Alarm bells set off his protective instincts. He met her on the sidewalk. "What's wrong?"
She dragged her hands through her hair. "The van's not working. It's not the battery. I was on the phone with roadside assistance. They said it sounds like the starter. Which is bad. And expensive. A tow truck might not get to me for two hours. And worst of all, I have a delivery due in West Philly in half an hour. Katie's on the phone, trying to track down a van for me to rent. I'm going to have to call my customer and push back the time. It won't be much of a surprise party if the cake arrives after the party is over."
He'd seen her little hatchback. No big cake could fit in there. He couldn't leave her stranded. "I'll get you there."
She stopped pacing. "What? Really? But what about your football show? I thought you were going to New York today."
"It's fine. I'll still be able to make my train. You get Katie so we can transfer the cake faster, and I'll fold the seats down. And can you box up a dozen cupcakes for me?"
Eyes wide, Ashley nodded. "I'll be right back."
By the time she'd returned with her sister, he had the seats down and the GPS ready for the destination address. The three of them maneuvered the large, heavy cake into the back of his car. It fit with a few inches to spare.
Katie hopped in the back and Ashley climbed in beside him. He put the flashers on and merged into traffic. Driving fast wasn't an option with a massive cake as cargo. Ashley winced and looked over her shoulder with every bump in the road. For someone who liked to drive fast, painstakingly slow was painful.
The estimated seventeen-minute drive turned into thirty.
They arrived on time for the delivery, and the relief on Ashley's face was almost palpable. She placed her hand on his arm. "Thank you. Katie and I can take it from here."
"I'll help you take it in. I have time."
Moving the cake out was easier than sliding it in had been. They carried it inside, and the sisters took a few minutes to fix the minor flaws that had formed in transit. The client loved it and thanked them profusely. Xavier swelled with pride for Ashley.
When they returned to the car, more time had passed than he'd thought. Ashley frowned as she studied the traffic app on her phone. "Just drive to 30th Street Station now. Katie and I can get home from there. I don't want you missing your train."
He had to admit, he wasn't sure he could swing getting them back to South Philly and then heading to 30th Street. "Good plan."
Hitting every red light didn't help his blood pressure. Stress continued to build as he fought through traffic. Finally, the large building came into view. He swung into the parking garage. "A few minutes to spare."
Ashley handed him the box of cupcakes and his suit bag. "Thank you for everything. Good luck. I'll be watching the show."
He cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her. Emotions settled. Stress eased. He pulled back and pressed his lips together, taking a taste of her with him.
Then, he ran like hell.
Dodging people, he rushed through the grand lobby where he'd been fascinated by all the people and architecture as a kid and nearly broke a leg getting to the platform.
He missed a step and fell down the last three stairs, landing on his rear with a twisted wrist and a crushed box of cupcakes.
And looked up to see the train pulling away.
"Fuck."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He kicked the box and lurched to his feet. Hands balled into fists until the soreness in his left wrist screamed in protest. Sweat broke out over his skin. Frustration burned in his veins. Xavier pulled out his phone and looked up the next scheduled train. It wouldn't get him to New York in time.
A search of alternate routes yielded the same results. Not unless he could add time back on the game clock. But real life didn't work that way.
Slowly, he made his way up the steps. The cupcakes landed in the garbage, looking as decimated as he felt.
Things couldn't get worse. Might as well get the phone call over with. Within a few rings, he had the show's producer on the phone and an apology ready to deliver. "I'm sorry. I missed my train."
A muttered, creative expletive, barely audible, made him wince. "There's absolutely no way you can make it here? You've got to be kidding me, Xavier. This isn't like a team meeting or anything. This is live TV. You get one shot at it."
"Sorry, but the next train won't get me there on time."
"All right. Well..." He sighed. "Look, Xavier, I like you but players who want to get into broadcasting after their playing days are behind them are a dime a dozen. There are more players than available spots. As hard as it is to be a pro player, it's even harder, more competitive to land a big-time broadcasting career once your playing days are over."
"I can't apologize enough. Can I be patched in to do it over the phone? Or try to hook up with one of the local Philly stations and try to do a remote?"
"You're not just doing a segment. You're co-hosting. You can't do that from outside the studio or over the phone."
Shit.
"I'm sorry. Could I do another day? Anything at all, and I'll make sure I'm there."
"We're booked for the rest of the off-season. Maybe once next season starts, we'll see. We'll let you know."
Xavier recognized the brush off. His opportunity was slipping away. Desperation heightened his words. "Any day, any time. I'll be there. I'm sorry again."
But his apology was met with a click, followed by silence.
The Food TV producers weren't going to be happy with him either. Neither was Mr. Mills. Bracing for that phone call called
