Bad Traveler (15 page)

The timing of the story befuddled him. If he’d taken over during March Madness, or the team had gotten to the second round, the media hoopla would make sense. As much as the idea annoyed him, he would be a human-interest story. Hell, he was one, apparently, in spite of his efforts to avoid such scrutiny. That his mission remained classified and the action occurred so far in the mountains that no one live tweeted the story delayed the inevitable attention.

Someone had leaked the story. Who spilled his secret to the world? Brooke?
Nah. That bitch would only do it if it benefited her
. She’d be on TV, playing the grieving divorcée and trying to drum up attention for her next scheme. His family wouldn’t. They’d rejected the media once before. After his name went public as wounded in action and rumors swirled connecting him to the raid, they’d closed ranks and refused to speak to the media. He became a forgotten story within weeks.

The athletic director probably had a hand in renewing the story, although confronting him would damage his reputation. He never discussed mission details with Sterling Bohrl, even though the AD knew he was a disabled vet.

As he stared at the ceiling in his bedroom, realization sank in. The blame fell to him. During that second two-a-day the week before the season started, the players had been useless. Meyer’s face was the color of beet from yelling. Rich had responded with more drills from players ignorant of how to dig deep and push beyond what they thought they were capable of.

Kyle worked alongside the players. When they ran, he ran. When they did push-ups, so did he. When they shot, he defended, coaching them on the court. The hotshot freshman point guard with starting potential, Parker, whined the whole time about how stupid it was to practice so long when the game was forty minutes long. When he threatened to stomp off the court because he was too tired, Kyle did what had to be done.

He put an arm around the player and said, “Son, do you hear me bitching?”

“No, but you’re the—”

“I’ve been running as hard as you and as long as you. I’m old, I have one leg, and I’ve beat your ass down the court three times. You are not going to say ‘I can’t’ in my presence. You hear?”

Practice and attitudes improved dramatically, his included. He told the players a few things every now and then about being in war. He never swore them to secrecy.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. But also unreasonable. For every win, there was a loss.

Since sleep eluded him, he turned on the TV for anything to distract himself from thoughts of Gwen. He told the team because the players mattered to him. Yet arrogance and fear had kept him being honest with the one person who meant the most.

In the morning, he made a pot of coffee and ate yogurt and toast. Guilt prevented him from going to the Sweet Spot, even though being with her for breakfast was his favorite way to start the day. On the drive to the hospital days ago, she’d revealed her ex-boyfriend’s betrayal with anguish in her voice. He wasn’t any better. But if there was any way to regain her trust, he had to try.

Waiting for her to cool off before he visited her at work meant she couldn’t hang up on him or hide. In the meantime, he could throw himself into work, enjoying, not dreading his upcoming recruiting trips and all the games. If he survived a few miserable days at home, Tuesday offered a reward. Ten straight days of travel might be enough to keep his mind off Gwen and Chloe.
Idiot
. It wouldn’t. Stepping into any airport reminded him of seeing her that fateful day, disheveled, smelly, and tired, but also beautiful and nurturing. Moping accomplished nothing, and with Saturday’s game looming, there was plenty to keep his mind occupied

***

Kyle spent two hours visiting Coach Meyer in his home Saturday morning. Meyer approved of his game plan and overall strategy, but the crux of their meeting was media relations. The press irritated him, especially after the debacle with Gwen. Yet, to become a head coach at some point, he needed to improve his media skills. Even Bobby Knight poured on the charm at times. They strategized ways to keep the postgame wrap-up focused on the game and not on his past. As he left, Coach Meyer called out from his easy chair, “Go get ’em, tiger. I’ll be watching you.”

Coach’s words rang in his ears, reminding him how many people would tune in to this game. The team was as prepared as they could be, but his day brought agony. He prowled his apartment then the stadium, tried crossword puzzles, watched tape, and lifted weights. Nothing worked to distract him from thoughts of what would bring a smile to his face and ease the knotted muscles in his shoulders. Chloe’s giggle. Gwen’s touch. Her smile. Her presence and acceptance. Minutes dragged into hours. He shot free throws, drew X’s and O’s on paper, and sorted recruitment files. At last, the players arrived for the pregame rituals. His focus returned. He had a purpose.

The clock lurched forward in the whirl of excitement. The pep band played a popular pop song from a few years back, the trumpet imitating the vocals. He stood with his team in the hallway as the band struck up the fight song.

“We’re ready, guys. Do yourselves proud out there.” They put their right hands in a circle and gave one last shout. “For Coach.”

The announcer’s voice rang out. “And now, the Raaaaavens!”

The crowd burst into cheers and applause. The sound of stomping feet echoed through the air. He followed his players, running and pumping fists in the air, as they stormed the court. Cameramen swarmed from all directions, capturing every moment. The chaos settled down with the blast of a horn. The players lined up to tip off. The Ravens scored first and second.

Part of him wanted to cheer right along with the crowd, but he wore his game face instead. At the first break, he curled the corner of his mouth into an acknowledgement of being up by five points, but his guys couldn’t know how proud he was of them. Not yet.

Back and forth, turnover, foul. Ten minutes into the first half, and his team justified his fear that the additional TV timeouts would disrupt their normal flow. Basketball was a game of streaks. He tried not to worry about the other team putting up points but rather on keeping his guys’ heads in the game, which wasn’t easy after overhearing one of them ask the famous announcer for an autograph. He’d remind them at halftime to stay focused. That if they won, there would be plenty of time to cash in on their fame. They’ll get better attention from pro recruiters and the tournament committee for winning on national TV than for choking.

With two minutes left in the half, the Ravens were down one. He gathered the troops around him during TV timeout.

“Get the lead going into halftime. That’s your priority.”

His short, sweet speech let the players get back on the court quickly. He glanced up at the scoreboard, looking for a replay, but a crowd scene aired. Normally, the cheerleaders and close-ups of the student section or people talking on cell phones to friends saying, “Yeah, I’m on TV!” entered and left his field of vision in the blink of an eye. Their mugging meant nothing to him. Except this time, he couldn’t turn away.

A beautiful little baby dressed in the Raven’s colors smiled at the camera. She waved her tiny right arm with some help from her mom. The mom snuggled her head against the little girl’s, and her shoulder-length dark hair spilled over the side of the little girl’s face. Mom’s lush lips formed a soft smile, her chocolate eyes focused more on the baby than the camera, but the waving suggested some awareness the camera was in their area. The tension in his shoulders melted as one thought pushed all others from his mind.
She’s here
.

The buzzer broke the spell. He turned back to the game, confident of a win, and cautiously hopeful Gwen might forgive him.

***

She dressed herself and Chloe in purple and black and put a Ravens temporary tattoo on her cheek. Anyone would mistake her for a true fan, but she still expected to be turned away at the will-call window. The older woman working the window ran her finger up and down the list twice before tapping her purple fingernail twice.

“Ah. Here you are. Mr. Collins held one ticket in your name. You’ll have to hold the baby. There are no extra seats tonight.”

She extended her free hand to take the ticket. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a good evening.”

Carrying Chloe from the parking lot to the building tired her arm muscles, but frustrated her less than pushing the stroller through the crowd would have. Chloe would get fussy long before the end of the game, but if, and it was a big if, Kyle checked on the status of the seat he’d reserved, he would know she kept her promise to come and support him.

The usher guided her to a seat in the last row on the floor level. From across the court, she caught sight of her parents taking their seats behind the bench. She waved frantically to get their attention, and Mom returned the gesture. During the breaks in the action, they waved to Grandma and Chloe kicked her legs with excitement at all the activity. She doubted her daughter recognized Grandma or Grandpa from such a distance, but cuddling with Chloe, cooing and flapping her arms, gave her something to do.

The crowd cued her when to clap and cheer. She tapped Chloe’s hands and feet together, sang in her daughter’s ear, and rocked her back and forth. They could play these games in comfort and peace at home, but her instincts said she needed to be at the arena tonight.

Kyle stalked the sidelines. Nothing had changed in his demeanor or appearance from other games. In many ways, he appeared to be the same confident man she’d watched coach a few weeks ago, the one who helped her at the airport and gave her a frame for her first dollar. The boy she remembered from school with the buzz cut, twinkling eyes, kind words, and feet the size of swim fins hid somewhere inside. But this new version carried a ton of baggage and didn’t trust her to see past the damage to the thoughtful, determined man he’d become.

The buzzer sounded, ending the first half. Cameramen approached Kyle, but he waved them off. One aimed toward his feet. If he’d known, he would’ve hated that. There was so much more to Kyle than his injury.

The dance team took the floor. A local business offered a prize package to a couple of kids if they made a half-court shot. A pizzeria handed out freebies to the student section. Maybe next year she could give out cookies during one of the breaks to get exposure for her shop. The shenanigans wound down, and the band started up, signaling the imminent arrival of the second half.

Chloe enjoyed the music, but after the second half began, she wiggled, squirmed, and rubbed her eyes. Although she wanted to stay longer, holding Chloe became too much of a challenge. She left with seventeen minutes to go in the second half. Once Chloe lay in her crib, Gwen settled on the couch, turned on the TV, and watched the last few minutes of the game. The Ravens won by ten.

***

He looked for her after the game, even though by the time he finished the postgame interviews, the crowd was long gone and Gwen nowhere to be seen. Ideally, he’d take her in his arms, apologize, and tell her everything she wanted to know as he begged for an undeserved forgiveness. He longed to smell her shampoo and touch the soft skin on her cheeks. Was her skin that soft elsewhere on her body? He feared he would never find out.

A glance at his watch showed ten twenty. No matter how much he needed to let her know what her presence meant to him, it was too late to call. His fingers tapped on the phone’s touchscreen.
Thx 4 coming. I miss U
.

Six simple words, although to be precise, three words, two letters, and one number. Her heart wanted to burst as she reread the message. She’d apologize, maybe. More importantly, she’d let him speak and defend himself. Deep inside, she wanted to trust him and discern which set of actions—the lies or the support—revealed his true self. Mom agreed to watch Chloe for a while.

Twenty minutes later, she knocked on Kyle’s door. Excitement and anxiety mixed with anger. Perhaps he spied through the peephole, saw her, and changed his mind. This time, she listened for footfalls after knocking. Who slept till nine? In her purse, she dug for her cellphone at the bottom. The door creaked open, and the shopping bags slid to her wrists.

His half-naked body was a pleasure to see again. The smattering of scars on his abs must have been from his accident. Would he tell her? Her traitorous body urged her to run her fingers through his tousled hair and feel the firm, muscular ridges of his chest. She longed to see those sinewy muscles in action. Her physical attraction to him remained as strong as ever. If they could work out that trust issue….

“Am I d-dreaming?”

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He looked her up and down, a lopsided smile letting her know he approved of what he saw. The jeans and T-shirt were good enough. Her clothes offered a comfort she didn’t expect from the man on the other side of the entryway.

He stepped forward. His arms wrapped around her so tight she strained to breathe. Gravity disappeared, and he spun her into his apartment, dizzying in that pleasant way of a child whirling round and round in the backyard while staring at the stars.

Razor-short hair and stubble nuzzled against the sensitive spot under her ear. “I’m so glad you are here. I feared I would never see you again.”

His hot breath tickled in the best possible way. Part of her wanted to stay there forever and forget words existed, but she knew better.
Focus on the task at hand
.

“I brought breakfast. These bags are cutting into my wrists.”

“Sorry.” He released her to the floor and then took the bags. She hung her coat over his on the back of the door. The warm welcome wasn’t deserved. Making peace might be easier than anticipated.

“I am definitely dreaming.” He stepped in closer, draped his arms across her waist, pressed her back against his chest, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Please don’t wake me up. I really like this dream.”