Page 57 of Rocking Player
And I took off.
Jeremy would understand why I wasn’t home with him today. Michael was his father, and he’d want his whole family happy.
Finally, the plane's racing tires squealed until we were in the air.
I kept staring at my switched off phone and the guy next to me snored and sneezed.
This wasn’t Michael’s first-class seating, but I finally made it to LAX and ran through the huge airport to the car.
The sun was out in the morning sky when I was at the rental agent’s desk and nodded to half his questions as he had my driver’s license. “Yes, I’ll take GPS. That’s fine.”
He showed me a screen that read "subcompact" and said, “This is all we have right now.”
I handed him my credit card. “It works. Thank you.”
He handed me my cards and a set of keys. “Good luck, ma’am.”
Oh, he had zero idea what I needed that for. My hair stood on its ends that Michael might tell me to leave.
He had that right. If Michael didn’t want to forgive me, I’d find some room to curl up in. But after crying, I’d have to move on.
I’d hung up and been horrible to him and probably didn’t deserve him. Being afraid was stupid, and paralyzing, and completely my fault.
The drive was full of cars and at points, not moving, but as I finally pulled into the hotel, the management didn’t help. I was ready to show my marriage license to the guy, but then another well-built, all-muscles man came over to me and tapped my shoulder. “Are you the new Mrs. Irons?”
I ignored whatever the guy said behind me. “Yes. Who are you?”
He crossed his arms and stared at my small bag as he said, “Rodriguez. Pitcher. What are you doing here?”
My insides twisted. I was probably too late, but I lifted my chin and said, “I’m looking for my husband.”
He pointed to the door and said, “You just missed him.”
The air rushed out of my lungs. Seriously. My neck tightened and I asked, “What? Where did he go so early?”
“His agents stationed in LA. He went to his office.”
My heart raced wildly. “Would you have Phil’s address?”
“Sure.” He took out his phone and pointed for me to accept his incoming picture.
A moment later, I had a photo of a business card and I jumped and thanked him.
As I ran back to my tiny car, it took a moment to speed up. I wished it was faster, but I used the navigation system to get me through too much traffic until I finally stood outside a nice glass building and ran inside.
On the second floor, I saw a woman in a black business suit and high heels. “Hi,” I said to her. “I’m here to see Phil and Michael Irons.”
She pouted at me and said, “You’re too late.”
My skin zapped like she’d stung me. Maybe the universe was telling me I was too late, but I asked, “What?”
She pointed to the door and shooed me toward it as she said, “They left.”
“For where?” I asked and refused to budge.
The women’s lips thinned and she glanced at my jeans like she’d never wear anything like them. “Mr. Irons went to the stadium and Phil went to help negotiate his leave.”
“No!” I shouted fast. If he was leaving, then I was too late. I practically jumped out of my skin and rushed to the door as I asked, “He’s at the stadium?”
