only thing remaining between us is the love of the job.

“Sounds good.”

“Goodbye Holli.”

Gary ends the call before I can respond. I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and hang my head. I don’t bother to stop the tears now. A year ago I told Gary I’d never go back to my old job, not because I wouldn’t want to but because I knew it would be close to impossible once another journalist rose to the top. But there was a part of me that still held onto hope. Until now.

A ten-minute conversation doused every ounce of hope I was carrying. Why is it that every time my life seems to fall apart, a phone call is the catalyst to the destruction?

I swipe the wetness from my cheeks and glance in the rearview mirror. My eyes are red, but they’re not puffy. At least no more so than usual. Hopefully, the evidence of that phone call will disappear before I reach Infinite Motors.

Thanks to traffic and Gary, by the time I arrive at the business, I’m twenty minutes late. I park the car so I can see the dark front entrance. There are no other cars in the lot and I don’t see any motorcycles either.

Am I too late? Did Piston leave, thinking I wasn’t coming? Normally I would have called or texted him to let him know I was running behind, but I don’t have his number. The one time he called me, it came up as unknown.

I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel and lean my forehead against it. The weight of failure threatens to crush me. I couldn’t save my mom when she was dying, I can’t save my father now, and I can’t even manage to show up on time to meet the one person who holds my future in his hands.

A knock on the window causes me to jump. I look through narrowed eyes and see Piston standing just outside my door, motioning for me to roll the window down. His face is set in a scowl, which gives me pause.

“C’mon, Holland,” He demands. “Roll it down.”

I do as he instructs and an involuntary shiver runs through me as the cool air hits my skin.

“You’re late.”

“I know. There was—”

“I’m not interested in excuses.”

Piston turns and starts back toward the building. Without looking back, he calls over his shoulder.

“You’re not gonna get your fucking story sitting in the car.”