“Semantics,” Clara throws over her shoulder as she leaves my office.
Logan drove across Manhattan to deliver coffee to my office. My cheeks start to hurt from smiling. He wanted to see me before he left for Chicago, just like I wanted to see him. Before a fantasy takes hold, the rational part of my brain kicks in.
This is Logan being Logan. He's thoughtful and considerate. He's a good man doing a nice thing for someone he grew up with.
That's all this is.
I open the sportswear contract and force myself to read. When my heart is loud, I make my brain louder. Clause by clause, paragraph by paragraph, I build the framework Wilder needs.
I draft the preferred player model with separate negotiation protections and shared marketing rights without exclusivity. By four o’clock, the framework is done. I email it to Wilder with a note asking him to review before the end of the week, then I email Mabel a status update.
I respond to three other client emails that have been sitting in my inbox since this morning.
At four-fifteen, my phone rings. It's Harper.
“Turn on the news,” she says immediately, her voice shaking.
“What’s going on?” I ask, taken aback by her tone. I’ve never heard Harper speak like this.
“Jasmine, turn on the news right now. It’s about the plane the guys were on,” she says with a hint of panic.
My blood goes cold. I open my browser and type “Renegades” into the search bar, and the first result is an ESPN breaking news alert.
BREAKING: New York Renegades charter flight makes emergency landing in Pittsburgh. Mechanical failure reported.
I read it twice. The words don't change. My whole body goes cold and numb. “Harper, what happened?”.
“I don't know. It just came across the wire two minutes ago, and nobody knows anything yet.” Her voice is tight and filled with fear.
“Does it say if anyone is hurt?” I whisper, already thinking the worst
“It doesn't say anything. Just mechanical failure and emergency landing. That's all they're reporting.”
The words on my laptop start to blur. Logan is on that plane. Logan could be hurt.
Clara opens my door without knocking. “Jasmine, oh my God, I just saw the news.”
Her words make it even more real. My face crumples, and the tears come fast, and I can't stop them. I press my hand over my mouth, but my shoulders are shaking and my breath is coming in short, ragged gasps.
Clara closes my office door, pulls a chair next to mine, and puts her arm around me and holds on.
“He was just here, Clara. He was standing right here two hours ago.”
“I know.”
“What if he's?—”
“Don't. They landed. Emergency landing means they're on the ground.”
“What if someone's hurt? What if the landing?—”
“Don't do that. They're on the ground, and we don't have any other information, and you need to breathe.”
I grab my phone and call Logan. It rings once and goes straight to voicemail. I hang up and call again. Voicemail. I try a third time and get the same result.
“His phone's going to voicemail,” I say, and my voice cracks on the last word.
“He's probably still on the plane, Jasmine. They might not have let them off yet. His phone could be in airplane mode. It doesn't mean anything.”
