T Novan - Exposure Season 4

Kels chuckles and comes to my rescue. Finally. He protests as she disengages his hands, and I escape from his grasp.

"Why is it they like my hair so much?" I pull a strand of it over my shoulder and grimace as I squeegee out a quart of slobber from it.

Kels reaches out and plays with a dry strand. "Because it’s beautiful."

I actually blush. What the hell is wrong with me?

Kels presses her advantage. "Like you are." Her fingertips reach out and trace my cheekbone. Her lips follow. Before anything else can happen, our son reasserts himself, flopping forward to gnaw on Kels’ thigh, and Brennan begins a series of loud vocal exercises.

"Just think, this only goes on for eighteen years."

Kels groans.

The next morning, I wake up early with Kam’s wet nose pressed against my foot. I lift my head barely an inch off the pillow and look down at the German Shepherd. He licks my toe, and I jerk it back. Tickles.

"You want to go out, you big oaf?"

Another lick.

Great. I look over, and my girl is sleeping happily next to me. I tug the comforter up over her bare shoulder and swing my legs off the bed. I go over to the dresser and pull on underwear, sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Kam is right at my side, tail thumping happily on the floor.

"What? You think I’m taking you?"

Thump, thump, pant, lick.

"Uh huh, sure."

"Hon," a gentle voice calls from the bed.

"Sorry, baby; go back to sleep."

Kels pushes herself up on one elbow, her hair lopsided from sleep. "You going to take one of the guards with you?"

I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge. Kels flops back down on the mattress and looks up at me with half-closed eyes. "Since Kam is a trained guard dog, I think I’ll be all right, sweetie."

She gives a cute, embarrassed grin. "Oh, yeah; right."

I drop a kiss on her mouth. "Thanks for worrying though. We’ll be back after we stretch our legs some."

It’s early enough that only those of us who are insane people are jogging in the park. I had to put my roller blades away for the winter. Between the sand, slush, salt and snow, it’s impossible to not land on your can while blading.

Kam is so happy to be outside. He is practically leaping with joy, and running circles around me. With a loud bark, he begins pulling me along our usual trail. We settle into a comfortable rhythm. I hate running. I prefer almost any other type of exercise to running. Of course, Angelina Jolie recently said she got in shape for her upcoming movie by having sex with Billy Bob. I agree in principle, if not in practice.

I chuckle at the thought. I wonder if I could pass that by Kels as a new workout plan. I would be in such good shape. I would never miss a workout, that’s for damn sure.

There are a few other insane people out at this hour. We’re all bundled up and thinking warm thoughts. It was sixty degrees in New York last week. It ain’t that anymore. At home, they’re already running the air conditioning.

Home.

Kels wants to hang up her position here. She wants to start doing her own stories, work freelance, maybe consult. Basically, her main goal is to set her own schedule and be with the babies as much as possible. I can’t blame her.

But I can’t join her. She was right the other day. I do enjoy the pace of the office, the pursuit of a story, the fame and money possible. I love my children. I’d die for them without a moment’s hesitation. And I’d die without them now. The other week taught me that. Yet, I love my job.

If Kels quits, I need to decide what I’m going to do. We could continue living here in New York, with me working for ‘Exposure.’ It would make sense for Kels’ freelance work. This is the media capital of the world.

But if she’s not working full-time, wouldn’t she rather be around our family more? Why be two thousand miles away, when we can be two hundred paces? It requires, however, that I get the right job. Next on my career ladder is a news director position. New Orleans is number forty-one in the market. Immediately after Memphis, Tennessee, but a couple before Buffalo, New York. My seventh grade geography teacher, Sister Mary Thomas Catherine, always used to say ‘If you have a brother in jail and a brother in Buffalo, get the brother out of Buffalo first.’ It’s even funnier when you hear a nun deliver that line.

Not a bad market. Especially not for a twenty-six year old news director.

I shake my head. Am I really only twenty-six? Born in 1974. That’d make it so. Talk about a great birthday present last year. Not bad at all.

Kam growls low in his throat when another jogger pulls up beside me. It’s not unusual. A lot of us do that with a stronger runner, allow them to set the pace, push ourselves a little bit extra. I give a tiny tug on Kam’s leash, warning him to behave.

"Cold, isn’t it?" the guy grunts.

I glance over at him. He’s slight, but clearly not in shape. His breath is coming in ragged bursts, and he looks like he might pass out or puke at any moment. I don’t want to deal with either. I decide to ignore him.

"Bet it’s even colder in Vermont right now."

Kam and I both growl at the same time; neither of us likes what we’re hearing. I take another look at my running companion. I notice the butt pack around his waist and the wire dangling from it.

Prick.

"Go away," I reply.

"How are your twins doing?"

I take a quick step to the right and cut him off. He has to slow down to avoid a collision with me. I gain an easy few paces on him.

"How do you answer the charge that they were better off with their grandmother?"

I almost stop. Almost. Almost explain to him that sharing blood is not the same as being related. My children will have nothing in common with that sick, weasely bitch, who managed to do only one thing right in this life; have my Kelsey. Everything else in her miserable existence has been a tragic mistake. I sometimes think that Kels took the last drop of goodness out of her mother at birth. What else could explain a woman so devoid of it now?

I keep running, moving further and further away from the reporter wanna be.

When I’m news director down in New Orleans, I’m gonna make sure that my people take up long distance running, for those people who are hard to interview.

Kam and I arrive back at the apartment with no more altercations with life forms rising out of the primordial ooze. I think the ones that were camped outside of our apartment building have finally given up. Or our security group convinced them to move along. I love those guys.

We come into the house hot and sweaty, despite the cold outside. Immediately, we both head to the kitchen for a long, cool drink of water. I almost envy Kam thisthat; his is already out and waiting for him. As I chug down a glass, Brian enters the room.

Mornings are never kind to our nanny. His hair, normally a little punky already, is sticking out in every direction, and his face is puffy and red. He waves in my direction, heads for the icebox and sticks his head in.

"Rough night?"

He moans. When he starts to remove his head, he has to remove a package of frozen vegetables and toss them back in. "I think I’m getting a cold."

If the sound of his voice is any indication, I’d say he’s already passed go. "So why are you sticking your head in the freezer?"

"So I can wake up."

"Go back to sleep, Brian."

He shakes his head, then clutches it, in obvious distress.

"Really. Go. Sleep. You can’t be around the kids like that." I only realize too late that it doesn’t sound like the most compassionate way to urge him to take care of himself.

The look on his face tells me that it did hurt him. "Okay." He turns to leave.