Escalation Clause (42 page)

“I want…I think we should move in together. And I want it to be not here, but in a new place. Our place, you know?”

He narrowed his eyes at her then trained his gaze out over the lawn. The usual sounds of a semi-suburban Ann Arbor fall evening swirled around them. They were close enough to Pioneer High school to hear the cheers and band noises from a football game along with the happy noises of kids playing in yards all around them mixed with adult laughter and late birds chirping. He stayed silent about a minute too long. She pulled her feet off his lap. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“I guess since you’ve already decided what we’re doing I don’t need to venture an opinion.” His voice was tight. She watched his jaw clench and release. His profile was so amazingly beautiful she could stare at it for hours. Dark bronze skin, noble Roman nose, firm jaw covered with dark stubble and that hair—coal black, long and silky—she loved it.

“I love you,” she leaned forward and touched his bare knee.

He flinched and moved out of her reach. Then stood, and she saw what it was taking for him to hold onto his temper. She leaned back in her chair. “Just say what you want to say Rafe. We don’t hold back, remember?”

He turned to her. “I don’t want to live with you Maureen.” He shook his head. “As much as we joke about it … I’m not that guy. I’m not the ‘boyfriend’ or the ‘boy toy’ or any of that shit.”

She crossed her arms and held her tongue.

He stared at her a minute. “If that is all you want from me, then I think we should re-evaluate this relationship.”

“I just told you I loved you.” She said, her own temper flaring in her chest.

“
Sí
. And you told me not to ask you to marry me which I have honored. But then you inform me about this decision.
You
think we should live together.
You
are going to sell your house.
You
want what you want. I get it. I hate to break this to you, but you don’t get to call all the shots here. I get to be consulted.”

“I am consulting you Rafe. It’s why I brought it up.”

“Bull shit Maureen. You’ve made up your mind to keep me around for a while longer without any sort of commitment and have already put the wheels in motion to make it happen. I’m willing to bet you’ve even gotten Sara to find you a realtor?”

She looked down. “I am used to handling things on my own. Sorry.”

He got down on his knees and put his head on her lap, hanging onto her legs as if for dear life. “Don’t be sorry.” He looked up, and his eyes held a scary reality for her. “You still don’t take me seriously. And I need you to. So I think we should take a break. You decide. I want to marry you Maureen but I will absolutely not live with you otherwise. Not with teenagers around, hell not even if they weren’t around.” He gripped her hands and her chest constricted, her throat closed up. “I want it all or nothing with you. So now you have to choose.” He got to his feet, put his palm to her cheek, then walked out the door.

Chapter Thirty

Rafe held his pounding head in his hands and stared at the computer screen a few more minutes before tucking it away in his backpack and reclining the airplane seat, trying to relax. He’d spent the better part of the last two months flying around Europe, talking to current and former, second- and third-tier soccer players. The sell job came easily, but he was sick to death of saying it. And he missed Maureen like crazy. Although it seemed his ultimatum had taken hold. He’d told her to decide and apparently the “nothing” half of the “all or nothing” equation was her choice. He hadn’t seen her for nearly five months.

He and Jack had talked business and nothing else once Rafe had made it clear that would be the extent of their conversations. Besides, the guy had another monkey on his back now that the owners of his real estate brokerage had floated the concept of his and Sara buying them out. Between all the new babies around—a little girl for Rob and Lila and another little girl, Lillian Grace, for Craig and Suzanne, all the families were awash in newborn crap all the time, including Maureen who was a natural caretaker and loved to help everyone else out. At least according to Adam who reported to him nearly weekly, trying to convince him to come back.

He leaned his head against the airplane widow, recalling the day he’d been in the hospital when Suzanne had been rushed into the emergency room. Some football player had blown his knee all to hell playing pick-up basketball, and he’d been there to evaluate the guy for rehab. He’d seen them all—Sara, Jack, and, of course, Craig, whose usual cool was undone by the sight of the tiny girl, nearly ten weeks premature. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Maureen but had been sent back to the clinic upstairs before she showed up, if she ever did at all.

He had lingered a second, watching Craig hover over the isolette where his daughter lay, trying to use her underdeveloped lungs. The little girl looked flawless, just amazingly small. Rafe was not a sap about babies or kids, never had been. In spite of all his mother’s nagging he honestly he had never considered himself father material. But the depth of emotion he saw in Craig’s face as he reached into the sterile incubator to run a gloved finger down the tiny girl’s face had touched him in way he couldn’t credit. When the nurse had lifted the baby out and handed her to him, Rafe had had to look away, as a strange blend of emotions swirled through his head.

He must have dozed off and woke with a jerk when the plane touched down in Detroit. He rubbed his eyes and turned his phone back on, letting the little wheel on the screen spin and retrieve all his messages and texts since turning it off seven hours ago. The usual crap he’d been fielding from the clinic as he eased his way out of the job and into the soccer team manager/recruiter role filled the inbox. He had one more season coaching Ella’s team at Pioneer; something in him dreaded the thought of it but sent a thrill down his spine at the concept of seeing Maureen again. Dear God, he would do anything she wanted, if she would just call him. Of course, he’d not called nor reached out in any way either. He’d left it with her. And she had made it clear by her silence what she chose.

The next few weeks flew and by the time he hit Ella’s first game he was exhausted in body and soul. The effort not to just get in his car and go to her damn house left him shattered. But he would not do it. Not this time. He kept the small black velvet box on his kitchen counter as a reminder. He had planned to give it to her that weekend, with the kids, up north. But her infernal calm pre-emptive strike about moving in together had thrown him. So he opened the box every now and then, admired the large marquis diamond in its heavy platinum setting, then would close it and leave it alone—his reminder of how close he’d come and how far he still had to go.

He stood on the sidelines in the bitter cold April afternoon, cursing Michigan weather and himself for agreeing to coach one more year. The girls looked great and went into halftime with a 2-0 lead. He did his usual deconstruction of their game and tried not to look at Ella. They hit the field again just as the wind picked up and it started to rain, adding insult to his miserable injury. His phone buzzed but he ignored it, focusing on the game. When it kept up he pulled it out and noted Sara’s number. Puzzled he put it to his ear. Strange, muffled sounds came from the earpiece. “Hello? Sara?”

But, she didn’t answer. Instead he heard a man’s voice, an unfamiliar one, with a tinge of anger to it that put him instantly on alert. He listened for Sara but could hardly make out the words. He walked away from the bench, put a finger in his other ear. Something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Hey! Don’t…I’m…ow!” He heard her exclaim, fear and pain in her voice. He started running for his car without even looking back at the field.

He jumped in and headed downtown, cursing the traffic around Michigan Stadium and every red light he hit. He kept the phone on, as the man’s voice got louder he heard words. “Bitch can’t stop me from buying.” Came out clearly. And “I’ll show you and those fucking fags who’s in charge here.”

The next sound terrified him. Sara’s voice, came through loud and clear—but weak and scared. “Please, don’t….”

He hit the end button and then emergency 911 as he waited at yet another red light. He told the dispatcher to get to 405 South Main, the Stewart Realty office now, and threw the phone on the floor as he inched his way towards the office. Jack was due to land from a trip to St. Louis at any minute and so likely unreachable. He started to call Maureen, but realized there would be no real point to that. He screeched into the parking lot of the downtown realty building and pounded on the locked door. Of course the guy had come when the place was empty. And Sara had been working later hours, trying to get caught up in what was turning out to be a very busy early spring market Jack had told him, worry in his voice. “She hates being pregnant and this stage especially makes her nuts, stir crazy, so she works in the afternoon and evenings and just has the nanny come later in the day.”

He cupped his hands around his eyes trying to see into the gloomy interior through the all-glass door. When he heard a shout and the distinct sounds of female crying he ran back to his car and grabbed his soccer cleats, put one over his fist and punched his way into the lobby setting off a cacophony of alarms. He dropped the shoe, put his hand over his ears, and raced to the back with no idea where her office was in the maze behind the store-front. If it were possible to be blinded by loud noise, he was. The alarm bored into his skull and his arm ached from the blow with the glass. He had to clench his eyes shut against the clanging sound but kept moving, calling her name.

“Help!” he heard her then, her voice hoarse. He shoved his way into empty room after empty room until he came the last possible closed door. It was larger than the others and locked so he hurled his shoulder at it three times when it finally gave and he stumbled in just as three cops ran down the hall behind him. Sara was sitting at her desk, hands on her keyboard, shaking, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Some huge burly looking jerk in a ratty suit had his hands on her shoulders and was leaning way too close to her, practically rubbing his hips against the back of her chair. The guy looked up and raised one hand. Rafe caught the glint of something metal.

“Drop it, now.” The cops pushed him aside so he ran around to Sara and yanked her out of the guy’s reach. Once he saw the cops, the asshole dropped his weapon and held up his hands. “On the floor,” one of them commanded while he held on to Sara.

“Shh…,” he soothed, running his hands down her hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.” She sobbed and clung to him then he guided her out and into an adjoining room and down into a chair. She winced, holding her back. “Did he…are you….”

“He slapped me twice, yanked my arm nearly out of its socket. Until I agreed to email the title company and the seller and get the closing back on track without asking anymore questions. He’s…,” she sucked in a breath, and more tears flowed down her face. “The guy from the botched deal in Ypsi, the one who…” She sucked in a breath.

“It’s okay.” He said, crouching down and patting her leg. “Hang on.” She nodded but held onto his hand so he sat in the chair next to her and hit Maureen’s speed dial by rote. He listened, then let her talk to Sara, which nearly made the woman fall apart all over again. By the time he’d hung up after agreeing to call Craig and get her to the ER to get checked out he realized he was starting to feel pretty damn woozy. Looking down at the bright drops of blood on the carpet then noting they seemed to be coming from a giant gash in his arm; he cursed and grabbed some tissues to help stop the flow.

“Ow,” Sara gulped clutching her giant belly.

“Let’s go.” He held out a hand, used the number Mo had given him for the doctor, and piled Sara into his car. The cops called out that an ambulance was on the way, but he waved them off, alarmed by the way she was breathing in little whooshes and the look of pain that shot across her face.

“Shit.” He screeched out into traffic. The trip to the University ER was short but frustratingly slow. Sara kept wrenching his hand and yelling it was too soon, she couldn’t have the baby yet. He tried to reassure her but panic and his own pain was making him breathless. He ran the next two red lights and pulled up at the ER entrance. A team of nurses met her with Craig at the helm. Once she was bundled into a wheelchair, he gasped and leaned over his legs, trying to catch his breath. His fist was killing him. He looked down and saw blood still dripping down his arm. He dropped into a chair, staring at it.

“Rafe!” Maureen flew around the corner, panic in her eyes. “You’re hurt!” He watched her, her strong, long legs flashing under her business skirt, the curve of her hips making his mouth water. Suddenly pain flared up his arm, and he started to fade. Maureen and a nurse pulled him into a curtained room before he passed out.

After a couple of hours they had him stitched up and Sara stabilized. Maureen stayed with him, holding his hand but silent. “I miss you,” he said once, and put her hand to his lips.