Page 58 of All That Glitters

Paisley goes quiet, and I do my best to focus on the paper. It’s difficult though when my attention is split between the copy of Julius Caesar in my drawer and Jameson’s empty desk. I’ve never known him to miss a working period.

I bite my lip and glance at my phone. After he’s walked me to my dorm more than once and protected me while we were in the Shadow Ring, it feels like I owe it to him to check on him. My mind brings up the hurts from the past, but they’re drowned out for the moment by his gestures from the past few days. I pick up my phone.

Marigold: Are you okay?

I stare at the screen for a minute, before locking my phone and setting it down. There’s no sense in waiting for a text—my phone buzzes and I snatch it back up.

Jameson: Worried about me, Goldie?

I roll my eyes. Leave it to him to make me regret reaching out.

Marigold: I’m worried about the article, which you aren’t here to work on.

Jameson: The hockey team had an event today. We were teaching some of the local kids. Just finished up.

Attached to his message is a picture of him and Nash surrounded by a group of young boys who can’t be older than eight. They’re all grinning at the camera, sweat shining on their foreheads. It’s so adorable I barely keep myself from saying awww out loud.

Marigold: Looks like a fun time. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.

Jameson: Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?

My eyes burn again at the quote, and I blink to keep away the tears. Paisley might drag me to bed if she sees them.

Marigold: Anne of Green Gables.

If only I had the optimism encapsulated in that quote. But each day I wake up and I’ve carried over yesterday’s mistakes into today and borrowed some from tomorrow for good measure. Sometimes I feel as though I’m so full of flaws I might be made of them.

A real headache blooms behind my eyes, but I push through and set my hands on the keyboard. Maybe one day I’ll wake up lighter, but until then, there’s work to be done.

Chapter twenty-eight

The Hard Way

Jameson Sinclair

The joy I got from Marigold’s texts was quickly stifled when I read Paisley’s. She never texts me outside of the paper’s group chat, so I suspected something was wrong before I even opened the thread.

Paisley: Look, I know we’re not friends. And supposedly neither are you and Marigold. But I’m worried about her. I found her crying in the newsroom.

Paisley: She felt warm and said she had a headache, but I’m not sure what to believe. She won’t leave until she’s done working.

“You good?” Nash asks from across from me.

The entire team came to the diner after the event. Some of the kids are here with their parents too. We’ve packed out the place and just put in our orders, so it’s likely to be a while.

“Paisley texted and said Marigold isn’t doing well. She might be sick,” I tell him. “I think I should go check on her.”

A part of me wonders if me leaving the copy of Julius Caesar upset her enough to cry, but the timestamps don’t add up. I checked Marigold’s text first, but Paisley’s actually came in before hers. So Marigold must have texted me after their conversation. And she would have already found the paperback.

“I can get our waitress and cancel your order if you want to leave now,” Nash offers.

I hesitate. I’ve been so careful with Marigold lately. I don’t want to try to help only to make things worse.

“I don’t know,” I say when Nash gives me an expectant look. “It might be best if I let Paisley handle things.”

“Does Paisley know Marigold as well as you?” Nash counters.

No. It might be cocky to think, but no one knows her as well as me. I could probably look at her and know what’s wrong. I’m a little afraid of what the answer will be, though.