She forcefully tapped him on the shoulder.
“Can I help you?” Cason snapped with an annoyed crease in his forehead.
“Are you this Cason guy everyone has been talking about?” she barked loudly.
His dark eyes darted around the car before locking onto her stern gaze. “Why are you asking?”
“This is my sister, Stormi Talkington. You might have heard of her.” Cierra was on a mission.
Cason shook his head. “Should I have? I’m sorry, but I have no idea who she is.”
Finally, I cleared my throat as the shock of what my forward twin had done sank in. “I’m a sports journalist forAthletics Illuminated. I’d love to do an exclusive with you.”
He bit his lip. “Like I’ve told countless reporters, I have nothing to say.”
“There’s always something to say,” I retorted, shoving my card into his hand. “Just think about it. I promise I will give you the voice you deserve after such a tragedy. I watched some of your practices—you really are a talented hockey player.”
“Was. Iwastalented,” he tranquilly argued.
“Let’s agree to disagree on that one. Anyway, you have my number if you change your mind. Thank you for your time.” I hooked my arm with Cierra’s as the train slowed to a stop.
“I’ll think about it,” Cason called after us.
“That’s all I ask.” I shot a quick wink over my shoulder as my sister and I exited the train.
* * *
Frantically,I typed out the notes I had for my next piece. It was total fluff, but I didn’t have anything else. A highlight on the upcoming wedding of Chase Harding and Nikki Jennings, it was a twofer—he was a rising hockey star, and she was a prima ballerina for the New York City ballet. Not one of my more gritty stories, but it would pay the bills.
Tanya Turner, my editor-in-chief, was always trying to get me to do puff pieces, and she was finally going to get her wish.
It only took a few minutes for my phone to start ringing.
“Ms. Turner, that was fast,” I answered.
“Finally some sugary sweet gold that will help bring in a female audience. Nice work, Stormi. Have the article on my desk by Friday and we’ll run it.”
“Thank you, Ms. Turner.” My heart fluttered. Being a journalist was all I had ever wanted. The fact that I had dropped out of King’s College before my junior year could start had undeniably been a setback, but I didn’t care. My work would have to speak for itself. The day our mother got diagnosed with stage four renal cancer, Cierra and I had both agreed we would spend her last months taking care of her and living life to the fullest with her. It had been the right choice, but it was a hard path to follow.
Cierra had decided to go back to school, but I’d dived headfirst into working. I took every writing job I could get my hands on. Finally, Tanya had taken a chance on me—the chance of a lifetime—and I was determined to prove my worth.
I put my phone down on my desk and squealed a little.
“Did the boss lady finally like your idea?” Cierra popped her head up from her chemistry book. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, chewing on the eraser end of her pencil.
“Finally.” I beamed, jumping up. “I think this calls for a celebration.”
“I have my chem final in an hour.” Cierra frowned. “How about dinner at Le Zie Trattoria tonight instead?”
“Sounds like a wonderful plan.”
“I am really proud of you, sis!” She shoved her notes and book into her messenger bag. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”
“Good luck!” I called after my twin as she walked out the front door.
As the door locked behind her, my phone binged with a text from an unknown number.
What if I say yes to this interview?