Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Each stride of his early morning jog jostled Luke’s muscles. He vectored toward the municipal pool at the end of the trail. As he wended along the paved path, the sticky air hugged him at a tolerable seventy-five degrees. Not like the cloying heat and humidity on Sunday at the party.

His stomach curdled.

What a fucking fumble that day had been. In fact, the rest of the week had sucked, too. Every minute he wasn’t at work, he struggled with calling or texting her. Where was the line between giving her space and waiting too long? Fuck if he knew.

He hopped over a fallen tree branch.

First, he’d apologize for butting in where she didn’t want him then he’d explain his intentions had been good. For better or worse, the Burases were important to him, and all he wanted was to help.

From Luke’s outside-the-inner circle position, they froze their family dynamics when CJ left for the Air Force Academy. Luke wanted to peel open their eyes to the universal truth that things, and people, change.

He battled the same thing at the office. Civilian lifers and military, who were convinced the world’s players, threats, and motivators were the same now as they were a decade or five ago, tried to swat away his analysis. Why? Because it didn’t fit their world view.

His job was to persuade them and lay out facts like bricks until he built a house they couldn’t dismiss. Ideally, he did it without emotion, but sometimes shit was too important. That’s when volume helped.

He scrubbed his hands through his sweaty hair. The point of this run was to pry Brooke from his thoughts. Fail. He pivoted at the pool and headed back to his apartment. As he hit the path leading to the parking lot for his building, his phone buzzed.

Probably CJ, like last time.

When he glanced at the screen, fear gripped his throat.

Brooke. At five-fifteen in the morning? This was the middle of the night for her.

He slowed to read her text.

The baptism…and my whole family…was a lot, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.

Apologies were rare in his life, and he loved that hers didn’t include a follow-on statement hinting it wasn’t her fault. That’s how his mom operated. Sorry I didn’t make it to your graduation, but Daddy and Ben would’ve been proud of you, and I got upset thinking about them, and I just couldn’t go without them.

Thanks, he texted Brooke. I’m sorry, too.

Pulsing dots then the kissy-face emoji. Knew you’d be up. I got the court date notice, did you? Can we talk tonight? The CCO has a performance you’ll like. Can you come?

He was all in. Up to now, the only concerts he’d attended were country ear-blasters.

Do I have to wear anything fancy?

An Orioles shirt if you have one. Star Wars if you don’t. We’re performing at the O’s game & stay to watch.

He smiled. Baseball, too? Last time he’d been to Camden Yards had been a morale boosting activity with his first office at the agency a decade ago, and he’d loved the park’s homey feel.

What time?

Game starts at seven but get there by 6:30 for the performance. Not a 100% sure when we start.

Got it. See you later.

Back in his apartment, he guzzled a glass of water. His mood was a million watts brighter than when he woke up today. Credit could only be given to Brooke, and that was a hell of a thing.

~ * ~

The light bite of early Autumn laced the air. Not chilly enough for a jacket, but a reminder summer was on its way out the door. The sky’s lazy golden tones announced the start of sunset, and the aroma of delicious stadium food swirled around him. The hands on the old-fashioned scoreboard clock pointed to 6:42. Nearly show time.

He should relax, but he couldn’t, not in a crowd this size.

Metal detectors arched over at the entrance gates and security guards inspected everyone’s bags, but they didn’t catch everything. Case in point, he’d forgotten about the jewelry box in his pocket, and that didn’t trigger any alarms as he passed under them. What else had they missed?

He sighed.

His daily intel diet made it tough to downshift his high-alert setting. Reclaiming optimism would be nice. It required feeding himself a series of fun, uplifting, and joyful experiences that connected himself with others. He’d unintentionally kick-started the process during the wedding, and life had gotten better. More complicated, but better.

The nerves churning his stomach weren’t exclusively due to the crowd. Brooke had extended an olive branch tonight, and he’d brought a peace offering in return. Tonight, he’d propose that they drop the charade. The spiky polygraph results had been the kick in the ass he’d needed.

Even if it cost him everyone who meant the world to him, he couldn’t live a lie anymore.

~ * ~

The black folding chair behind home plate was warm against Brooke’s ass. Camden Yards was already a third full. Fifteen thousand fans, seven times the capacity of the orchestra’s performance hall. Given the O’s winning season, the fans streaming into the stadium were no surprise.

She scanned the section set aside for the orchestra members and their guests. When she found Luke smack dab in the middle of the front row, her heart skipped a beat. He raised a hand in greeting, and she waved her bow.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed over the loudspeaker. “Please show an Orioles fan welcome for members of our own Charm City Orchestra. Tonight, they’ll play selections from their upcoming celebration of famed American composer, John Williams.”

The roaring applause filled her ears. Between this and the lack of violin vacancies in interesting places, maybe staying here wasn’t such a bad choice. That wasn’t settling, was it? After all, this loud hometown love sure took the sting out of staying in Baltimore.

So did Luke.

~ * ~

Luke inched forward. A mini-John Williams concert and a date with Brooke? Best night ever.

After the conductor raised her baton, waved it once, twice, then jabbed, the drums and trumpets exploded with the bombastic opening notes to the original Star Wars theme. The strings joined in the music, a fury of bows shooting up and down, like they were firing arrows.

This was his first time listening to Brooke perform in a group. He didn’t need both ears to hear the skillful way she and the other violins left their hearts on the strings. Masters of their instruments, playing aggressively in some parts, while easing up in others.

Partnership, teamwork, generosity.

That was his badass wife on the field. If the Chesapeake Symphony Orchestra hadn’t appreciated that, well, like he’d written in the note at the hotel, fuck ’em. She was destined for great things, and he’d cheer her on if she’d let him.

When the orchestra finished, tens of thousands of hands thundered in appreciation. The CCO began the Harry Potter theme—sleepier than Star Wars, but just as evocative. The final tune was the theme from Superman. This music made him want to fly.

At the conclusion of the performance, the announcer demanded, “Let’s show our appreciation for the Charm City Orchestra!”

He stood and clapped. After a minute, the applause died down in the stadium, and the announcer said, introduced the Star-Spangled Banner. As the crowd stood and faced the flapping flags, he fixed his hand over his heart. At the conductor’s direction, the orchestra began the national anthem, which had been penned here in Baltimore. He jumped when the capacity crowd shouted, “Oh!” in unison during, “Oh say does that star-spangled banner yet wave…”

He’d forgotten the local tradition of emphasizing the “Oh,” because of the Orioles. When the song ended, his blood pumped fast and proud. Patriotic tunes made up the civic backdrop of every American kid’s life, but they took on somber tone when you personally knew people who’d made the ultimate sacrifice to protect the homeland.

And why did they do it?

For this. To give friends and family the freedom to chill under blue and pink skies, waiting for the stars on a sweet night, and enjoying a ball game.

Something he hadn’t done enough over the years.

Brooke and the other musicians filed off the field while their conductor tossed the ceremonial first pitch. Not a bad arm—the Maestra threw a no-hopper straight to the catcher. As she cleared off the mound, the Orioles jogged to their places on the field.

Their starting pitcher wound up, and with the slap of fastball against the catcher’s mitt, the game was on. By the end of the first inning, orchestra members filled in most seats in the section, but Brooke hadn’t shown up. She wasn’t bailing on him, was she? He checked his phone.

No messages.

“Hey, little help?” Brooke called.

He twisted in his seat. In her slim black pants and white sleeveless top, she picked her way down the stadium’s steep concrete steps while carrying trays mounded with food. The nervous energy flowing through him calmed at the sight of her.

“What’s that?” He took the tray.

“Dinner. The line at Old Bay Seafood was insane, but no way was I skipping the crab waffle fries.”

He eased back into his seat and balanced the tray on his lap while she shrugged off her violin and sat it in the empty seat in front of her. Her ginger-mango scent mixed with the aroma wafting up from the tray made his mouth water.

“What are crab waffle fries?”

She blinked at him like he’d spoken Russian.

“You’ve never had them? Waffle fries covered in crab dip?”

“Nope.” His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since eleven a.m. because an executive meathead had scheduled a briefing at noon.

“Well sir, you are in for a treat.” She eased a draft beer from the tray’s drink notch and slipped it into the holder on her chair. “I got a crab cake from Old Bay Seafood, a pit beef sandwich from Boog’s BBQ, the aforementioned crab waffle fries, and, in case you’re a traditionalist, hot dogs—one plain and one smothered in everything. What do you think?”

With his mouth watering, he said, “I think I love you.”

Shit. That slipped out, jokey and casual, which only worked if they weren’t married.

“Ha,” she said after a beat. “It’s a pretty good array of food.”

He guzzled his beer. “Amazing. What are you having?”

“You pick first. I’ve had everything many times.”

“Crab cake sandwich and the plain hot dog for me, then.”

“Perfect. I haven’t eaten pit beef in ages.” She snatched the foil-wrapped sandwich. “This’ll give me killer breath. I slathered it in horseradish, onions, and mustard, as God intended. Sorry, not sorry.”

He bit into his sandwich and went weak in the knees. Crisp and frizzled on the outside, and full of tender, sweet lumps of crab, the sandwich was one of the best things he’d ever eaten.

“That’s amazing.”

“Not as amazing as my mom’s.” She snagged a waffle fry covered in thick crab dip. “You’ll have to try hers to compare.”

Was that a general observation? Or open invitation?

The crack of a bat caught their attention and the ball sailed between the center and left outfielder, giving the O’s their first base run. Brooke set her sandwich in her lap and applauded.

“I didn’t realize you liked baseball.”

“Since my dad bleeds orange, everyone else in the family seems like a fair-weather fan.” She shrugged. “Listen, I have no skill when it comes to segues. I’m sorry for chewing you out at the party.”

He waved her off. “No need. I crossed a line.”

The wind picked up her sleeves’ floaty bits, and he resisted the urge to caress her shoulder.

“There is a need. Plus, I was flustered. Helena asked me if you and I were hooking up. Since I’m super cool and smart, I said something articulate like, ‘nope,’ and then I took my irritation out on you.”

He sighed. “Man, Helena’s tenacious. After you stormed out, she asked me the same thing.”

“Argh.” Brooke munched another waffle fry. Wow, fast eater. She’d mostly finished her pit beef sandwich, but he was only halfway through the crab cake. “Do you think she said anything to CJ?”

“Yeah.” Luke nodded. “And he’s made it clear he doesn’t want me near you.”

She twisted toward him. “When did he say that?”

“That first night he was in town. He called to invite me over, but I declined per my lady friend’s request.” He nudged her with his elbow.

“Gross. Lady friend makes it sound like I’m eighty.” She tossed her wadded-up foil sandwich wrapper on the tray then snagged the everything hot dog. “How’d the topic come up, anyway?”

“He asked if I’d seen you, and I said yes, and told him you have your shit together. I suggested if he knew you better as a grown-up, he wouldn’t worry. That’s when he asked if I was after you, and as a bonus, said I’m not good enough for you.”

“That’s dumb. You’re the best person I know.”

The tension in his chest loosened. “In some ways. But when it comes to women, well… CJ saw me in action. That’s what he doesn’t like.”

“Ooh, what does that mean?” Brooke widened her eyes. “Here I have you on a Superman pedestal. Is there dirt on you? Tell me something to make you human.”

“I…” He scratched his neck. “I’ve been with a few women.”

She sighed. “Same.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Kidding. A couple Truth or Dare games in college led to kissing women, but I mostly go for dick.”

She bit into her hot dog and winked, making him laugh.

“Mostly?” he asked.

“Never say never. I mean, I said I’d never get married, and yet…” She gestured to him. “Okay, when a hot guy says he’s been with a few women, that’s like a billionaire saying he’s comfortable money-wise. Let me guess, you met dozens of women in bars, told them you weren’t up for anything deep, had fun, then moved on like lightning struck your ass.”

“Am I that easy to read?” he asked.

She shook her head. “That’s my MO, too. Not exactly scout behavior. I get why CJ frowns on it.”

Luke nodded. “You know, keeping secrets from your brother bothers me.”

“See?” She sighed. “That’s what I mean by you being the best person I know. It doesn’t bother me because I’ve been keeping secrets from CJ for half of my life.”

Luke finished his sandwich with an enormous bite to stop himself from disagreeing with her about her methods. This was her family—her blood—and he’d follow her lead on how to handle them.

He’d swallowed the bite when Brooke squealed, “Kiss cam! We’re on the kiss cam!”

Then she was on him, and her lips were salty and slicked with beer. After she let him go, she waved at the camera. God, her bright laugh, her wide smile, and her whole self was delightful.

“You were right,” he said. “The sandwich gave you killer breath.”

She laughed and backhanded his chest. He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips, the same fingers that worked magic with her violin, and made him tremble. This was what he wanted from life, and for the first time, it seemed possible to have it all, including staying married. He had no idea what confessing all that to her would mean for the divorce, but he couldn’t imagine life without her.

His phone buzzed. The text was from CJ. WTF, dude? Watching the game with my dad.