Reservation (Preservation Series) (7 page)

“Fine. Fair enough.”

He gave a quick nod, breaking eye contact briefly. “So are you ready to begin?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I like that attitude. Okay.” He reached over to retrieve his laptop. “First things first. I want to go over a pre-release schedule I have planned for you—various interviews and appearances Neda’s arranged prior to your tour in June. This will help give you some additional exposure before the tour. As you know, you’ve already received some fantastic reviews from some very impressive publications, so there’s already quite a bit of momentum building.” He smiled widely and handed me a binder. Not a page, not a folder—a binder. I quickly skimmed the pages, noting everything from schedules, contacts, speaking points, dos and don’ts, and wardrobe suggestions.

“Wow,” was all I could manage.

Danny snickered. “Buckle up, Ryan. It’s going to be one hell of a ride.”

3. HERO

My classes went smoothly the next day, but that didn’t change the fact that I was officially freaking out. And I hadn’t even done anything yet. My first TV interview wasn’t until Friday morning, the release tour not until June, yet everything felt chaotic. Part of that was because Kate was gone. Not having her here with me threw everything off, especially in the midst of such huge change. I needed her here to keep me leveled. And what should have felt like a normal teaching semester felt more like an inconvenience, a nuisance, and that really wasn’t fair to the students I was teaching. My head hadn’t been in the game since I’d returned from St. Lucia, and I didn’t doubt my students noticed.

Hands were raised to ask questions, but I was too distant, too slow to respond. I’d engaged in discussion after my lecture, but I wasn’t really listening to what anyone had to say. The distraction was too great. At least Amy hadn’t shown up to bother me, which was a definite plus, but I had to pull my shit together if I was going to end this semester on a good note.

Class ended and I started gathering my things, glancing up when I heard a throat clear and a timid voice greet me. “Uh, excuse me Mr. Campbell, sorry to bother you, but...”

It took me a second to place a name with the face. “Miller? Jay Miller, right?”

His face lit up. “Wow, yeah...didn’t think you knew my name. I mean, you have so many students.”

“What can I do for you, Jay?”

He stuttered again, gesturing to the magazine he held in his hand. “Well, I uh...I just read the article about you in
Publisher’s Weekly
. I just wanted to say congrats on everything. A book and a movie deal...that’s huge. Is it true this is your last semester at the university? Are we one of your last classes?”

I stopped zipping up my briefcase and grinned. “Thanks, I appreciate that. Yeah, it’s true. My time’s almost up here. Mind if I take a look?” I pointed to the magazine.

Jay’s eyebrows rose and he eagerly handed it to me. “You didn’t know about this?”

“No,” I laughed, scanning the cover. “I’ve had a lot going on.” The thought that neither Danny nor Bob had mentioned my name being dropped in such a prominent magazine crossed my mind. They’d mentioned the book had received great reviews from some impressive publications, but nothing about news of my good fortune popping up in
Publisher’s Weekly
.

Damn. It was all so much more real now.

“It’s page 24,” Jay said.

“Thanks, man.” I opened to page 24 and glanced at the headline, skimming the text. Just as quickly as I eyed the article, I handed it back to him. “Wow. I’ll have to pick up a copy and read it later. Don’t want to keep you.”

“You know what? Keep it, I’ve already read it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, no problem at all.”

“Okay, thanks. It’s all kind of surreal, you know?” I toyed with the pages then turned to tuck it gently into my briefcase.

“I can imagine it is. You’re going to be a busy guy. Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck and ask you something real quick. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

I leaned back on my desk, crossed my arms, and plucked the pencil from my tweed jacket, twirling it in my fingers. “Okay, shoot.”

He shifted nervously, adjusting the book bag on his shoulder. “I might never get to ask someone as successful as you this question, so I’m dying to know...do you have any advice? I mean, for aspiring writers? The whole venture kind of intimidates me, to be honest. I took this class hoping to bolster some confidence, and it’s been a great class, don’t get me wrong...but trying to make it as a writer still scares the hell out of me.”

My pencil stopped twirling. I took a deep breath, then paused. Here was one of the kids that not long ago, I secretly judged. Who I criticized out of my own bitterness for wanting the same thing I had wanted and lost—a successful career in publishing. As I taught, I’d looked at these kids and laughed, drowning their dreams in the cynicism I’d accumulated from being tainted by the world and its cruel ways.

I studied Jay Miller, a kid not much younger than me, dressed in what could’ve passed for hand-me-downs and a ratty backpack that had seen better days. His dark hair swept over his forehead in a messy look that I’m sure would make pre-teen girls swoon, and he was thin as a rail, leaving me to wonder when he’d last eaten a good meal. For all I knew, this guy was here on a scholarship that he’d worked his ass off for. Maybe he was dirt poor and was the only glimmer of hope in his family, the one who had a chance to make something of himself, to help his loved ones. I’d been given a second chance with my dream, and I didn’t know this kid’s story, but I did know that look in his eyes. It was all too familiar.

Uncertainty—those eyes were full if it.

Full of big dreams, too, but he was too afraid to voice those desires for fear he might fail. I vaguely recalled a short fiction piece of his that I’d graded at the beginning of the semester.
Jay Miller. Not bad. Not bad at all, actually.

Training my eyes on his hopeful yet anxious gaze, I slid my pencil back into my pocket and stood up straight. Maybe I had a chance to redeem myself a little at the university before I left, after all.

“Off the record? I’m not your teacher right now?” I asked a bit hesitantly. “Because my advice is a bit...passionate.”

“Oh? Uh...okay, sure?”

I nodded, biting my lip for a second. I had to keep this self-righteous rant to a minimum, but damn, I had a lot to say to this kid. And for the first time since I’d been teaching at this university, it was actually sincere. Had to make it count.

“If you want to be a writer, then
be a writer
. If you fail, don’t wait too long to get back on the horse. Don’t
ever
fucking give up—not for you, not for someone else, not for anything or anyone—and if you do, then consider the possibility that you might not really want to be one. Because writers are fucking brave, and they weather the storm, no matter how much the sacrifice for their art hurts. The criticism, dealing with the long hours and sleepless nights because your characters won’t shut the hell up—all of it is more than a fair enough price to pay for what you get in return. When you get to breathe life into a work, and then set it free into the world—when someone shows interest in reading it?” I scratched my forehead, adrenaline pumping and heart thumping against my ribcage. “There’s nothing like it. Nothing at all. It’s a labor of love. Remember that and you won’t lose your way. Just trust your vision.”

Just as I was about to put a stop to my word vomit, my dad’s words came back to me, and I smiled fondly, my gaze settling somewhere in the distance, past Jay’s shoulder. “Bottom line, though? Know who you are, and trust that you can know yourself no matter how inexperienced or scared you might feel. Then own the shit out of it and make no apologies.”

Jay’s nervousness melted, his shoulders relaxing. “Wow...thank you, Mr. Campbell—”

“Ryan,” I corrected. “Outside of class, Ryan is fine.” I extended a handshake and he accepted it with a goofy smile.

“Okay, cool, thanks. I’ll do my best to keep that in mind.”

“Best of luck to you, man.” I turned for my briefcase and collected the last of my things, and Jay strode across the room, leaving me to an empty classroom. I zipped up the case and looked out at the empty seats. Smirking, I snatched my phone from my pocket and sent Kate a quick text.

The sunrise is exceptionally badass today. I’m a fan of second chances.

Yeah? Glad to hear it, babe. Wish I was there with you.

You are here with me. Always.

Chat soon?

Call you in an hour.

Sounds good. x

Just before slipping my phone away, it vibrated in my hand, and I glanced down to see a barrage of messages from Dean.

You home?

Will you be home soon?

Still in class?

Need to talk! Face 2 face!

911!

Man down! Man down!

Zombie apocalypse

Not there, r u.

Coming to your place. Will wait.

Oh, no. Dean was indeed having an episode. I dropped my phone back in my pocket and raced out of the room to catch the Light Rail home. So much for smooth sailing today.

***

“Dean, listen to me, man. Slow down and start from the beginning.” I hadn’t even opened my apartment door when Dean came at me, antsy and jittery. He stalked back and forth in front of the door, his eyes wide. He’d spewed all sorts of things—all of them having something to do with Carter—but they were so jumbled, I couldn’t make anything out.

“I was going to just call you, but I needed to talk about it in person, and we have a gig tonight. I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate unless I talked about it before we played. I have this solo and it’s a sold-out show and I have to be on my A game and I—”

“Dean, out with it, man.”

“Carter’s talking crazy talk.”

“And this is new, how?”

“It’s not British.”

“What?”

“No accent, no cliché Cockney malarky equals legitimate, serious malarky.”

I squinted, my key hovering near the door knob. Dean was a walking, talking foreign language. He hurt my brain.

“Meaning...he’s not kidding?”

“Correct. Meaning he’s 100 percent serious, and it’s all certifiably insane.”

I inhaled and opened the door, stepping in after him. “Okay, in Ryan Real World terms, what the hell is so certifiably insane that you felt the need to show up on my doorstep like a junkie itching for your next fix? You’re all sweaty and shaky man, it’s freaking me out.”

“He’s talking about going to Florida. As in....gators, swamps, and seniors. Ever since we got back from St. Lucia over the weekend, he’s talking in tongues and shit. I can’t understand a thing he’s saying!”

I knew the feeling.

“So you’re upset because he wants to go to Florida? What’s in Florida?”

“That’s just it! There’s
nothing
in Florida. It’s clear across the country, and he has nothing, no one there. I don’t get it!”

“Are we talking a vacation here, or what?” He just had a quickie vacation with us in St. Lucia, and he wouldn’t have been able to pull that off if it weren’t for me helping out with funds for the airfare. How could he even afford to think about another trip anytime soon?

“No, sir, he is
not
talking a vacation. This is not Orlando and the House of Mouse we’re talking here!”

I gave him a blank stare. We stopped in the kitchen, Dean bouncing on his heels as he paced back and forth near the breakfast counter, while I reached for a water glass from the cabinet.

“He’s getting all philosophical on me, man, talking about the meaning of life and legacies, and what his purpose is in the world...that’s all good and great and all, but I don’t get why the word ‘Florida’ is even lumped in with those subjects. It’s like when he flew to St. Lucia, he flew into some alternate universe or something. Some crazy vortex sucked him up and spat him back out and sent this different version of him home or something. He hasn’t been the same since we got back to Seattle. I noticed he was acting distant, kinda weird on the plane ride home, but I didn’t think anything of it, just thought he was tired or whatever. But the past few days, a switch flipped or something. There’s no reaching him!”

There were loads of questions I wanted to ask, but knowing I had a shit ton of things to get done before I called Kate, I chose the first one that popped in my head.

“Okay...what does this have to do with me? Sorry, but I don’t think I can help you here, man.”

“Talk some sense into the wanker.”

“Why would he listen to me? And why would I talk sense into him about this? It’s not my business. He has to have a good reason for wanting to go, maybe you should listen to what he has to say.”

“Ryan, do you have any idea what’s at stake here?”