Desperate Times (Boys of Silver Ridge 2)

The headache I was fighting off last night starts to come back, and each step down the stairs makes it pound a little more. It’s going to be bright and sunny today, and the light streaming through the large windows in the living room makes me wince. Okay. Maybe I am sick, but it’s nothing some cold medicine and a nap won’t knock out.

Sam left his phone on the kitchen counter when we came inside last night, and it’s buzzing when I walk into the kitchen. Thinking it’s an alarm he forgot about, I pick it up to turn the alarm off. I’m a little surprised to see Stacey calling him again. She called repeatedly a few weeks ago and I thought Sam had talked to her, letting her know he’s not available. It’s an awkward conversation to have, I know, and I don’t envy him for having to pick up the phone and break the news to her.

It’s early for her to be calling, and I’m tempted to answer the phone. It would get the point across that Sam isn’t available anymore, that’s for sure, but I also don’t want to get involved, and frankly, I feel like such shit right now I don’t have the energy to deal. I send the call to voicemail instead and look through the cabinets for Advil and cough medicine.

“Give it twenty minutes,” I grumble to myself after I take the little cocktail of medicine I dug out of Dad’s stash. I found prescription cough syrup that tasted horrible but should help me stop coughing and knock me back out. Along with Advil and a big spoonful of honey, I should be feeling better once the medicine kicks in and I wake up after a nap.

Sam is still sound asleep, and I slip into bed next to him. He groans softly and wraps his arm around me. My lips curve into a small smile and I wiggle closer, finding comfort in the warmth of his skin. I start feeling a little loopy from the narcotic in the cough medicine, and my thoughts drift like waves on the shore, some of them calm and gentle and some powerful enough to wash me out to sea, leaving me in dark, cold water.

Even if I don’t accept the offer to be the main writer for the show, I’ll still travel quite a bit next year with signings and Nightfall promotion. We’re nearing the end of the series, which causes anxiety to rise inside me because without Kellie and Marcus to constantly occupy my mind, I’ll feel a little lost. Having the new show to focus on will help ease the transition of not living in my Nightfall world, and I already have an idea for a mini-series spinoff, featuring some of the readers’ favorite side characters.

I mentioned it to my editor once, and she’s brought it up every once in a while since then, knowing the publisher would snap up the series for a very decent price. It would be a win for everyone, really. The Nightfall fans would get more of the world they love, the publisher would totally cash in on it, and any books in a similar setting would continue to drive interest to the TV series.

When I think about the future, that is what I want to do: keep writing stories I love, with characters and settings that are mine and mine alone. I wouldn’t have to work with a team or try and change something someone else already wrote. Plus, writing a novel and writing dialogue for a show are two totally different beasts.

Yeah, it would be cool to say I headlined a show, and the amount the network is willing to pay me is impressive…but is it me? A little voice in the back of my head tells me, no, it’s not, and signing on to this huge project my heart really isn’t in, taking away from a series I do love with my entire being borders on the line of selling out.

The network wants my name, not so much my original ideas, which was made apparent when they said they only wanted me to script the first and second seasons of the series. Even if Vanessa can get them to change the wording, my name will still be on something I didn’t write, and it doesn’t sit right with me.

Sam tightens his hold on me, and my thoughts drift in another direction. We just talked about how long-distance is hard. Being away on set will make it even harder. We can visit each other on weekends, or any other time Sam has a few days off in a row, but it’s not like flying to Europe to hang out with me for an evening is feasible. International flights are exhausting enough their own, and that’s not to mention the time difference, the jet lag, and the fact that Sam would have to come right back and have the lives of very sick patients in his hands.