Page 32 of The Outpost (Jamison Valley 4)
Even if my boss had had to give away my job, I had no doubt that I would be able to find a new one. But did I even want that life anymore? My twenty-two-year-old self would be aghast that I was considering giving up a career I had worked so hard to attain.
I missed that young woman. I longed to be her again. She was a fledgling, idealistic journalist fresh out of college, excited at what her future had in store. She had such a bright outlook on life. She was untainted by the harsh realities of just how far a reporter could fall when tempted by that unattainable story.
Could I ever get back to where she was?
No.
Too many lines had been crossed. Too many of my principles had been compromised. Over the years, I’d lied to get information from sources. I’d manipulated confessions from witnesses who had wanted to remain quiet. But using sex and seduction to get the Federov story had been my final fall from grace.
That wasn’t the type of journalist I’d set out to become. I’d learned the hard way that undercover work like that didn’t sit well with my conscience.
No, my dreams of being a reporter were over.
My career had been my sole focus for so long, did I even know how to dream anymore?
“What are your dreams, Beau?”
He was so put-together, so confident. Not in a cocky way, just sure of himself and the path he was on. If he still had dreams to achieve, maybe I wouldn’t feel so far behind. I wouldn’t feel like I had just crossed the finish line only to learn the race I was supposed to be running had just begun and my competitors were already halfway around the track.
“Dreams?” he asked, surprised by my seemingly random question.
“Yeah, your dreams. Do you have everything you want in life?”
He pulled in a deep breath before answering, his chest swelling to twice its gigantic size. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had dreams.”
Was it wrong that his sad statement made me feel better? Maybe I didn’t need dreams either.
“I’m not really a dreamer,” he said. “I set goals and work hard to achieve them.”
Goals. I liked that. The word itself seemed less daunting. Goals were reached methodically. Goals were within one’s control. If you missed a goal, your soul wouldn’t be crushed and your hopes wouldn’t be shattered. You’d just reset your priorities, make a new plan and trudge onward. Heartache and disappointment were not part of the equation.
Forget dreams. Beau’s goals sounded like just the thing for me.
“Tell me more about your goals.”
“I wouldn’t say they’re anything out of the ordinary. They’re probably fairly similar to most peoples’. I’ve got the only job I’ve ever wanted. After twelve years, I still like going to work every day. I have a good relationship with my family, and the time we spend together is fun. I love my town and do my best to support my community. My biggest goal is not fucking that up.”
He bent to pick up a long stem of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “But you asked, do I have everything I want in life? No, not yet. I would like a family someday. A wife. Kids of my own. I want to make memories with them like the ones I have from my childhood. Take them to all those places my dad took me.”
“I’m intrigued.”
He smiled. “It wasn’t anything fancy. My parents didn’t have a ton of extra cash for five people to fly all over the world so we mostly just traveled around Montana. We camped and fished in the summer. Went skiing in the winter. My dad bought a ski boat when I started high school so, from that summer on, we went waterskiing as much as we could.”
His childhood vacations sounded simple and pure. The exact opposite of any family trip I could remember.
“My parents only believed in enlightening travel experiences,” I told him. “My entire life, I can’t remember a single trip we took that was just for fun. You’d think that since we lived in Florida, they would have at least taken us to Disney World, but I’ve never been.”
“Child abuse.” He grinned, tucking the piece of grass he’d been twirling into the hair behind my ear. “I’ll make you a deal, Shortcake. When the mafia isn’t a threat, you’re not considering WITSEC and life goes back to normal, I’ll meet you in Disney World and take you on the vacation six-year-old Sabrina never had.”
I smiled. “You’ve got a deal, Goliath.”
“Good. Now, tell me. What exactly are ‘enlightening’ travel experiences?”
I laughed and told him all about the trips I had taken in my youth.
He listened to me talk about the month we had spent in Europe, bouncing from country to country. How we had all contracted bed bugs in one of our last stops and brought them back home.
He laughed when I told him that my parents had taken us to China and gotten sick one night when they’d insisted on eating duck heads and deep-fried scorpions from a street vendor.
