Page 74 of Sex Coach

Twenty-Five

Jake

T he cold airburned my lungs as I finished up the last quarter mile of my run .

I hated running in the cold .

Hated it with a passion .

Sometimes, I just plain hated the winters here in New York City period, but this was home now. I'd have to suck it up and deal with it .

At least until the five miles was done, and I could get my ass somewhere warm and shower and put on some clothes. Maybe a sweater about four inches thick .

I had to delay the plan for the shower about five minutes though. I'd known I'd have to. I'd planned on hitting the store at some point this weekend, but a winter storm, then the one between Michelle and me, had put an end to those plans and I didn't ever make it out. Since I was down to the dregs as far as food went, I swung north so I could hit the bodega just up from my apartment .

If I had gone in there two minutes sooner or two minutes later, I wouldn't have heard the newsflash. Maybe I could have carried on my day without knowing a damn thing .

But life liked to kick me in the teeth, and instead of passing the day in a comfortable haze and thinking about Michelle, I stood there listening to the on-air reporter as she detailed private information about a woman I cared for .

Standing in line with a gallon of milk and some juice, I clenched my jaw and fought to keep from going nuclear. This was bad. No other way around it, it was fucking bad, in a manner of epic proportions .

The chyron lit up with her name, and every time I blinked, it seemed to flare and glow on the inside of my eyelids, a brilliant white mockery .

Whitley McCrane .

Whitley.

As the on-air reporter prattled on, I focused on the screen so hard that the guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, it's your turn," he said, the Bronx thick in his voice .

"Sorry," I said more out of habit than really meaning it, Moving forward, I dumped my stuff on the counter and pulled a ten out of my pocket to pay for everything all without taking my eyes off the screen .

As soon as I had my change, I moved to the background and kept on watching the TV over the counter

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Had Whitley seen this? Had her husband ?

This was going to devastate her. She never talked about the attack, her rape. Or what happened after. Just having the cops in the small town where she grew up brush it off as a girl changing her own mind after the fact had been bad enough, but when her parents had practically done the same and gone on to talk about how bad it would be for them politically if they were to pursue charges...it had all devastated her .

The only way Whitley had been able to cope was to shove it all so deep down inside, it was like it had never happened .

The reporter's eyes sharpened, and I felt my stomach twist heavily as she continued to speak .

"What the true story is from all the years ago, we're unlikely to ever find out. Ms. McCrane is unavailable for comment." The reporter gave the camera a catty grin and continued to speak. My gut twisted as she went on to speculate about reports of a long tern affair that the senator's wife had been reportedly having. "As yet, no concrete details are available, but we'll be sure to update the story as it unfolds . "

"Good-bye, fucking career," I muttered .

* * *

M ind spinning,I headed home, the last block to my apartment passing in a blur. I shoved the milk in the fridge while grabbing a banana and a handful of grapes to throw into the blender along with the juice. I chugged the smoothie while I replayed the newscast over and over in my mind .

Anonymous sources report that Senator McCrane's second wife is having an affair .

Fuck. What was this doing to Whitley right now ?

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