Bad Traveler Read online

  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.

  Chapter Thirteen

  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.”

  She interlaced her fingers with his, surprised at the unexpected affection. “I missed you, but I’m not ready for this. Now, would the smell of coffee wake you up, or should we stick with orange juice?”

  “I dream of coffee sometimes, and the beautiful woman who sells me the best breakfast in town. Let me pull out the coffeemaker, and then I’ll get dressed.”

  “You don’t have to. Get dressed I mean.” She peered into the small, open kitchen. “I don’t see your coffeemaker on the countertop, and if you want eggs, you’ll need to find a pan for me as well.”

  After releasing her, he sniffed at the bags. “I smell baked goods. I don’t need eggs.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, reaching over her head to set the coffeemaker on the countertop. With the proper application of water and grounds, the smell of brewing coffee soon surrounded them. She stood back, giving him room to maneuver as he pulled plates, silverware, and mismatched mugs from his cabinets.

  Stopping, he leaned back against the counter, running his fingers through his already messed-up hair before they covered his mouth. Under furrowed brows, his eyes scrutinized her.

  “Oh, Gwen. I am so sorry, not just about what happened Thursday. I’m sorry I didn’t….”

  His mouth tensed as he struggled for words; she offered no aid. He needed to say it almost as much as she needed to hear his words.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my injury and why I left the Rangers and the reason for divorce. It’s just….” He turned around, taking deep breaths that expanded into his back. After several seconds, he faced her again. “Those days in the hospital were horrible. I thought I lost everything. I don’t like to revisit them. And when I see you and Chloe and realize how good life is, or could be, I don’t want to remember those days of wishing I was dead. I should have told you about my leg before I…before….”

  How could he want to die? The idea horrified her, and by the way his voice cracked, it distressed him to relive that time. In four steps, she crossed the room, and placed her hands on his biceps. His arms were strong and skin warm. Don’t be weak. She focused on his eyes, deep green and full of pain.

  “I want to forgive you. That’s why I’m here. But learning about your injuries that way was a lot to take in. You didn’t trust me after all we’ve shared. Still, I’m sorry for how I responded.”

  “You have nothing to feel sorry about and every right to be mad. I can’t explain why I didn’t tell you sooner. I tried. That night Coach had his heart attack, I came the closest. Each time I tried, I convinced myself to wait, so I could have one more day with you before I sickened you and you ran off, out of my life for good.”

  He reached to caress her face. “I just found you. I can’t lose you again.” His fingertips grazed her jawline, a whisper sliding toward her ear.

  “I am mad, not horrified. Don’t confuse me with Brooke—”

  “You’re nothing like her. You’re beautiful and kind and—”

  “Still upset you didn’t trust me.”

  “I deserve that. Ask me, now. Anything you want. I will be an open book.”

  “Do you sometimes think about dying, still?”

  “I worked with a therapist for a while who told me to find a reason to live. When Coach Meyer offered me the assistant job, I thought that was it. I love coaching, but someone else reminded me there are myriad joys in this world.”

  She’d think about his words later, but she accepted his touch, his palm on her cheek, the powerful mound of his thumb against the corner of her lips. His other hand rested on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Heat radiated off his chest, seeping through her T-shirt. He was a furnace. She’d never know cold with him.

  He tilted her chin up, their gazes locked. “Why did you come to the game last night, after Thursday’s disaster?”

  “I promised you I’d be there. If I make a commitment, I follow through. Besides, I wanted to see you in your suit again. You’re very handsome in it.” She stretched her arm up and tweaked the end of his nose.

  “Perhaps I should go get dressed now.” />
  “No need.” She pushed back a little, letting her gaze roam down his chest and back to his face. “This is nice.”

  “So is this.”

  He pressed his mouth against hers hungry for all she had to offer. His kiss tasted of urgent need, and she yielded to his intensity. His stubble rubbed against her cheeks as his masculine scent thrilled her. She ran her fingers over the soft, razored hair on the nape of his neck, taking satisfaction in the low rumble escaping his throat. All too soon, he released his lips from hers.

  “I want you to know that I am fully functional.”

  His burgeoning erection poked against her leg.

  “I suspected as much.” After a visual confirmation, she arched her eyebrow, met his gaze, and heard as much as sensed a low rumble from somewhere deep within his chest.

  “I want you, Gwen. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  She stretched up, her lips as close to his ear as possible, “I’m here, ready for the taking.” Any hesitancy she had about being with him dissolved under the heat of his skin.

  He leaned back, creating an unwelcome distance between their bodies. His face hardened. “Before we go any further, I have to get something off my chest.”

  She harrumphed. “Fine. I’ll move.” She shifted, but he slid his hand to her buttocks.

  “Not you.” He kissed her hair, proving his point, and turned serious again. “I don’t, won’t take our involvement lightly. I haven’t been with a woman since my…divorce. With my coaching responsibilities, I’m going to be busy, and I have a lot of trips the next few weeks. We may not see each other often. I don’t even know if I will have a job here next year. My contract runs out in April. I don’t want to start a relationship with you and leave or, worse yet, make you leave the life you are building here.”

  His concern was nice, but couldn’t deter her feelings. She traced his square jaw. “Stop trying to end us before we start. We should at least give ourselves a chance. That’s why I came here. Between our jobs and Chloe, we may not get much time together. Let’s stop wasting it now.” She pressed her palm to his rock-hard abs, thumb grazing a dark line of hair beginning below his navel. “I have to be home by eleven.”