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Whatever anxiety he used to feel when thinking about this confrontation was gone. In fact, he wanted to catch up with his old friend. He wanted to look him right in the eye and apologize. But not out of shame so much as the need to set things right. He wanted to know how Booker was doing, whether it ground away at him to support elite athletes instead of being one.
He waited for a break in traffic and then jogged across the street and entered the new and upscale apartment building. At the concierge desk, he stopped. “Hey, I’m here to see Booker Hayes. I’m Jaime Dupree.”
“Is he expecting you?” The concierge reached for the phone.
“No, he’s not.”And he might send me packing.
“Jaime Dupree is here.” He listened. “Yes. No problem.” He hung up and directed Jaime to the elevators. “Twenty-seventh floor. Number 2712.”
“Thanks, man.” With every step he took, he grew more confident. He’d rehearsed this conversation for years. He welcomed it.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, and he was alone, his entire being remembered Grace. Her dazzling smile, her gentle fingers, and her wicked tongue. He missed her so damn much.
Every inch of his body craved her touch.
I need her.
I need her, and I’m going to win her back.
The doors opened, and he headed down the hallway. Would she forgive him? It hadn’t been that long. But he knew it had nothing to do with the length of time. It was the fact that he’d stopped coming to visit her at four in the morning. He’d pulled his affection.
For four days, he’d let her feel unimportant.
He would fix it.
She hadn’t responded to his texts or calls, so he wouldn’t bother sending another. He would see her in person.
With a firm knock, he took a step back from the door and squared his shoulders. It wasn’t like Booker would see him and take a swing. It was more the hatred, the disgust, that he needed to brace for.
But it wasn’t Booker. An older woman answered the door. “Jaime?”
It was like stepping off the edge of the world, plummeting through space without a parachute.
He’d prepared himself to see Booker. He could handle anything the man would say since he’d anticipated it for so long.
He was wholly unprepared for his friend’s mother.
“Look at you, all grown up. Come in, come in.” She stepped back, swinging the door wider. “It’s so good to see you.”
He flashed back to the hospital. Standing in the stairwell and hearing her gut-wrenching sobs. Watching her turn to look at him, recognition hardening her distraught-ravaged features. Her eyes narrowing on him. Her voice shaking with rage as she shrieked, “If he dies, you’ll have to live with that.”
But he pulled himself out of the past and took a step forward. “Ms. Hayes.” He moved like his limbs had been placed in the wrong sockets.
“Was Booker supposed to meet with you? Because he’s had a last-minute trip to the West Coast. Some crisis with one of his football players. You know how it is.” She ushered him into the foyer of a sleek, modern apartment. A corner unit, it had two walls of windows. “Well, how are you? I hear you own the Renegades now.”
He stood there like a statue. “Yes, ma’am. Actually, we’re all owners—Booker, too—but the others aren’t ready to take on the job yet.”
“Yes, I heard.” She gave him a compassionate smile. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how much you boys loved Kurt.” The effort to hold up a one-sided conversation seemed to wilt her smile. “Booker will be sorry he missed you.”
Talk, asshole. “He didn’t know I was coming. I probably shouldn’t have surprised him, but I didn’t want to give him an excuse to turn me away.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do that. He misses you boys.”
“I saw him last summer after the funeral. He left before we could talk.”
“I’m sure he had another meeting to get to. That man is a workaholic.” She touched his arm. “Do you want to sit down?”
“No, thank you.” It struck him that the person he needed to speak to all these years wasn’t Booker after all. It was the woman standing right in front of him. Only now that he had a child of his own did he understand her emotional state in the hospital.
