Blitzing Emily (40 page)

“Please wait!” Emily cried out.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but the flight’s already late.”

“I have a ticket.”

“I can’t let you on. I’m so sorry. There’s another flight to Miami in four hours.”

“I have to be on this flight.
Please
.”

“I’m sorry.” He locked the door.

Emily tried to catch her breath. She’d missed the only chance she had to make it there before the game started.

She was dry-eyed, but shaking all over. Her heart pounded, her stomach rolled, and she broke out in a cold sweat. She barely resisted the impulse to fall to her knees and beg in front of someone who was, evidently, just doing his job. She had to get to Brandon. She couldn’t afford to rent a plane. Buying another last-minute, full-price ticket wasn’t an option. She couldn’t drive there in time.

She sank into one of the waiting area chairs and dropped her backpack onto the carpeting. She put her face in her hands and tried to think, tried to still the shaking that she couldn’t seem to control. On some level, she was amazed that, in an airport containing thousands of people, she was completely alone. She took deep breaths. She had to calm down, or she’d never figure out what to do.

The later flight wasn’t going to work. Brandon would be gone by the time she got to the stadium. He’d be somewhere with the rest of the team, celebrating or commiserating, and then he’d be out of reach. Emily wouldn’t see him. It was too late, and her heart was breaking.

She heard footsteps close by, and the rustle of clothing. Someone sat down in the chair next to her. A woman’s voice broke into Emily’s frantic, panicked thoughts.

“Ms. Hamilton?”

Emily looked up to see a dark-haired woman with kind eyes. She was wearing the airline’s uniform. “Yes?”

The plane hadn’t left yet. She could see it through the window. It was taunting her. It was something else she wanted desperately, but couldn’t have.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked.

Emily chewed on a lower lip as dry as the Sahara and tried to swallow. “I—I’ll be fine.” Sure she would. She wanted to scream in agony. She wanted to cry and beg. Anything. Most of all, she wished she hadn’t been so stubborn with Brandon.

“There’s a minor mechanical problem with the plane, so we have a short delay. I understand you were told you couldn’t board earlier.”

“Yes. Yes, I was.”

“Please come with me,” the woman said. She got to her feet. “May I see your boarding pass?”

Emily’s hands were shaking so hard from panic and adrenaline it was hard to unzip her backpack. She dug the boarding pass out and handed it to the woman.

The woman crossed the waiting area, unlocked the Jetway door, and beckoned to Emily. “Go ahead. They’re expecting you,” she said. It was like a mirage. Emily wondered if she’d vanish, but she walked to the doorway.

She gave Emily a comforting pat on the back. “I hope someone you love is on the other end.”

A few minutes later, Emily was in her seat. The flight attendant slipped her a few tissues before Emily belted herself in for takeoff. Emily didn’t know how she would get in to see Brandon. He’d be getting ready for the game. He’d be whisked out of there when it was over. It wasn’t like he had office hours. He probably wasn’t answering his phone. She could find out where the team was staying, but then she’d have to find his room. NFL teams locked down entire floors. It wasn’t like she could stroll up to the front desk to ask.

Emily settled back to wait some more. The pilot announced that due to the mechanical problem and resulting delay, those connecting to other flights would be delayed. She’d have to rent a car and drive like a bat out of hell to have any chance at all to be at the stadium before kickoff. Oddly enough, though, she was relaxed. It was out of her hands. She did her best, and the rest was not in her control. If this kept up, she’d join hands with the others in first class and recite the Serenity Prayer or something.

The people seated around her went back to working on their laptops, watching a movie on the individual DVD players the flight attendant handed out, or staring out the window. It was another Sunday afternoon flight for them. The minutes dragged by for her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the plane landed in Miami, taxiing to the gate. The best part of Emily’s planning was to bring her backpack. If she ran, maybe she would make it to the rental car desk before the stampede and get on the road.

The plane’s door opened, and she broke into a sprint as she rushed through the Jetway. She turned into the concourse leading to baggage claim and the car rental desk. She dodged people and their bags as she went. Running through any airport isn’t exactly effective, but she had ninety minutes to get to Miami Stadium and get a ticket before kickoff.

She was so absorbed in avoiding toddlers with pink rolling luggage and entire families of people who insisted on walking together that she didn’t pay much attention to anyone or anything around her. A hundred feet or so ahead, though, she glimpsed a tall, muscular man in dress clothes with a wild mop of blond curls, and her heart pounded.

It
couldn’t
be him. It also couldn’t be anyone else on the planet.

“Brandon!” Emily cried out, and a huge grin spread over his face. She darted around a woman with a double stroller and a businessman talking on his smart phone, and tried to speed up. It was like running through quicksand.

He pushed through the crowd of people surrounding him and broke into a run, too.

“Sugar,” he called out. He threw open his arms, and Emily ran into them. It was just like the movies, except it wasn’t perfect. It was all arms and legs. Her backpack went flying. She kissed his ear instead of his mouth, but finally, they made it work.

He pulled her up off the floor, swinging her around and around, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She threaded her fingers into his hair. He was saying something in her ear, but she blurted out, “Baby, I’m so sorry. I wrote something so stupid on your card. I should have written something better. It was terrible. I—”

“What are you talking about?”

Emily wanted to pull him around her. She wanted to crawl inside of him. She had spent hours planning what she would say when she finally saw him, but now she forgot it all.

“I said ‘Best of luck.’ Best of luck. What the hell was that? I should have said I’m sorry. I should have said I love you. I should have said that I’m so proud of you, and that I wished I could be at your game, and that I’d never give up on us. I—oh, baby, I messed it all up. I—”

He cut her off. “So, you flew here from New York to tell me this.” He looked amused.

“I came here . . . I came here to tell you that I love you, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you—”

“You did.” He lowered her to the floor, but didn’t let go. His fingers tangled in Emily’s hair. “I love you, too.”

She wrapped her arms even tighter around him—anything to get him closer. For the first time in months, she could breathe. She was warm. Joy bubbled through her veins like the finest champagne. “I should have trusted you. How could I do that to you?” Emily fisted her hand in his dress shirt. “Why are you
here
? I was—”

He laid a finger over her mouth. “Amy texted me with your flight information. I said I’d meet you anytime, anyplace, and I’d accept your apology.” He cupped her cheek in one hand. Brushing her lips with his, he murmured, “God, I want more,” and sealed his mouth over hers. She pushed herself even closer to him, and she heard applause. He lifted his head.

They were surrounded by a semi-circle of passersby, who were smiling and clapping. She glanced around in surprise. All these people must have something else to do.

They heard a voice from the crowd. “Aren’t you Brandon McKenna of the Sharks? What are you doing here?”

“Damn Gatorade commercial. I can’t go anywhere,” Brandon murmured to Emily, and then said more loudly, “Had to pick up my girl.”

“You’re supposed to be at the stadium right now,” someone else called out.

Emily saw Brandon smile. “What do you think, sugar?” He picked up her backpack, looped it over his shoulder, and kept one arm around her. The knot of people still hadn’t dispersed, and most of them appeared to be listening intently to them. “Should we take in a football game?” His voice dropped a bit. “You blew off The Met for me?”

“I didn’t exactly
blow them off
,” she said. “I—I needed to be here for you. Maybe I’ll get another chance, some other time.”

“What if there’s not another chance?” he asked.

Emily bit her lower lip. She had walked out on them. She’d gained the success she’d worked so hard for, but it was empty without Brandon there to see it, too. She turned her back on the growing crowd of bystanders and looked into his eyes.

“I was in New York on that stage. It meant nothing without you. That’s why I came here,” she said. “Let me do this for you.”

For the first time since they met, Brandon was speechless. He kissed her. Hard.

She reached up to stroke his scratchy cheek. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” A group of police officers had arrived and were trying to break up the crowd blocking the concourse around them. In the midst of hundreds of people, the only person she saw was Brandon.

Brandon rested his forehead against hers. “On one condition.”

“What might that be? We have to go.”

“We’re leaving right after the game’s over. We’re going to New York. I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you’ll have that chance.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “Deal?”

She opened her mouth to argue with him. She told David she’d be back for the performances the rest of the week, but she was fairly sure those in charge would have made arrangements for another diva to sing the role instead. Walking out on a performance guaranteed it. Brandon had no idea about how operas were cast, how careers were built, how competitive roles were, but the fact he wanted to help . . . Her heart melted.

“Deal.”

“I mean it, sugar.”

The police were still trying to get people moving through the concourse. Emily heard murmurs of “Sharks” and “Super Bowl” and “What’s he doing here, anyway?”

“Okay. Show’s over. Break it up. Let’s go.” The officers made shooing motions. One of them glanced over at Brandon and said, “I know you. Why are you here?”

Emily knew all these people were most likely in shock at seeing Brandon, but she wondered if they could have something read out over the public address system. She reached out and tugged on one of the officers’ sleeves. “We need some help.”

“I’m a little busy right now,” the officer said. He smiled at her, though.

“We have to get him to his game. He’s late. What can we do?”

Another police officer took Emily’s elbow.

“You can’t drive fast enough to get him there before it starts, but we can. Follow us.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
HE POLICE OFFICERS
were only too happy to show Brandon and Emily to the back seat of an unmarked vehicle parked outside the terminal.

“Good thing it’s a slow work day,” one of them joked. “I never thought I’d be a escorting a player to the Super Bowl. You’re about to see a miracle. Watch this.” He grabbed the car’s radio microphone while they maneuvered out of Miami International Airport.

The officer behind the wheel turned to wink at Emily. “The other guys will be jealous. Buckle up, miss.”

Emily felt the click of her seatbelt and hissed, “You, too, bruiser.” Brandon was already fumbling with his own seat belt.

They pulled onto the freeway, flanked by multiple cop cars with lights flashing and sirens screaming. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper across all lanes. The police car maneuvered into traffic and picked up speed. Cars all around them parted like the Red Sea as a result. Emily sat up a little and peered through the clear Plexiglas separating the two seats. The speedometer read eighty miles an hour already. She reached out to grab the arm rest in alarm.

Brandon snatched her other hand.

“Sugar. We’re going to be fine. They do this all the time.”

She peeked over the seat, saw the car’s digital speedometer pass eighty-five, and turned her face away. Maybe it was better for everyone if she didn’t look.

The cop riding in the front seat turned around to them. “How do you feel about the Sharks’ chances this afternoon, Mr. McKenna?”

“We’re going to win,” Brandon assured them.

“You seem pretty positive.”

“I am.”

Brandon and Emily rode along in silence for a few minutes. The exit signs were passing in a blur, but the last sign she could make out said they were still ten miles from Miami.

“We’ll take you to the players’ entrance, Mr. McKenna. Your guest will be shown to her seat,” the officer driving called out to Brandon.

“Thank you, and thanks for the ride.”

“It’s our pleasure,” the officer in the passenger seat assured him.

“I don’t have a game ticket,” she murmured into Brandon’s ear.

“You’ll go to the owner’s suite, and the team will take care of it.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “You and I aren’t done yet, though.”

“I can’t believe you left. The coach must be freaking out.”

He extracted a small white florist’s card out of his pocket. “Remember that card you said you wrote? This is why I left.” He put it into Emily’s hand. “Amy texted me. She said you’d left New York, and you were on your way. Let’s just say there was some arguing with Coach on my way out the door. I told him I’d be back before kickoff.” He let out a breath. “There may not be a game for me, either. We might be watching from the stands, but at least we’ll be together.” He snorted. “The stuffed frog was a nice touch.”

Emily stared at the card, reading the sweet message she was too scared and full of pride to write. Her sister engineered their reunion. A wave of emotion washed over her. Amy wanted Emily’s happiness badly enough to take the risk her sister was afraid of.

“Hey. If you cry all over that, I can’t frame it.” Brandon put the card back into his wallet as the police car bounced over a speed bump at the entrance to the stadium twenty minutes later. It screeched to a halt in front of a doorway that read “Players’ Entrance.” The police officers escorted them into the building.