Mine To Love

A Miracle Or Three

Chapter Three

Eloise

If there was one thing I hated more than Monday mornings, it was alarm clocks reminding me of said Monday mornings. I begrudgingly hit the snooze button before stifling a groan into my pillow.

“Rise and shine, young lady,” I turned my head toward the bedroom door just as Brielle, my roommate and best friend, leaned against the frame, balancing two mugs of coffee in her hands.

“I swear one day you need to teach me how you manage to be all bright and sunshiny early in the morning ”. “Well, it just takes practice, some cuss words and the reminder that we have bills to pay. She walked over and handed me a mug and sat beside me on the bed.

“Ugghhh. Why did you have to remind me of bills? I can’t believe the rent will be due in a week. Wasn’t it like yesterday when we paid the previous bill? I’m so tired.”

"I know that face." "That's your 'I'm about to sell one of my kidneys on the black market' face."

"I've upgraded."

"Oh?"

"I'm considering both kidneys."

She laughed as she sat cross-legged beside me. "You'd make, what? Ten grand?"

"Hopefully enough to pay rent." "And then you'd die."

"Minor inconvenience."

Brielle nudged my shoulder, "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

I took a sip of coffee and sighed. Living in London had sounded glamorous when I graduated from university. Sports journalist, NHL correspondent, traveling with professional teams and interviewing elite athletes. Nobody tells you that climbing the ladder takes connections, luck, or the willingness to kiss the right people's asses. Instead, I’m stuck with peanuts for pay, so I usually juggle some side jobs just to be able to fit the bill. So much for the luxury sports journalist I wanted to become. Our apartment isn't terrible. It has four walls. Mostly. And one shared bathroom, but at least the kitchen is sizable because I love cooking, and so I can’t imagine myself cooking in a cramped space. But all in all, it is home.

"I thought payday was yesterday," Brielle said. "It was."

"And?"

"I got paid." She frowns. "Then why are you looking like someone stole your inheritance?" I unlock my phone and slide it across the bed and her eyes widen she takes in the balance. "Oh... You weren’t joking about the kidneys."

"Exactly."

"What exactly happened?" She asks. "My editor cut freelance bonuses."

"What??? Why??"

"They're calling it budget restructuring."

"Bullshit."

"My thoughts exactly."

"But you're one of their best writers."

"I also happen to be one of their cheapest."

"You should ask for a raise." I bark out a laugh. "Have you met my editor?”

She smiles sympathetically before standing. " I feel you should start looking for a new place to work because we both know you’re worth more than the scraps they feed you in that company. Come on, let’s go and have breakfast before it gets cold."

Two hours later, I’m done eating and preparing for work. I step outside, and the cold morning air hits my face, reminding me that today is going to be a long day. By the time I reached the office, my patience had gone with the wind.

"Morning, Ellie." Sandra, our receptionist, greets with a smile and I wonder what is making her happy on a Monday morning. "Morning, Sandra. How’re you?"

"I’m okay, thank you. Your editor's already in."

"When isn't he?"

She laughed. "Good point." The newsroom buzzes with the usual chaos. It’s loud, but this place has become like a second home to me because every story matters and this is the dream I'd chosen, even on the days it felt like it wasn't choosing me back. "Morning, Eloise." I looked over to find Isaac leaning against my desk with two paper bags. "Oh Isaac, what would I ever do without you. Thank you so much. I owe you one."

"You wouldn’t survive a day here without me. I was trying to stop you from passing out halfway through today's media day."

"I've only done that once, and you promised never to speak of it again.” “Oops, I must’ve forgotten then. Sorry, not sorry.” He tossed one of the bags at me. Isaac wasn't my best friend because that title belonged to Brielle, but after three years working together, I knew he was one of God’s sent angels to me.

By late afternoon, I was already so tired. I'd interviewed assistant coaches, rookies, management and half the medical staff. Everyone except the players currently finishing practice. Every time I considered quitting, I reminded myself how hard I'd worked to get here. I'd spent years building relationships with coaches, media officers and players who trusted me enough to tell me stories no one else heard. My editor might not appreciate me, but my sources did. Sometimes that has to be enough. After work, I walk back to my flat that’s one year away from being condemned for structural instability. Self-pity doesn’t suit me, but I deserve one night of drowning in my sorrows.

I considered calling Axel, my former employer turned friend— After he got drafted into the league, life pulled us in different directions, but somehow we still managed to keep in touch—but chose against it because I assumed he was busy with hockey’s pre-season checks. Dishing my financial woes to Axel always results in him offering me money. Even though I refuse, he does what he can, connecting me with other hockey companies to work on their PR. His referrals then recommend me to others, which has helped me build my brand as a reputation fixer.

The walk back to the flat ends too quickly. I walk up the rickety steps and enter when I realize Brielle is not yet back from her place of work, so the house is lonely, which makes me drown even more in my thoughts. My thinking continues as I skip dinner, take a shower, and flop onto my bed. Done with putting off the inevitable, I pull out my phone and reassess my bank account. It takes less than one minute to understand how screwed I am. I throw my phone toward the end of my bed as hopelessness destroys my positivity.

“God, I know we’ve been on bad terms lately, but I’d be eternally grateful for a lifeline right about now. I’ll take anything. And let’s be real, I could use a miracle or three. I think I’ve paid my dues,” I whisper up to the ceiling. My head pounds as I come to terms with my situation. Grief wraps around me like a cloak. I hate when the sadness comes in, like a dark fog stealing away my happiness. The feeling grips onto me with invisible talons and holds me hostage. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, my whole life turns upside down. My phone buzzing interrupts my thoughts. I move to grab it from the corner of my bed. An unknown number flashes across the screen, and I answer without hesitation. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Eloise Denver?” A male’s voice greets me. “That’s me.” My voice cracks.

“Great. My name is Oscar Rhodes. I was given your contact information because you worked for Axel Crew last year. I know the season is about to begin, but I need your help with a project.”

“What type of project?” It takes everything in me to control my voice, not wanting it to reek of desperation. “We want to hire you for a job. We'd like to hire you as our embedded journalist to cover The Huskies throughout the championship season. We'd also like you to handle some media coordination with the players. “What are the stipulations?” I remain nonchalant despite my body buzzing with anticipation. At this point, if it doesn’t involve removing my clothes, I’m all for it. Hell, even that sounds tempting after checking my funds. “We will be paying you four thousand euros per month for ten months, starting this March. Plus, a bonus of ten thousand euros if you can make it until the final game in the first week of December.”

“We want you to work solely with the players. The job would include boosting their presence in the media, amongst other things which you’ll find in the contract that will be sent to you if you accept the offer.”

Fifty thousand euros? For that kind of money, I’d do just about anything. “I have a few clients I would need to check in with. If that’s okay, then I can absolutely help with whatever you need.”

“We look forward to hearing from you.” Well, it turns out that God does work in mysterious ways.