OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

ninety-six.

Reagan's ears perked to the sound of the radio she kept on her desk. She'd left it on, its volume dialed to a low setting. The radio deejay was speaking and in between snatches of fuzzy static, Reagan heard Kurt's name.

"Kurt Cobain, still apparently missing as of today, though-,"

Reagan took two strides to her desk and aggressively switched the radio off, cutting away the buzz of the deejay's skeptical voice.

She wanted to hurl the radio out the window. It was ridiculous to her that the media had latched on to news so quickly, squirming like worms into Kurt's personal life again. It was inevitable that they'd find out eventually, but it didn't stop Reagan from wanting to stand outside of the KNDD station and scream at the top of her lungs.

Didn't any of them grasp that they'd driven him to it? That their hovering, like sharks fresh on a blood trail, had made him want to fall off the face of the earth?

Reagan slumped into her chair and pressed her fingers to her temples. It was time to work. Time to stop fretting about Kurt and all the things she could not control, so that she could have some vestige of a life. But in so many twisted ways, it was like the universe was laughing at her. Maybe it was selfish to think so, but Reagan felt that she'd been challenged.

Get everything you could ever want — a talented, funny, wonderful husband and a beautiful child and a great job in the music industry — but lose a friend in return.

That was the price of her happiness. Kurt was the price to pay. Reagan couldn't have her supposedly amazing life and keep Kurt in it at the same time.

It was either that or the old saying that nothing was ever perfect.

Stilling the slight tremble in her hands, Reagan reached for the stapled stack of papers that she'd been scanning earlier. It was an outline for a meeting that she had later in the day. Most of the black text blended together as she read. None of it was particularly interesting — mostly housekeeping points that her bosses would harp on. She thought about where she'd rather be.

Gracie was the first face to pop into her mind. Of course Reagan would have rather been with her daughter, perhaps taking a walk in Pike Place Market, buying Gracie a hot chocolate and blowing ripples across the top so that she wouldn't burn her tongue. Dave would be there too, a ratty baseball cap on his head and his arm around Reagan as he laughed cheerfully at Gracie's squeals. The best way to spend any day . . . a perfect day . . .

Before Reagan knew it, an hour had passed. Something in her conscious shifted and she blinked, staring down at the paperwork in her hands. She couldn't believe that she'd actually been sitting there, staring at her work while daydreaming for an hour, but the wall clock in her office indicated that she had.

As she began to lay the papers down, there was a knock at her office door. Reagan immediately straightened in her chair and cleared her throat, feeling like a kid that had been caught doing something against the rules.

"Come in," she called out.

The door opened and Todd walked in. He closed the door gently shut behind him and when he spun around, Reagan didn't recognize his face.

It was strange, as Todd had always been the most jovial, carefree person in a room since Reagan had met him. He was on par with Dave in that way, constantly coaxing smiles out of everyone without ever really meaning to.

Todd looked ashen. His face was unnaturally white, blanched of color and dominated by a grave set of eyes that bored directly into Reagan's.

The meek smile that she'd prepared for him faltered. Slowly, Reagan's hands fell into her lap and she twisted them together. Her first assuming thought was that she was in trouble. She wondered with a sudden flash of worry if she'd somehow missed the meeting, but that wasn't possible. It wasn't set to start for another hour.