The professional part of her brain knew Erin had every right to take space. The personal part, the one that still felt the ghost of Erin’s hands on her skin, wanted to reach through the phone and make sure she was breathing.
She picked up her phone, thumb hovering over Erin’s name. A text felt too passive. An email too formal. But a call, this late, after the day they’d had, felt like it might be too much.
Jamie sat on the edge of the couch and dialed anyway.
The line rang once. Twice. She was already preparing to leave a voicemail when Erin picked up.
“Hey,” Erin said, her voice lower than usual, softer around the edges. There was no background noise, no television hum. Just her.
“Hey,” Jamie said, exhaling the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Sorry it’s late. I figured you’d be home by now.”
“I am.” A pause, and Jamie could almost see Erin settling deeper into her couch, could picture Leo curled somewhere nearby. “You just finished the ten?”
“Yeah.” Jamie hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I didn’t hear back from you earlier. Thought I might’ve overstepped.”
“You didn’t.” Erin’s voice carried something Jamie couldn’t quite name. Exhaustion, maybe. Or relief. “It’s just been a long day.”
Jamie bit her lip, then pushed forward gently. “I saw the coverage. Every station ran the quote, but it looked good. You handled it.”
Erin huffed a small laugh on the other end. “That’s one word for it.”
“Hey,” Jamie said, her voice softening instinctively. “It was fair reporting. Everyone could tell you were caught off guard, but you stayed composed. That’s not nothing.”
There was a long pause, and Jamie heard the faint rustle of fabric, like Erin was shifting position. “I’ve replayed it more times than I want to admit.”
“Of course you have. That’s what professionals do.” Jamie’s chest tightened. She wanted to say more, wanted to bridge the gap she could feel stretching between them even through the phone. “But that’s not the only reason I called.”
“No?” Erin’s voice was careful, guarded in a way that made Jamie ache.
“I wanted to talk about last night,” Jamie said. The words felt heavier than she expected. “If that’s okay.”
The silence on the other end lasted long enough that Jamie almost filled it with something else, some backpedal or apology. But then Erin spoke, quiet but sure.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
Jamie exhaled slowly. “I don’t want you to think I regret it.”
“I don’t,” Erin said quickly, almost too quickly. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I think I do,” Jamie said. She stood and moved to the window, looking out at the street below where a single car rolled past, headlights cutting through the dark. “You looked different this morning. Not bad different, just like you were trying to fold yourself back up.”
There was a beat of silence, then a soft, rueful sound that might have been a laugh. “That’s my specialty.”
“I know,” Jamie said gently. “But you don’t have to do that with me.”
Erin’s exhale was slow, uneven. Jamie held her breath, waiting.
“It’s not that simple,” Erin said finally. “I spend all day guarding every word that comes out of my mouth. Last night, I didn’t. It felt good. Scary, but good. And then today I made a mistake in front of every camera in Boston. It’s hard not to connect the two.”
Jamie closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window. “I get that. But they’re not the same thing. One was you being human at work. The other was you being human with me.”
“You make it sound easier than it is.”
“It’s not easy,” Jamie said. “But I think it’s worth trying anyway.”
Erin laughed softly, and this time it sounded more real. “You’re persistent, you know that?”
“Occupational hazard.” Jamie smiled despite herself. “We’re supposed to chase the story.”
