Power Play (5 page)

As if he'd read my mind, Landon pushed the damp hair off my neck and leaned into me. “It's not hard to believe, Gaby. You're amazing.”

And with that I gave up. Gave up the questions. Gave up the disbelief over how I could be in this situation. Day two of the new year. Time to live in the moment. And at this moment, all my dreams had come true. Well, my Landon Taylor dreams.

With complete confidence, I leaned back and allowed my body to sway with Landon's as we watched the band perform “Screen.” The song lyrics about standing in front of someone with my heart and emotions being on display for him to see, but still “trying to be so cool,” were pretty poignant for the moment. Almost as if Landon had planned it. And maybe he had. He hadn't stopped surprising me since the day Papa had a heart attack and he'd jumped into action.

I'd almost gotten used to being in Landon's arms, watching a concert like we'd done this a hundred times before. Until two guys yelling “Taylor!” body-checked their way through the crowd and popped our magic bubble.

“Taylor!” the taller guy wearing a black Pilots hat identical to Landon's yelled again. “You're gonna get us into so much fucking trouble, dude. We gotta go.”

He grabbed Landon's arm and tugged him toward the door.

“This is the last song,” Landon lied, twisting out of the hold. He leaned in and placed a kiss on the side of my neck. I couldn't even smile with the two hulking guys trying to pull Landon away. They had to be his teammates, both with Pilots gear on. They didn't look like they'd been out for a night on the town either.

“It took us an hour to find you, motherfucker! We're all gonna get benched tomorrow,” the shorter guy said.

“Don't make me carry your ass out of here,” his hat-wearing friend warned.

“I will,” said the little guy, and lifted Landon off his feet and carried him toward the door, tottering like a penguin with a log in a tough-man competition.

Landon twisted around. “Guess I gotta go, Gaby. Kiss you later!”

Michelle turned to look at me and I shrugged. Then we watched the guy set Landon on the ground, keeping a hand on Landon's back and pushing him toward the door.

I spun back toward the stage, relieved that it hadn't been as big of an incident as it could've been. In fact, no one looked too concerned at a guy being carried out by two big dudes.

Chicago and Detroit seemed similar in that way. No one blinked an eye. The show went on with the song “Car Radio,” as the soundtrack to the craziness.

“I'm so glad you came to visit.” Michelle told me as we hurried through the turbulent Chicago winds toward the semi-shelter of the covered station at the Lawrence L stop.

I loved Chicago's transit system. Every time I visited Michelle, I returned to Detroit wishing we had a system where I didn't need a car to get around.

“Me, too. I had to get out of town.”

“Hope you're not running from the hottie that hugged up on you at the show. Who was that?”

“I have no clue what he was doing here,” I said.

“Stalker?”

“No!” I laughed. “That was Landon Taylor.”

“Landon Taylor?
The
Landon Taylor?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. He sure has grown up.”

“Right?” I took a deep breath and blew the warm air against my frigid fingers. “How much longer?”

“It's just up here.” She lifted her arm, but I couldn't follow her direction. Whenever I looked up, the wind slapped me in the face and my eyes started to water. We increased our pace, racing for warmth.

The winds whipped around us as we stood close, bobbing on our toes while we waited for the train.

“Holy shit! How do you live here?” I joked, as the train pulled in and we settled into seats.

“It's just as cold in Michigan.” She rubbed her gloved hands together. “Okay. We can talk now. Spill.”

“Where do I start?”

“Why the hell is Joey at Three-one-three?”

“Of course, start with the bad news. Maybe I want to talk about Landon.”

“Oh, we'll get to him, believe me. I just felt like you needed to talk about family first.”

Michelle knew almost everything about me. And she had an uncanny way of knowing exactly when I needed to vent without me having to say a word. “It sucks. I'm just trying to get him up to speed and he doesn't listen to a word I say. He has this big ego about how he doesn't need to know the register. He is in charge.”

“Yeah, because your dad doesn't know how to use the register.”

“I know, right? He's being a total jerk.”

“Is that a surprise?”

“Yes and no. I mean, I thought he would be more open to learning everything. It's like he wants the authority but not the responsibility that goes with it.”

“Again, is that a surprise?” Michelle laughed.

“Yeah, as soon as I said it, I realized how dumb that sounded.” I looked out the window, watching Chicago pass in a blur. “I think he's lost right now. I'm trying to help him, but I don't know what else to do.”

“You can't fix everyone, Gaby. Joey's still searching right now, but he'll figure it out. How's Papa Joe?”

“He's doing great. Still at home, resting, but he's recovering well. New diet and ramping up his exercise routine, but he's good.”

“Have I subjected you to enough small talk?”

“I like small talk with you. Small talk with you is heavy talk.”

“That's what best friends are for.”

“I have no clue what's going on with Landon. He was at the store when Papa had his heart attack. He called nine-one-one because I totally freaked out and froze. Then I hadn't seen or heard from him.”

“That's normal though, right? He doesn't come into Three-one-three that often.”

“Usually every other Saturday, though I know he still meets his parents at the stand in the market every single Saturday. When he's in town, because road trips, ya know.”

“You're kinda creepy.”

“It's not creepy. It's over nineteen years of routine.”

“Still creepy.”

“Not helping.”

“Sorry. So he just showed up here?”

“Yes. Out of the blue. And he doesn't even like this band.”

Michelle reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her cellphone. She tugged one glove off with her teeth and tapped her finger across the screen.

“What are you doing?”

She held her phone up to my face. “Pilots play the Wolves tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” The Wolves were Chicago's AHL team. Which explained why Landon would be in town and how his teammates were the ones who dragged him out.

How completely nonsensical and narcissistic to think he'd driven all that way just to be at the same concert as me.

“I bet they have a curfew or something. His friends sounded pretty pissed.”

I nodded.

“Don't look all dejected, Gaby.” Michelle bumped my shoulder with hers. “He broke curfew to see a band he's never heard of because you were here.”

“Are we playing that game where we make up crazy stories? Okay.” I rubbed my gloved hands together and scanned the train. “See the guy over there in the blue puffy coat? He started out at the bar with his friends but then they went to a strip club and he didn't want to go—”

“Because his sister works there and he didn't want to be there to see his buddies ogle her,” Michelle finished. We burst out laughing. Trains and airports were the best place to people watch and make up fictional stories about them.

“I wasn't making up the Landon story and you know it.”

My lips quirked into a smile, which I tried to suppress but couldn't. “You think?”

“He didn't just happen to be there. He went on purpose, looking for you. He kissed you!”

“So what do I do now?”

“Call him?”

“I don't have his number.”

“Ask for it next time he comes in the store.”

“I can't.”

“He just kissed you, I think you can ask for his phone number.”

“True.” I nodded to the guy we'd just created a story around. “Do you want to go get blue puffy coat's number?”

“And have to face his sister at work tomorrow night? No way.”

“Bahahahahaha.”

Best friends rock.

“I'm leaving early today, is that cool?” I wasn't asking permission, just making sure Joey realized it. He'd finally figured out the register and all of the ins and outs, and there wasn't a soul in the store, so I was sure it would be okay to slip out early.

“See you tomorrow, Gaby.” Joey didn't even look up. He was on his phone. Again.
Way to run the store, bro.
He'd been on his phone more than he'd been on the register.

Instead of going home, I wanted to walk around. The 313 Artisans storefront sat on Russell Street, in the heart of Eastern Market, a block away from the Bertucci Produce stand that started it all.

I loved Saturdays at Eastern Market. The vibe of hundreds of people strolling through the sheds sent a buzz through me. I'd never get tired of seeing Detroit alive and humming. Even if it's just for a day; or a few days, since Sundays packed people in as well.

I consider myself lucky. Have the Bertuccis seen our share of tragedy as one of the families who stayed in the city and tried to pump life and energy into it even if it was in our own small way? Yep.

Show me a person who hasn't been affected in some way by the years of city mismanagement and the downtrodden economy, and I'll show you a liar. Whether it was violence or arson or loss of work or a family member's loss of work; if you stayed in this city to work or to live, you've been affected. We've all had to dry our tears, square our shoulders, rebuild our homes, and bar our windows—but not our hearts. Because once we become desensitized to what's going on around us, we might as well move to the suburbs and pretend it doesn't affect us.

A black T-shirt with Detroit street names and landmarks screen-printed in white script across it from every angle caught my eye.

People have asked us why. Why do we stay? Why not move our business and our family outside of the city? And Papa responds the same way every time.

How can we?

Detroit is our city. It's the town created by the car-manufacturing boom that gave my great-grandfather the opportunity to work his ass off, and save enough money to start his own produce stand at Eastern Market eighty years ago. The city that allowed the Bertucci family to open two more grocery stores, one within the city limits, the other less than a mile outside the city.

Sure, Detroit is also the city where arsonists burned down our house nine years ago. It's also the city where someone shot and killed Papa's best friend while helping him unload a produce truck early one Saturday morning seven years ago. It's the city that keeps knocking us—and countless others—down, but also allows us to pick up and come back stronger than ever.

As I rubbed the soft material of the T-shirt between my fingers, a horn beeped from directly behind me. Started by the sound, I twisted toward the road and watched a sleek, silver car veer to the curb. The passenger side window framed Landon's face. His big brown eyes sent a silent, comforting message through me. Safety. Warmth. “Need a ride?”

I let go of the shirt and took a step toward his car. Without a second thought as to why Landon pulled over or why he asked me if I wanted a ride, I rushed to the car and opened the door.

“How's your dad?” he asked while I pulled the car door shut.

“He's doing really well. It was a mild heart attack.” I reached for the seatbelt, slid it over my shoulder, and clicked it into place. “He's home now, so that's good.”

“That's awesome, Gaby. I'm glad he's okay.” Landon checked the traffic in his mirrors and pulled back into the street.

“Thanks.” I relaxed in the seat next to Landon. Though still slightly surreal, being with him felt natural. “Where are we going?”

“I'm taking you to the place my parents met.”

And just as quickly as I'd relaxed in the seat, my shoulders tensed again. My hair was still gathered in a sloppy work ponytail, and I had on jeans and a 313 Artisans T-shirt. “It's not a super special place, is it? I'm not really dressed for, um, anywhere but work.”

“You look great, Gaby. Don't worry.” Landon winked at me. Then he turned onto the service drive and floored it. I took in an eyeful of some of the most unsightly views of Detroit as he merged onto I-94.

My intrigue grew when he exited at Gratiot Avenue. Though it gets better the farther north you drive, this particular part of Gratiot had a dangerous reputation. Where the heck could he be taking me? Where the heck had his parents met?

“Here we are,” Landon announced as we drove north on Gratiot. My head swiveled left and right looking for the landmark or restaurant where he would stop the car. I couldn't imagine where he'd stop.

“Where?”

“Right here.” Landon nodded out the window at a telephone pole in the middle of an overgrown island.

“I'm totally confused.”

“My parents met cruising Gratiot.”

I burst out laughing. “They what?”

“Crazy, right?” Landon asked, glancing out his side window.

“How does that even happen?”

Meeting at the Woodward Dream Cruise, a parade where almost a million spectators watch thousands of people propel their classic muscle cars and hot rods along Woodward Avenue, I could see. But I couldn't imagine meeting my future spouse while cruising Gratiot Avenue. It's as if our parents grew up in a foreign galaxy.

“I guess it was cool to drive up and down Gratiot and check out people in other cars and be like ‘Hey, girl' to the person in the car next to you. And if the other person is interested they stopped somewhere and talked and exchanged numbers.”

“Why would they do that? It sounds so dangerous.” An involuntary shiver racked my body. “Who knows what kind of nut jobs are out there waiting to jump someone or rape someone.”

Landon laughed. “I think they thought meeting people in person was better than the alternative of meeting people online.”

“Meeting people online isn't bad,” I said. “You just have to be careful. Like with anything.”

“Well, the Internet was brand-new back then. Still scary and unknown territory.” He paused. “Are you an online dater, Gaby?” His voice had a teasing lilt, but I knew he wanted the answer.

“No. I'm not. I'm part of an online book club and—” I stopped. I had no shame about my book club or my online book club friends. But I just realized how lame I must sound to someone like Landon. “How do you meet people?”

“Usually people want to meet me. I just hang out with the guys and go with the flow.”

“Of course.” My head dropped. Of course people wanted to meet him. It would only get worse—or better?—when he made it to the NHL.

“Tell me about your book club.”

No turning back now since I'm the one who brought it up. “I read a book I loved and realized there was this whole Twitter fan group around it. So I started tweeting with some people in the group and realized we read and enjoyed a lot of the same books, so I asked if I could join their book club.” I loved talking about my book club. Only talking about music got me more excited. “We, um, create a calendar of what we'll be reading and post our reactions and thoughts on our Facebook group as we read. It's a private group.”

“So I can't see it?”

If it had been possible to crawl under the front seat and hide, I would have.

Landon must've noticed my lengthy pause. “What?”

“Nothing.” But it wasn't nothing. The book club had morphed from just a book club into a group of friends who talk about everything and anything. Just yesterday I'd posted a status about “my crush” in the group. One of those really long posts where my friends and I had analyzed every single word he'd said to me from the day of Papa's heart attack to the unexpected concert kiss.

“Why so secretive? Do you guys read a ton of sex books or something?”

“Oh my gosh! No. It's mostly YA books.”

“Suuure, Gaby.” He squeezed my knee. “I don't know what ‘YA' means, by the way.”

The sudden squeeze alone made me jump, but when he kept his hand on my leg, I couldn't take my eyes off it. Thankfully, keeping my eye on his hand gave me a focal point so that I did not hyperventilate, even though, paradoxically, that hand was also the cause of why I was feeling rather light-headed.

I gazed out the window, observing each building we passed until it was out of sight. I'd been on thousands of car rides, but I'd never been so content as being on a drive with Landon.

“Is this okay, Gaby? I feel bad, like I just dropped in and whisked you away from your normal life.” Landon removed his hand from my leg and placed it on the steering wheel. “But now I'm not sure it was the right thing to do.”

I missed his hand, like I'd missed his arms when he'd released me from a hug after my father's heart attack.

“It was totally the right thing to do,” I assured him. “In fact, you don't understand how much I appreciate it. I needed to get out of there. The walls were closing in.”

“How so?”

“My brother has no clue what he's doing. I'm trying to help him and he brushes everything I say off like I don't know anything. Then he blames me when he screws up.”

“But your dad knows it's not you, right?”

“Actually Papa blames me because I shouldn't let Joey screw up. He thinks I should go behind him and fix everything before it becomes an error.” I sighed. “What sense does that make? Why would I redo everything? Joey should be the one asking me for help if he doesn't know how to do something. Efficiency.”

“Have you told your dad?”

I gave Landon a full-on glare, rather than a sidelong glance. “And upset Papa while he's supposed to be relaxing?”

“Sounds like he's already getting upset.”

“He wouldn't listen to me anyway.”

“Well, that's a different story.” Landon stopped at a red light and shifted to look at me. “Why won't he listen to you?”

“Because I'm a girl.”

Landon burst out laughing. “Sounds archaic.”

“Have you met the Bertuccis? I'm surprised I'm allowed to work at the stores at all. I should be learning to cook and scrubbing laundry on a washboard. You know, the things a girl is supposed to do.”

Landon laughed again, a quick bark as he studied me. When he realized I wasn't smiling, he continued, “You're kidding, right? Your family can't be that old school about gender roles.”

“Then why is my brother, who has never worked at any of our stores, running the newest one? Why aren't I?”

Landon shrugged.

“It's been this way my whole life. It's nothing new.”

“I feel your pain.”

“How?”

“I've always had a hard time getting my parents to notice me, too.”

“How could that be? Aren't you the golden child?”

“Yeah right. I have an older brother who leaps tall buildings and saves lives for a living. And two younger brothers who need constant attention. I'm lost in the mix.”

I didn't know much about Landon's family, but I knew that tons of foster kids had come and gone through their house. And the Taylors had adopted two of them a few years ago.

“I sound like a selfish prick, don't I?” Landon shook his head. “I'm the only one who was actually born into my family and I'm complaining about my lot in life.”

“You're allowed to have feelings, Landon, no matter how privileged you grew up.”

“Privileged. That's a perfect word. Complaining about my privilege. Ungrateful.”

I couldn't tell if Landon was still talking to me or to himself. His eyes were dark with a sadness I'd never seen. Probably because we'd been only acquaintances until recently.

“Sorry, Gaby.” Landon rubbed his eyes as we idled at yet another stoplight on Gratiot. “I picked you up to do something spontaneous and fun and I'm a total buzzkill today.”

“Want to talk about it?” I asked. “I may not have any answers, but I've always been a good listener.”

“Fabian got called up to Charlotte.”

“Oh.”

Landon's melancholy made total sense, now. If Steve Fabian, his defense partner on the Pilots, had been called up to the NHL, it meant Landon hadn't been.

Which sucked no matter how happy he had to be for his teammate.

“I need a beer,” he said as he twisted the steering wheel into the parking lot of a decrepit building that I didn't want to be stopped next to on the road, let alone walk into. He turned off the engine and jumped out.

Coming over to the passenger side, Landon must've felt my tension at the situation. Either that or he noticed the flesh across my knuckles turn a ghostly shade as I gripped the door handle with all my might.

“I wouldn't take you somewhere unsafe, Gaby!” Landon yelled through the glass. He'd tried to open the passenger door for me but couldn't, since I wasn't letting go.

When it came right down to it, accepting a ride with Landon wasn't much better than accepting a ride with a random guy on the Internet. I knew him, but I didn't know him. He was in a foul mood. He'd just taken me from the safety of my family's business in Detroit.

Didn't investigative television shows revolve around super scary situations like this?