Brooklynaire Page 8

  He canceled the deal and hasn’t done a cent of business with that company. And never will.

  Rebecca is under his skin. She’s a friend. She’s his right-hand man. And now she’s his unlikely crush.

  He will never tell her, though. Never once has she given him any indication of returning the sentiment. So he doesn’t even have to waste time wondering if there’s a way around the fact that they’re also employer and employee.

  He’ll just have to stop craving her. Any day now. Hopefully.

  “A hockey team?” she asks later that afternoon when he walks past her desk. It must be quitting time, because the administrative bullpen in the C-suite has already thinned out.

  He stops and sits on the edge of her desk. “What do you think, Bec. You like hockey?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact. It’s a fast moving game. No bullshit.” She frowns. “You used to have season tickets to the Rangers, right? I guess you let those go?”

  He most certainly had, although he didn’t like talking about why. Hockey was something he’d always watched with Juliet. But now he had an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

  “The team I talked to today needs a little work. But I might invest.”

  “Really.” Her pretty eyes widened. “That sounds like fun. If you buy a hockey team, I get to plan the celebration. With all those hunky hockey players. And puck-shaped food.”

  He laughs, in spite of the hockey player comment that stabs him like a knife to the heart. “Puck-shaped food? Like…Oreos?”

  “Pfft. Medallions of pork. Mini beef Wellingtons.”

  “Sushi rolls? Fuck. Now I’m hungry.”

  They just smile at each other for a second. Nate could stay there forever, but they’re interrupted by a young man in a courier’s outfit. Nate expects him to hand an envelope over to Rebecca. But that’s not what happens. “There she is!” he says instead. “Ready?”

  Then he leans over the desk and kisses Rebecca right on the lips.

  Nate wants to kick him.

  Nate wants to kick himself, too.

  He does neither.

  9

  Nate

  April 24

  “The hotel has two towers. They can accommodate all of us, but not on the same side.”

  Lauren is talking to me, planning our upcoming trip to Bal Harbour. But I’m not exactly paying attention. Instead, I’m focused on the stop-and-start traffic on the Triborough Bridge.

  It’s Sunday morning, and the team jet has just landed at LaGuardia. My boys did it. They clinched the first round of the playoffs in game five against DC, sending us onward to the second round. We won’t even know who our opponent is until tonight’s game.

  Everything is going my way. Except the traffic. We’ve been in the car for 20 minutes already, inching toward Manhattan. “It shouldn’t be like this on a Sunday morning,” I complain.

  Lauren pokes me in the hip with her ballpoint pen. “Ramesh can’t get there any faster even if you tap your foot like an asshole the whole time.”

  “Thank you, oh wise one.”

  In the front seat I hear Ramesh snort.

  “Listen up, would you? Or don’t, I don’t care. But no bitching about the accommodations later.” Her perfect fingernails click as she uses the wireless keyboard in her lap.

  “Just put us in suites. I don’t care where.”

  “You say that now…” There’s more keyboard clicking from her side of the backseat. “Okay. I also added your tuxedo to your packing list. Can you think of anything else before I send this off to Mrs. Gray?”

  “Put a pair of swim trunks in there. Don’t forget your suit. We’re going to be on the beach.”

  “You know, I don’t actually want to go to Florida. How about you go without me and tell me how it was?”

  “Pack a suit, Lauren. You’re going.”

  She growls. She’s the only one in my inner circle who’s divided over reaching the second round, because it means more travel and more chances to interact with Beacon, her ex. “Not many owners would make their players do a black-tie benefit forty-eight hours before the next round of the playoffs.”

  “It’s pretty unusual for our players to make the second round of the playoffs,” I point out. “They have to shake some hands for a couple of hours. They’ll survive. It’s for a good cause.”

  “Why are we doing this again?”

  “Alex and I had a playoffs bet. My team made the playoffs, and hers didn’t, so she has to donate $1 million to charity. The black-tie event is to try to help her match it with other rich people’s money in Florida.”

  Lauren considers this strange explanation. “But what were you going to do if you both made the playoffs? Or neither team?”

  “We’d probably split it. Or get drunk on really expensive champagne and wonder why we’d invested in sports teams.”

  “Because you love hockey?” Lauren guesses.

  “Because hockey is everything.” I grew up in Iowa but was born in Minnesota. Hockey is in my blood. There may be other reasons I want to win the Cup, but I don’t talk about those aloud.

  The car picks up speed. And a couple of minutes later we finally enter Manhattan on the FDR. “I’m dropping you off at home, right?”

  “Yes, please. But I’ll rally after a couple hours. Do you want me to meet you at the office? I will, so long as you realize it’s Sunday. So I’ll probably whine about it.”

  “Save yourself the trouble. I’m not going into the office.”

  Lauren gives me the side eye. “Then why are we sharing a cab into Manhattan? Are you lost? Brooklyn is over there.” She points out the passenger-side window.

  “I’m headed downtown. Near City Hall. Rebecca has that appointment with the specialist.”

  Answering the question was a bad idea, though. Lauren is about to feast on me now. Her eyes have an evil glow, and her smile turns feral. “You have 2000 employees. Do you go to all of their doctors’ appointments?”

  “Obviously not. That would be both time-consuming and awkward.”

  “Then why are you going to Rebecca’s?”

  The same question has been rattling around in my chest all morning. “Because I found her this doctor and I want to hear what he says. And because we’ve known each other a long time. If you were sick and scared, I’d show up at yours if you wanted me to.” That was true. Probably.

  “I hope I never need that favor from you.”

  “As do I, buddy.”

  I stare out at the river as we zip down the FDR toward the midtown exits. Rebecca should already be at her appointment by now. I hope the doctor takes his time with her. She needs answers. And since I bribed him to show up for work on a Sunday morning, he won’t exactly have other patients clamoring for his attention.

  “You know, Nate…”

  “Hmm?”

  When I turn to face Lauren, she’s studying me. “That was a good speech you gave the other day to the players. If not now, then when.”

  “Not the most original,” I point out.

  “It was heartfelt, though.” She clicks her pen absently with one manicured thumb. “I especially liked the part about Why not me.”

  “Well, really,” I say. “Why not us? This team can take it all the way.”

  “Sure. But what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “If not now, then when?” She raises an eyebrow. “And why not you?”

  “I don’t know what we’re taking about now. And I was paying attention like a good boy.”

  She shakes her head. The car is slowing to a stop in front of her East 30s apartment building. “I think you know what I mean. And if you don’t, then I hope you’ll figure it out soon. Give Rebecca my love.”

  Oh hell. Lauren is sneaky. Just as I’m thinking this, she slides out of the car and shuts the door, leaving me alone with my own confusion.

  Ramesh continues downtown, making good time to the hospital, and I get there just before 11. But by the time I’ve locat
ed Dr. Armitage’s reception area on the ninth floor, a door opens at the end of the hallway, and Rebecca steps out.

  She’s brushing tears off her face.

  Something goes wrong in my gut, and I speed toward her. Four or five paces is all it takes until I reach her. She looks up at me with wet eyes, and I can’t help myself. I pull her in until she lands against my chest. She’s warm and alive in my arms. If the doctor gave her bad news, I just won’t believe it. There’s nobody livelier than Rebecca. I know she’s going to be okay the same way I know the sun will rise again in the morning.

  She takes a deep, shaky breath and lets me hug her.

  “Tell me,” I command. Whatever the specialist said doesn’t matter. I’ll find an even specialer specialist who knows what the fuck to do about it.

  “He s-said…” she hiccups. “H-he knows what’s wrong.”

  “And?” I brace myself.

  “And it’s going to be okay.”

  Her arms wrap around me. I pat her back absently while I try to make sense of what she’s just said. “That’s good,” I say carefully. “Then why are you so upset?”

  “B-because…” She pulls back only far enough to give me a watery smile. “Nobody said that before! They said, ‘We don’t know why your injury doesn’t behave like a concussion. Just go home and wait.’ But Doctor Armitage said…”

  “It’s a vestibular problem!” The voice booms from nearby, and I drag my eyes off Rebecca to find a grinning man with salt-and-pepper hair, offering me his hand. I shake Dr. Armitage’s hand, while he keeps talking. “The concussion isn’t the issue anymore. When Rebecca hit the ice, she disturbed some of the nerves in her ear. Normal sensory processing is temporarily scrambled.”

  “Oh.” I’ve actually read about this before. “It’s rarer than a concussion. But not worse.” The knot in my chest begins to uncoil.

  “That’s right. She’s going to have to put a lot of effort into her therapy here—” He stretches out a hand to indicate a glassed-off room full of colorful gym equipment. “She needs to train her body and brain to communicate efficiently again. My therapists will help her work on balance and coordination. In a few weeks she’ll see some improvement, and in a few months she will make a full recovery.”

  Another tear leaks out of Becca’s eye as she smiles at the doctor. “I can’t wait to get started.”

  “The day after tomorrow.” He claps a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll set you up with a trainer. Sessions are ninety minutes. In the meantime, you’re going to take good care of yourself. You can be as active as you wish, but you need a good eight or ten hours of sleep. And limited screen time. No blue light after sundown. Set your phone to the warm light setting, and don’t look at it much until you’re seeing some improvement in your symptoms.” The doctor turns to me. “If you two have a TV in your bedroom, it needs to stay off for a few weeks. Most couples can usually find better things to do with the time, anyway.”

  Then the doctor winks, and my brain glitches out at the idea that he thinks we’re a couple.

  “Um…” I don’t know what to say. A quick review of the last two minutes is illuminating, though. I’d walked in here and grabbed Rebecca like my favorite teddy bear and began wiping away her tears…

  “…Three sessions a week for ninety minutes.” The doctor has already moved on. “We’ll take baseline measurements first, and then we’ll get right to work. Pleasure meeting you both.”

  I shake the doctor’s hand once more, and then he’s gone.

  “Wow.” Rebecca leans against the wall and sighs. “I am so relieved. You have no idea.”

  “It’s great news, Bec. You ready to head home?” Hearing the way that sounds, I mentally kick myself. Home. I obviously need to do a better job of keeping my distance from Rebecca. I gave the doctor the wrong idea within five seconds of showing up here. I wouldn’t want her to think I had some kind of ulterior motive when I’d asked her to stay at my house.

  “Are you going into the office?” she asks as we ride the elevator back down to the lobby. The doors part and we move toward the exits. It’s a nice spring day outside.

  “No. It’s Sunday. I’ll take the day off for a change. Besides, it’s time for lunch. I’m starving.”

  Rebecca straightens. “Let’s find you some lunch. Sushi?” She’s snapped into business mode. Preventing my starvation is something Rebecca does on a regular basis. And while it’s good to see her looking like her old self, I sure as hell don’t need her fussing over me.

  “Let’s walk a ways,” I suggest. “Find a food truck, maybe? It’s a nice day and I’ve been on a plane all morning.” I steer her toward Centre Street.

  “Where’s your stuff?”

  “In the car with Ramesh. Hey—look.” I’ve spotted a take-out window. “How do you feel about falafel?”

  “Let’s see how it looks,” she says. “A good falafel is heaven. An indifferent falafel is a waste of carbs.”

  This makes me smile. Rebecca is a bit of a foodie in a fun, unfussy way. In the old days, she scoured the neighborhood, looking for joints we’d missed. She’d found the Cantonese place that became an office legend. And our favorite sushi joint.

  Under the springtime sunshine I feel strangely sentimental for those simpler days. My job was more fun back then. We were underdogs. It was me, Rebecca, and a dozen programmers against the world.

  If we edit out Juliet’s betrayal, it was a really nice time in my life.

  Rebecca pronounces the falafel acceptable, and I buy two of them and a couple bottles of water. “Want to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge?” I haven’t done that in a long time.

  “Sure!” She smiles, tipping her face up to the sky. “Walking and eating, though. I have enough trouble with coordination as it is.”

  So I find her a bench, and we sit down to eat, first.

  “Don’t you have to tell Ramesh where you’ve gone?” she asks.

  My mouth full, I grunt in agreement. Ramesh is supposed to keep tabs on me, so when I wander off, it’s probably annoying.

  She slips her phone out of her pocket to text him our plan.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to use screens?”

  “Much,” she corrects me. “But now I’m not following the concussion protocol, so it’s a little different. Reading books is okay again. Blue light after dark is the only thing I can’t have.”

  Our eyes meet for a split second, and I see a hint of amusement in her expression—as if she just remembered the doctor’s advice about TVs in bedrooms.

  We both look away at the same time.

  “Hey—thanks for the audiobooks,” she says brightly. “That was a lovely idea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I also listened to the game. I had to turn my back to your TV so I wouldn’t be tempted to watch. When Trevi got that fourth goal I shrieked so loudly that Bingley asked if I was okay.”

  “Yeah?” It makes me stupidly happy to think of Rebecca hanging out in my den. “That’s funny. Did you notice Bingley taking any other wrong cues?” The AI system definitely needs work. Not that I have the time.

  “He was a perfect gentleman. I sneezed and he said bless you.”

  “Yeah? That’s classy. Go, Bingley.” The young programmer who’s working on the product with me is a funny guy. Because of him Hal/Bingley also identifies the sound of farts. That’s what I get for hiring a twenty-two-year-old.

  Rebecca wads up the empty foil wrapper from her sandwich. “Congratulations, Nate. Seriously. That game was amazing. I’m so happy you’re advancing.”

  “I didn’t win it,” I say, standing to find a trash can. “But it sure was fun to watch. Ready to walk?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I should have anticipated that the Brooklyn Bridge would be crammed full of people. The weather’s so nice that the whole city has come outside to enjoy it. There are families and couples holding hands.

  I keep a close eye on Rebecca, because I don’t want her to stumble.
We’re right beside the bike lane, where riders whiz by at unsafe speeds. The idea of someone hurting Becca makes me crazy.

  Let’s not even wonder why that is.

  “I’m doing three sessions a week with the trainers,” Rebecca tells me. “Doctor Armitage said that the first few will really wipe me out, but that I shouldn’t get discouraged. He’s never had a vestibular patient who couldn’t improve a lot with therapy—unless something else is also wrong. But he doesn’t think that’s the case with me.”

  “Okay. I like the sound of that.”

  “Me too! I could be back to work soon. He said we’d talk about it in two weeks.”

  Two weeks sounds really ambitious, but for once I keep my mouth shut.

  “I was thinking I could go part-time at first,” Becca offers.

  “See what the doctor says.”

  She gives my arm a little nudge. “Don’t kill my buzz, Nate. Oh—and speaking of buzzes—the no-alcohol rule is still in force. Apparently vestibular systems can be confused by alcohol.”

  “I could have told you that. Tequila, especially.”

  She smiles, and it’s the old Becca smile. I’ve missed it. “Tell me about this party Mrs. Gray is packing for. Bal Harbour? It sounds glam.”

  “Alex planned it. If glam is the same thing as Alex making me wear a tux, then I guess it is. Fucking bow ties. I hate them.”

  “That’s only because you still can’t tie one.” She nudges me with her hip, and it makes me want to grab her and kiss her.

  I don’t, though. “I can too tie a bow tie. I just don’t enjoy it.”

  “Here’s a deal for you—I’ll tie the bow tie for you. In Florida.” She cackles. “On a beach. I can’t believe I’m missing this party. The universe hates me.”

  “It’s too bad. I could use the company. You have to go to therapy, though.”

  “Nope. I took someone’s cancellation for Tuesday, but then they can’t get me in until Thursday. What do you mean you could use the company? I could be an extra set of hands!” Her face lights up at this idea. “It’s been weeks since I saw everyone. I feel like a hermit.”