Page 117 of Elevator Pitch

My book might soon reach its happy ending.

Being Ross Davis’s girlfriend has benefits, and none of them are what people might expect. Simply put, Ross is good to me and good for me.

He tells me I’m beautiful. And he lets me show him how beautiful I think he is.

Our relationship isn’t a secret, but it also isn’t quite public either. Ross can’t exactly go out to dinner at six o’clock, and he prefers the quiet of his place after a game. My schedule is more flexible than his and I mold my time around his.

Ross makes every second worth it.

We haven’t returned to the Philadelphia invitation, and the home-games streak is shortly coming to a close, but not before a certain themed night game arrives. Most stadiums have themed nights, honoring cultures and professions, so Anchor Field is no different.

This topic is particularly difficult for me. A night honoring first responders in law enforcement, fire departments, and EMTs. A portion of the night’s proceeds go to an organization for spouses of the fallen, which once benefited me.

I don’t particularly like to draw attention to myself or to the circumstances of Cameron’s death. I’m always torn between the obligation to miss him, because I didn’t want him to die, and the facts, which is that his absence does not haunt me. My girls have missed out on having their father, and I’m sad for them. Girls need dads, and I had an amazing relationship with mine. I miss him all the time.

So, with the approach of the game, my thoughts drift to Cam the night before the honoring game. I’m in Ross’s bed, and we’ve just had an incredible moment together, but Cam trickles into my dreams.

Him facing me, telling me once again he’s sorry for what he did. How he hurt me. How he wrecked our marriage. How he wanted another chance. My stomach cramps with anxiety and heartbreak. The horrific moments he confessed what he’d done returned to me, like a powerful punch to the sternum. All my emotions are felt again in the dream. Suspicion and shock. Disbelief and disappointment. Anger. Grief for a love I felt slipping away long before Cam was taken from me. In the dream, he hugs me, and the embrace feels so real. Frighteningly real.

My heart races. I fear that I’m dead. I’m in heaven with Cam. And I’m about to ask him if I’ve died, when he releases me, steps away and turns his back on me.

An explosive crack shocks me awake but I’m caught for a moment in that thin line between dream state and wakefulness. Dreaming-me envisions Cam being shot. Something I didn’t witness, and as I don’t watch killer-shows or murder mysteries, I don’t have many visions of Cam’s demise. Waking-me realizes the crack was not gunfire, but the exhaust of a car or perhaps some kids letting off boomers late at night.

Cameron’s name is on my lips. The residual effects of all my emotions pulsing within me as I lie on my back, hand on my chest, my heart hammering under my palm. My throat is dry. My eyes scan the room as if confirming I’m in Ross’s house, his bed. I’m alive.

An arm tightens around me. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.” My breathing is ragged.

“You were making noises,” Ross groggily states.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” I don’t look at him, eyes focusing on the ceiling, grounding myself in the present once more. I’m not dead. I’m in bed. In Ross’s home.

“You called out your husband’s name.”

Forcing my head to roll, I turn in his direction. “I’m sorry.” My voice is weak, soggy and raw. I should say more.

“Want to talk about it?”

I don’t, and I tell him that. “Go back to sleep, babe.” Then I roll opposite Ross and curl into myself, keeping my eyes open and aimed at the window, because I’m afraid to close them.

Seconds pass before Ross shifts, his arm looping over my waist. His strong arm pulling me back into his chest. His light snores tell me he’s already asleep, but he’s holding onto me.

And I’d like to imagine in his dreams, he’s refusing to let me go.

+ + +

The Anchors game is rough. A moment of silence passes for the fallen men and women of our local community who race toward danger in our large, divided city. While Laurel shares the game tickets with me, in my dad’s former seats, we are surrounded by policeman and their families, many of whom are too young to remember Cameron or what happened to him. I’m grateful the jumbotron does not play a running list of those who have passed. The reminder isn’t necessary.

Inevitably, I excuse myself for the bathroom and run smack into someone from my past life—as the wife of a former police officer.

“Verona?”

“Hey. Paddy,” I falter over the name of one of the last people I want to see tonight.

Padraig O’Brien was a police officer with Cam, and he easily embraces me although it’s been a few years since I’ve seen him. He isn’t a particularly attractive man, with a paunch belly and swollen jowls from too much alcohol. Additionally, he’s known to often make inappropriate cracks to or about women. Following suit, his assessing gaze roams up and down my body when he pulls back from an uncomfortably long hug.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”