Page 98 of Red Marked

“Yeah? Can I help you?”

“Hi.” I step forward, smiling. “Sorry to turn up on your doorstep like this. Are you Tank?”

His eyes move over me, over Flint, and then come back to me. “Yes, why? Who are you?” He gives me the once-over all over again.

“I’m Luna, and this is Rake. We’re from the Mistveil Sun. We’re putting together a piece on the coast road accident that happened just over five years ago.”

“I’m not interested.” The door starts to close.

“Wait.” I put my hand flat against it. “I understand that it was a terrible time in your life. Hear me out for ten seconds, and if you still want us gone, then we’ll leave. Please, Tank.”

He gives me a look that tells me he’s going to humor me but stops trying to close the door in our faces.

“Most people, after something like that, they fall apart. They’ll take to drinking. They’ll lose their house or their mate.” I let my eyes drift past him into the house and then back to his face. “You didn’t. You walked away from something that would have flattened anyone else, and you built all of this. That’s the story. Not the accident. It’s going to be about you. The way you picked yourself up and kept going is nothing short of incredible.”

He shifts his weight.

“You’re inspirational,” I add, forcing myself to stop there. I don’t want to lay it on too thick, or he’ll know I’m blowing smoke up his ass.

I’m getting excited because he isn’t denying that he was involved.

“Well, um…if that’s the slant.” He pushes the door back open but doesn’t step to the side.

My heart starts to beat faster. I think this is our guy.

It’s him!

Yes!

We finally caught a break.

“People need to hear that it’s possible to come out the other side…not just surviving but thriving.” I tip my head and let the smile go a little softer. “I think you’ll shoot really well too. That’s if you’ll let me send Lettie, our photographer. We might even make the second page this Sunday. It wouldn’t take very long at all.”

The corner of his mouth lifts.

“Ten minutes,” Tank says. “I’ve got things I need to do. An inspirational piece, you say?”

“Yes, and ten minutes is all we need.”

Inside, it’s all one big room. There’s a tan leather sectional and a wall of glass looking out over the lake. It’s beautiful.

“Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? A soda?” he asks, looking at me.

“We’re good, thanks,” Flint says.

“I’m fine.” I sit on the sectional before I’m asked and pat the cushion next to me. Tank sits, leaving a few feet between us. Flint takes the armchair across from us.

I take out the notebook I bought yesterday and click the pen.

“So.” I smile at him. “Take me back to that day. In your own words. What happened?”

His eyes narrow. “I thought this was an inspirational piece.”

“It is…first and foremost, but we need to paint the picture of tragedy. It’ll add weight to your success.”

“Oh…of course.” He clears his throat. “I was flying. It was a day like any other, except I got this god-awful cramp in my wing. The whole thing seized up, and I went down like a rock.” He shifts in his seat. “It was terrible. I tried…I tried so damned hard, but it was no use. My left wing wasn’t usable, and my right barely had anything to give. There was a car on the road…and…and… I tried to miss it…I really tried.” His voice sounds sad and lost. He rubs his eyes.

“But you couldn’t.”