The buzzer sounded again and the players moved down the court.
“I wonder what’s going on?” Mikki pointed toward a woman who was running out of the tunnel and toward the Lightning team side. “That’s Carmen Romero.”
“The owner?” I asked, studying the woman who owned an entire friggin’ basketball team.
“Yep.”
She whispered into the head coach’s ear. He stepped forward, blew his whistle, and called a time-out. “Skkye, over here.”
It was as if the entire stadium leaned forward to try to hear, as if that were even possible.
I leaned forward too, hoping to hear something, but it was futile. So, I watched his face, and what I saw there had my stomach twisting in worry. Aaron said something to the two people in front of him, they both nodded, and he ran off the court, not looking back, not acknowledging me.
“What just happened?” Stella asked.
“I have no clue.” Whatever it was couldn’t have been good, not with the way he’d taken off.
“You want to go?” she asked.
“Let’s wait a few.” I reached for my phone to see if there was a text, but there weren’t any. So, I texted him.
Me: Are you okay? Can I help?
I waited for bubbles to appear, but by the time the second quarter finished and halftime began, he hadn’t responded.
“Can we go now?” I asked softly.
“Sure, come on.” Stella stood, and to my great relief, Mikki did too without any push back.
None of us said a word as we walked up the stairs and passed Andi. I paused to reach into my purse and grab a twenty for a tip.
She placed her hand on mine. “No need, Mr. Skkye took care of it. I hope that everything is okay.”
“Thank you, me too.”
It was weird. I saw him leave, I knew that he was okay, but still there was something so ominous about tonight.
“Are you the woman who has captured Aaron Skkye’s attention?” A microphone was thrust toward me, hitting Stella in the process.
“Excuse me? You just hit me.”
“Sorry,” the woman said without an ounce of apology.
“Please leave,” Mikki snapped.
“I just want an answer,” Haley Loles demanded, as if I would give the reporter I had to deal with during Eric’s case and despised with a passion, an answer.
The vapid bitch probably didn’t even remember who I was or how much pain she’d caused me a few years ago.
Stella leaned into Hayley’s face. “Well you aren’t getting one. Let’s get an officer over here so he can assist us out of here and maybe take out the trash along the way. Maybe we can even talk about pressing charges for assault since you hit me with your fucking mic.”
“I seriously doubt an officer will care about something so petty.” She smirked. “Plus, I’m just doing my job.”
“Being a bitch? You excel at it. But I think they will care about harassing us.” Stella glanced around. “Hey, Max, can you come over here?” Stella hollered to Max Longoria, an off-duty deputy who was picking up some overtime working at the stadium. “This reporter blocked Vivian from leaving, thrust her microphone in her face, hit me with it, and now is saying no one will care what she does. We want to leave.”
“I’ll take care of it. Why, Haley Loles, we meet again. You have a special fondness for cops, don’t you?” Max chuckled. We all knew how much she hated law enforcement, but it was okay because the feeling was mutual.
I didn’t talk, not on the ride to Sixes, not when Stella or Mikki asked questions. When we got back to the bar, I headed to my car and drove home.
Media, fucking media. I hated them. I had to deal with them after Eric died. They constantly followed me, refusing to let me grieve in my own way. They called me Orlando’s sweetheart. They constantly questioned me about my feelings, how I was doing, and then checked in for weeks afterward to catch everyone up on Orlando’s sweetheart, widow of slain officer, Sergeant Eric Haines. When I wouldn’t talk to them because I just wanted to be left alone in my own pity party, they started using threats. I could hear them all over again, it would be all too easy to ruin Eric’s name, everyone thinks so highly of him, I would hate to see that change. Every morning I would open the paper and scour the headlines to see if there was any vile word.
I checked my phone for what had to be the fiftieth time but still nothing.
Aaron
I was home only long enough to change and pack a bag. I had called my assistant for help finding me a flight, but the next one wasn’t until tomorrow midmorning, which was too late. I needed to get there faster. I pulled my Cayenne out of the garage and headed north, back to Evansville, Indiana, a place I hadn’t been since graduating early at seventeen, and leaving seven years ago when I got a full ride to the University of Kentucky.
“Ireland has been in an accident,” Carmen had whispered.
I’d thought about Ireland almost every day for the last seven years, wondering if she was doing well, but it wasn’t my place, not anymore, hadn’t been since the second I signed those adoption papers.
How I wished I could do something more than anonymously sending her gifts she would never know were from me.
“Aaron, you need to go, head to Evansville, Indiana.” Carmen had never sounded so serious. “The three of them were in a car accident, only Ireland survived. They are contacting you as the biological father.” Carmen rubbed my back. “Are you okay?”
I kept driving up I-75 until I finally hit Chattanooga, Tennessee, and then I merged on to I-24, only when I had to.
I was a hundred and twenty miles outside of Evansville when Heidi called. “Good morning, Heidi.”
“Good morning, Aaron. I’ve made a reservation for you
