Pipe Dreams(5)

"Yo-Yo plays the cello."

"I totally knew that. See you in the morning."

"Later."

After hanging up, a reporter nabbed him for an interview. Hopefully he  managed to string a few coherent words together. Then he waited for the  shower. The visitors' dressing rooms weren't as roomy as the ones they  had at home. Luckily, games three and four of the seven-game series were  in Brooklyn, so he'd be back in better quarters tomorrow.

By the time he showered off his exhausted body and changed back into his  suit, the place was quiet. The equipment manager and Jimbo, the young  operations assistant, were loading gear into bags. "The bus left but  there's cars," Jimbo said.

"Thanks, man."

"Good game, Beak," the kid added. "Good series."

"Thanks." He left the locker room, checking his Katt Phone on the way  toward the exit. Everyone in the organization had the same sophisticated  phone model, and his big, sleek screen was already choked with new  texts. Apparently his teammates had made it to the hotel bar. Get your  ass down here, they wrote. We want to get you drunk.

He grinned at the stream of nearly identical messages. At least a brief  stop in the bar was probably mandatory. He tried to be social when they  were on the road during the season, saving every night in Brooklyn for  Elsa. He was the only player on the team who wasn't teased for staying  in nights with his kid. Having a dead wife was about the only thing that  bought a guy that kind of free pass. Still smiling, he looked up as he  reached the exit to the rink.

At the end of the hall stood Lauren, staring out the narrow pane of glass in the door.

His steps slowed, if only to give himself a moment just to drink her in.  The familiar tilt of her chin made him want to drop a kiss on her jaw.  Her silky hair had begun to curl in tendrils around her face, and he  yearned to sift his fingers through it.

She didn't watch him approach. And unless he was crazy, she began to fidget.

"Hi there," he said. "Everything okay?"

She turned her chin sharply, her expression steely. "Fine, thanks. I have cars coming."

"Okay."

Lauren looked pointedly out the window, so he took the opportunity to  study her further. She only looked more beautiful with every passing  year. The girl he'd met on Long Island a dozen years ago wasn't quite so  slick as Lauren 2.0. This woman had moved so far from the Long Island  Expressway that it wasn't even funny. She wore a suit in Robin's egg  blue, the skirt cut just above her knee. An expanse of smooth skin  stretched for miles down to a pair of sleek shoes, the kind found only  in some chic boutique in lower Manhattan.                       
       
           



       

She'd always liked clothes, and he'd always enjoyed the results. When  they were a couple, she'd occasionally bring something home, seeking his  approval. "You don't think this is too much?" she might ask, turning  around in a circle before him. "The neckline is a little ambitious."

"As long as you save a little something that's just for me, I'm good. Now come over here and let me take that off of you."

A year and a half-that's what they'd had together. Every hour of it was  perfection. On some of those days, they never even made it out of bed.  Elsewhere in their lives, things weren't perfect. The team hadn't been  playing so well then. The manager-Lauren's father-had screwed up the  salary cap, leaving them without a deep enough bench to mount a proper  season-long offense. The Long Island stadium where they played needed  billions of dollars of work.

And Lauren's family had been horrified that she was dating a player. The  fact that his divorce wasn't even final made her father apoplectic.

In spite of all that, it was the best year and a half of his life. He  went home most nights to a woman who listened, who laughed at his jokes,  and who didn't resent him for moving her a thousand miles away from her  family. In spite of all the difficulties, he and Lauren chose each  other. It was the first time in his adult life when he thumbed fate in  the nose and said, This is what I want. And need.

And then fate laughed at the both of them. Hell. Fate laughed so hard she must have peed herself a little.

Lauren 2.0 checked her phone. "It will be just another minute for your car." She didn't meet his gaze.

"Thank you," he said quietly, wondering what he could say to make the moment easier.

Two years ago when he'd abruptly ended things between them, he'd hoped  that she would move on. Someone so beautiful and smart-Lauren was the  whole package-would have men lined up six deep.

So where were they?

These past two weeks he'd gotten more glimpses of Lauren than in the  previous two years. And what he saw made him uneasy. She looked  fantastic, and she'd clearly done well for herself. Nate Kattenberg  trusted her, and obviously paid her well to run various parts of his  organization. And apparently Lauren was just about to finish the college  degree that her father had denied her years earlier.

Everything ought to be going great for the most fantastic woman he'd  ever known. But there was a hard look in her eye that nagged him. He  hated wondering if he'd put it there.

Lauren shoved the rink door open now. "Here's your car," she said without meeting his eyes.

He hesitated. "What about you? I think I'm the last one."

"I'll get the next one."

"Kinda silly for a seven minute trip. Shouldn't we just share?"

That's when she finally looked him in the eye, and her expression was tense. "Why would we do that?"

"Why wouldn't we?" he returned. "Seems like a waste of resources to call another one."

Her perfect jaw hardened, and he felt a slap of guilt for implying that  she wasn't managing things properly. But was it really so hard to sit in  a car with him for a few minutes? Jesus. "You take it, Lo. I'll Uber."

Maybe it was the use of his old nickname for her, but her expression  fell. Her eyes closed, and the truckload of hurt in her expression  gutted him.

"Go ahead," he whispered. "It's fine."

As he watched, she seemed to pull herself together. Her shoulders  squared, she lifted her chin. "Fine, we'll share." She said it the way  another person would say, "Let's have a root canal." Then she pushed the  door open wide, pointing at the car the way an army general might order  one of his men into the breach.

Okay then.

He followed her outside, then hustled past her to open the rear door of  an Escalade waiting at the curb. He always used to hold the door. He  enjoyed taking care of her because she was just so freaking  competent-managing details for the team all day long. It was fun to turn  the tables on her after hours.

And she used to let him.

Beacon got into the car on the other side and shut the door. "We are all set," he told the driver.

The big car glided away from the curb and headed into the D.C. traffic.  This city managed to be stacked with cars even at midnight. Amazing. But  it was silent inside the new-smelling car. Too silent. After the snarl  she'd given him on the sidewalk two weeks ago after the game, he wasn't  expecting a warm welcome.

"Did Nate hit the Scotch during the third period?" he asked to make  conversation. The owner was known to drink only when he thought they'd  lose the game.                       
       
           



       

"No, he kept the faith."

"Bet he's drinkin' now."

"Maybe. But Nate doesn't panic. He's enjoying himself this week."

Unlike you, he thought. She sat practically pressed against the opposite  door, her body language stiff. "So are you, like, doing two jobs while  Becca is out?"

She shrugged. "There haven't been many fires to put out in Midtown. So far," she amended.

"Knock wood." During their good times he would have offered his head to  knock on, and she would have accepted. They wouldn't be sitting like  adversaries on this car seat, either.

His memory got the best of him. He thought of other car rides in other  cities. Whether the team had won or lost, he and Lauren would cuddle up  together, laughing about the long day they'd both had. That would  usually end with Beacon nibbling the smooth skin of her neck. And if the  ride was long enough they'd end up steaming up the backseat as a  warm-up for another hot night in his hotel bed.

All that history sat squarely on the vast stretch of leather between  them. Now he knew why Lauren hadn't wanted to share a car. The ghosts  swarmed.

But fuck that. The ghosts shouldn't get to win. There were enough ghosts  in his life already. Even if Lauren was still as angry as she'd been  the day he broke it off, that was all the more reason to push through  the awkwardness.