Chapter Sixteen
Belted into the narrow seat of the plane, Alex fidgeted with his cellphone. He’d already beat his head against the seatback; he didn’t know what else to do. The flight attendant watched all the players with a keen eye; Alex wasn’t the only one chafing to make a call as they circled SFO for a third time.
He was living through the travel day from Hell.
The day before, they’d gone fourteen innings in New York and had two rain delays. The storm had blasted through the night, disrupting air traffic up and down the East Coast and delaying their flight out until this morning. Rain had pelted the team bus on the way to JFK and even after postponing their departure until ten, they’d had to sit in the terminal for more than an hour and then on the runway for two hours, jockeying for a slot in the departure queue. So much for their day off.
With the time change and a driver meeting him at SFO, he’d been sure he’d make the gala in plenty of time, no matter what kind of delay they might run into. His tux was laid out on his bed, ready to be pulled on. He’d arranged everything.
But his careful plans hadn’t included bad weather and mechanical problems.
Some issue with the team plane—an issue no one was explaining to them—had forced them to divert to Detroit. And of course they’d tried to fix the unnamed problem, unsuccessfully, for almost two damned hours before even trying to secure another plane.
A couple of the guys had slept in Detroit, but he hadn’t been one of them.
He banged his head against the seatback again. He’d texted Michael Albright before they took off and informed him of the situation, but there’d been no reply. Now he wished he’d called Jackie too, and kicked himself for not doing so. He hadn’t wanted to worry her. From the tone of her voice when she’d called to ask him to chair the gala, he guessed big parties weren’t a favorite activity of hers.
The flight attendant made a last pass through the cabin in preparation for landing at SFO.
Fifteen minutes later, he checked his watch. After nine.
Come on, come on.
As soon as the plane touched down, he called Jackie’s cell. The mechanized voice informing him that the cellular customer he was calling was unavailable only fueled his irritation. He sent a text, hoped she'd get it.
His driver got him home quickly, where he showered, shaved and changed into his tux with none of his usual care. He ran back out to the car, and they headed for the gala. Being more than two hours late was bad enough, but he hoped it was better than not showing at all.
The driver pulled into the yellow zone in front of the brightly lit city hall.
“I can wait here,” he said as Alex jumped out.
A handful of people departing the building and making their way down the red-carpeted steps had him sinking into a deep gloom. It didn’t help that the clock in the tower looming above showed ten thirty.
He looked up and saw Jackie pause at the top of the steps.
His breath caught in his chest. The light pouring from the hall behind her reflected off the flowing copper of her gown, framing her in a shimmering halo. She looked otherworldly, like an angel. She hesitated on the first of the wide marble steps and tugged a shawl around her shoulders. Even from a distance he saw the weariness in her posture. When she lifted her head and saw him standing near the limo, she froze.
He raced up the steps, two at a time.
“Thank God you haven’t left. I nearly broke the land speed record getting here.”
Up close she looked more beautiful than any living creature he’d ever imagined. He wanted to pull her to him, to kiss her, to lift her in his arms and carry her off somewhere, anywhere, but the tiny lines of weariness around her eyes made him curb his desire.
“Volkov—you remember him—wrote a big check.” She patted the bag that dangled from her arm. “And your buddy Scotty arrived early.”
The hurt in her tone told him that she thought he too had had an option to get there on time.
“Scotty’s starting tomorrow,” he answered, nearly stumbling on his words. “We always send starting pitchers back a day early if we can.” Explaining seemed trivial, inadequate. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently. “I’m so sorry, Jackie.”
She tilted her head, studying his eyes. “Forgive me. When I saw Scotty, I thought... Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I see now that you couldn’t help being late.”
She straightened and plastered one of those emotionally barren smiles on her face, a smile he hated to see on anybody.
“Just the promise of your being here drew quite a crowd.” She nodded to the lively gathering in the vestibule behind her. “Everybody’s grateful.”
He wasn’t sure if she included herself in the everybody and he sure didn’t feel like he deserved any gratitude right now.
She walked to the edge of the steps. Instinctively he reached to take her arm to help her navigate the narrow stone steps, but she tugged it back and fidgeted with the shawl, pulling it closer to her.
“Is it too late to take you back in for a drink?”
She turned and looked at the party. For a moment he thought she’d say yes.
“I need to get home,” she said, letting out a long breath.
“I can take you home in the limo.”
He’d do anything to buy time, time to salve the hurt, time to... to what? Likely the last thing she needed right now was to deal with him.
“Bradley’s driving me home,” she said, lowering her eyes to her hands. Then she peered at him through her lashes, and he could’ve sworn he saw her eyes widen in a subtle flicker of invitation, the kind that escaped one’s tightest-drawn boundaries. But then it vanished and she drew her gaze away. “But thank you.”
She tugged her shawl closer. He started to remove his jacket to wrap it around her, but she put her hand on his arm, stopping him.
“At least let me walk you down these steps.” He held out his arm, offering.
“They do look mighty dangerous.”
Her voice was steadier now, but he couldn’t tell if she was teasing or chastising him.
She laced her arm through his. They descended the steps and walked to the valet stand. The silence between them made the few moments feel like an age. But before he could think of something to say, Bradley pulled up in her truck and hopped out.
“Hello, Alex,” Bradley said as he rounded the back of the truck. “Saw your game yesterday. Back in the zone, huh?”
Bradley’s confident, almost cocky stance told Alex that he didn’t consider Alex any sort of competition for Jackie’s attention or affection. He and Jackie shared a love of science, shared a mission. Alex was a mere athletic entertainer in the man’s eyes.
“This is Bradley,” Jackie said as she pulled her arm free of Alex’s. “He’s a colleague of mine."
Alex muttered a greeting. Colleague, my ass.
“Your coach, madame.” Bradley swept a ridiculous bow to Jackie.
“I’m sure you’ll understand that I need to go now,” she said with a gentle look that cut into him deeper than any blade ever could.
He did understand. But... he didn’t. He didn’t understand why he was drawn to her—why they were drawn to one another—but couldn’t seem to do anything about the attraction.
All he knew was that he wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, kiss her. . . love her. If only he could.