Chapter 24

"Either Emma is a damned good actress, or you really are a scumbag."

"Just shut up."

Luke was already feeling bad enough. He hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep for three nights straight. He had called her, had driven by her house, but she wouldn't take his calls or open the door for him. And if he was completely honest, he wouldn't have known what to tell her anyway.

It had been bound to end, one way or another. What had he imagined would happen? That they would stay in touch?

He didn't know.

All he knew was that now everything was wrong, and he was haunted by the look Emma had given him in the end.

Hurt and angry – and he had been the reason for both. If he pictured her getting on a plane back to Germany, and the last thing he'd seen of her was the reproach in her eyes …

That was even worse that the fact that her public exposure had backfired on him. After all the reporters had finally found out what Emma had thrown at him in German, it was impossible to get them to paint him as the poor, heartbroken guy in this affair. The whole plan had come to nought.

The doors of the elevator opened with a ding, and Wesley slapped him hard between the shoulder blades as they stepped in and pressed the button for the first floor. Luke had a game in an hour. It was time to change into his uniform.

"You really look like shit," Wes murmured when the elevator started moving. "But that is the only reason I'm going to leave you alone about the whole disaster. Oh, and of course because Michelle said that you've got it real bad, and I should treat you with a little more empathy."

Luke scowled at his friend. "What is that supposed to mean?" he barked. "You better watch out or you'll have it bad in a second!"

Wes chuckled. "Dude. Are you really the last one to realize that you're simply lovesick? Blindingly so, as it seems."

Lovesick?

Luke was a man. An athlete. He wasn't lovesick! Sure, his life could be better right now. On a crappiness scale it was higher up than a mild STD or a sudden intolerance to alcohol, but to feel lovesick, you had to be in love first, and it was impossible that that was the case.

"If you value your life, you had better shut up this instant." He scowled and turned away.

"Oh, aren't you cute! Sorry I didn't see it any earlier. I wouldn't have pressured you to tell her to break up with you if I had known. But it's really a damn shame that you're too scared to fight for Emma."

Luke felt his face redden with anger, and if those damned doors didn't open very soon, his friend would be lying unconscious on the floor any second now.

"I'm not scared!"

Wesley snorted loudly. The elevator stopped just in time, releasing Luke from its oppressive confinement.

"Don't give me that shit," Wesley said in a lower voice and followed him quickly down the corridor. "You're scared stiff. You're scared to fall in love and to have faith in the other person to do the same. Commitment phobia is what it's called in professional circles. I mean, among women. But you should really know as much. You're behaving like one."

"Commitment phobia is a word invented by women, so it wouldn't hurt as much when they're dumped."

Wesley sounded pitying. "Why don't you stop with that crap already? Why can't you just admit it? I'm blaming your parents. I have no idea why, but you're always on hair-trigger alert when anyone mentions them."

"I'm not on hair-trigger anything!" Luke yelled and stopped short before the door of the changing room, behind which they could already hear the first male voices. "And cut the psychiatrist crap!"

Wesley gesticulated in his direction as if to say, there you go. "You don't have anyone else to open your eyes for you! Who else is going to break it down for you?"

"Break what down?" Luke was losing the last shred of his patience. He was tired, his head was throbbing, and he hadn't eaten anything but cornflakes for three days, staring at the empty kitchen table. The last thing he needed was a friend who tried to tell him he was suffering from commitment phobia.

Wesley lowered his arms, squinted at him, and then declared pompously: "Break down how you go about finding a Mrs. Right."

"Tell me, Mr. Wise Guy, are we part of some cheesy Disney movie or what?! Are you going to tell me that deep inside my heart, I secretly want to find some woman to get old with, to have kids with?"

Wesley raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't talking of some woman. Really, Luke … just don't wait too long to have your epiphany. She might just be gone before you know it."

His friend gave him another nod, before vanishing in the direction whence they had come.

Luke swore under his breath, pushed the door to the changing room open, and threw his bag on the bench in front of his locker.

His team members had already changed, and were about to head out, to warm up.

"Hey, Carter." Jake had stepped forward and put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "I saw the TV show. You should be glad that you're rid of her. She really was sort of a slut."

One second later, the base man was lying on the floor with a bloodied nose.

***

"Did you check whether the caterer knows that any type of nut has to be eliminated from the menu, Linda?" Emma looked across her desk at her assistant.

Linda nodded. "Yes, I did."

"Doesn't matter – please check again. Nobody wants to see a person have an allergic shock at a fundraiser for children with cancer."

This would be Emma's final event in the States, before she flew home again next week. She wanted to leave a sterling impression and – no. She actually didn't want to leave anything. She actually didn't want to leave.

And she didn't have to leave, theoretically.

The only reason she wanted to leave this country behind her as far as possible was a certain baseball player. But her decision should have nothing to do with him, nothing at all!

Linda gave an intimidated nod and closed the glass door behind her, before Emma groaned and buried her face in her hands.

She wanted to start her own company, and there was so much more to do here. She had to admit that the Americans had a knack for throwing giant, exuberant and exaggerated parties – and she loved being part of that.

Nowhere else had she seen swank and pageantry taken and provided as a matter of course. She didn't want to go back to the stiff, formal meetings of the German Association of Banks. She didn't want to go back to the square German men, who were so terribly polite, and who didn't know how to push a woman up against the wall, and leave no doubt about what was going to happen in the next five minutes.

She didn't want to return to all the men who were not Luke Carter.

And she didn't want to lose Milla again – and Milla lived here, period.

And then there was Michelle, who had stood before the door of her apartment three days ago, wanting to know whether she needed someone to trash men with.

Michelle, who had reminded her that she would hire her on the spot, as a private event manager.

But Luke lived here, too.

How she loved that man. How she hated that man. How fervently she wished he would come strolling into her office, so she could slap him, and then French-kiss the life out of him. She had a momentous problem; that much was clear. She wanted to forget Luke, to forget her broken heart, and to never have to look back again. But the mere thought of never seeing Luke grin again, never feeling his mouth close to her ear again, whispering obscene promises, made her feel nauseous. Even more nauseous than she felt when she thought of the words he had used to describe their relationship to his teammates.

She should really be proud of herself. Neither had she devoured a family-sized tub of ice cream, nor was she lying in bed in a fetal position, bawling her eyes out. She had changed. She could live and be fine without a man. But she didn't want to live without a man. Not without this particular man.

But there was one thing she was certain of: She would never again make her decisions contingent on anyone else.

Her phone rang, and she picked up with a shake of her head. "Yes, what is it?"

"There's a Mira on the phone for you, Emma. Do you want me to put her through?"

"Sure. Put her through." Emma hadn't spoken on the phone to her friend for three weeks. They had exchanged emails, yes, but not heard each other's voices.

"Hello?" she said, a little unsure of what to say, swiveling in her office chair, so she was looking at the wall now.

"Are you wallowing in self-pity?"

A second voice, clearly that of Jenny, snorted on the other end. "Can't you show a little more tact, Mira?"

"What? Do you want me to start with a polite greeting, before I ask her whether she's wallowing in self-pity?"

"That would be a start."

Emma smiled despite herself and shook her head. "Do you want me to leave you guys alone for a few moments?"

"I'm sorry," Mira sighed. "We're still in disagreement regarding the ideal procedure for this interrogation."

"Don't call it an interrogation!"

"What interrogation?" Emma wanted to know, getting a little confused.

There were two sighs in the receiver, before Jenny said slowly: "All we want to know is whether you are okay, or whether you're wallowing in self-pity at home."

"I'm not pitying myself," Emma repeated calmly, and a warm feeling spread through her chest.

Mira cleared her throat. "I would pity myself if the end of my relationship was announced on public TV."

"You've heard about that, huh?"

"It's everywhere on the internet."

Of course the enthusiasm for gossip had to be one of the few things in Germany that was almost on par with that of the United States!

"It was a show!"

"Don't give us that crap. Maybe it was a show for the nation, but it wasn't for you."

No, it wasn't.

"It's okay. I've broken up with men before. I've always survived."

"Wow, if that doesn't sound positive!" Mira snorted, sounding exaggeratedly cheerful.

"But you haven't broken up with this man before, Emma," Jenny said slowly. "And Mira and I had the feeling that you were serious about it."

It was true. Emma had had the same feeling. Unfortunately. "It simply didn't work out."

The line was silent for several moments.

"Jesus, I'm going to come right out and ask: So you love this guy, and yet you're backing out once again?"

"Mira!" Jenny gasped.

"As if that isn't what you want to know, too, Jenny!"

Emma pressed her lips together. "That's not fair. My fiancé left me. I didn't back out of anything, so stop saying ‘once again.'"

"Emma, honey. For the last three years, backing out and backing off is all you've done. Whenever a guy had the nerve to look at you, let alone open his mouth to talk to you, you went into hiding!"

"That was different," Emma protested. "I didn't want a relationship …"

"But now you want one, so why don't you grab him by the horns?!"

"There's nothing to grab here. Luke has made it plain enough that he doesn't want a serious relationship!"

"Did he say that to your face?" Jenny asked, sounding confused.

Emma swiveled her chair back and forth with the tip of her foot. "In the beginning, yes, and then at the wedding …"

"At the wedding he was talking to his baseball chums, who would soon be witness to you taking his masculinity in public!" Mira interrupted her.

"Taking his masculinity? That sounds as if I was about to castrate him!"

"On an emotional level, yes. Sort of."

"Did you give him a fair chance to explain himself?" Jenny probed.

"Well," she stalled, pondering the question. "I mean, he could have explained the whole time, couldn't he?"

"Not during the TV appearance. He was way too shocked for that," Mira declared.

"Don't you want to give him a chance to explain?" Jenny asked, her voice a little gentler.

Emma held her feet still and made a face. Her friends didn't understand the situation she was in.

"He didn't put in a lot of effort trying to explain! He called a few times, and that was it! Well, maybe he came by my place, but I don't know, because I'm staying somewhere else right now. But that isn't enough! I mean, as far as I know, he could be with someone else already."

The silence that descended on the other end stretched on, and Emma's heart sank.

"What, is that all over the internet, too? Am I the only idiot who doesn't know that he's scooped up another playboy bunny?"

"No, he hasn't," Jenny said slowly, "but haven't you heard that he's been banned from playing?"

Emma frowned. "Banned from playing? What's that supposed to mean?"

Mira let out a brief laugh. "He broke another player's nose, and the coach suspended him for the last two games. Seems like he isn't in the best of moods, your sweetheart."

Emma didn't even try to pretend to herself that she wasn't glad: If she was miserable, he should at least suffer, too.

"He's not my sweetheart, and he's always been emotionally unbalanced. Doesn't have to mean it's got something to do with me."

But Emma felt ashamed at just how much she wished that that wasn't true.

There were more sighs on the other end. "Fine, if your decision is already made … Just let us know when you're back, okay?"

Her friends hung up, and Emma stared at the receiver. Finally she dialed a number and pressed it to her ear again. She wouldn't let Luke destroy all her options.

"Hey, Michelle. Would you tell me again about that job …?"

***

Luke had the curtains drawn and was watching reality TV. The pathetic lives that were flickering across his screen didn't help make his look any better though. The suspension didn't bother him. He would be back on the diamond tomorrow. And punching Jake in the nose had definitely been worth it. What did bother him was that his apartment no longer felt like a home.

What was missing was color.

And place mats.

And junk food in the fridge.

Everything that could have put a smile on his face was missing.

A moment after he'd seen Jake hit the floor, it had dawned on him that Wes might not have been so wrong with his allegation about what he felt for Emma. And when Coach Thompson had been livid, and had issued a fine and a suspension – and he could not have cared less about any of that – he realized that Wesley had hit the nail on the fucking head.

Baseball had always been the most important thing in his life. Baseball had been his life.

But a certain blonde, who could laugh with her whole body, made him say that in the past tense.

And now he was sitting at home like a love-struck schoolgirl and wallowed in self-pity. That was a completely unfamiliar experience, and a shitty one to boot.

He switched the TV off and was surprised by the ringing of his doorbell in the exact same moment. His heart skipped an embarrassing beat as a thought crossed his mind, namely that it might be her at the door. But when he had crossed the hallway, his father was standing in the doorway.

"Oh, it's you," he greeted the man flatly.

"Charming boy, that son of mine," Paul Carter snorted and stepped into the hallway, not waiting for an invitation.

Luke turned his back on him and headed for the counter. "Sorry, Dad. I thought you were on honeymoon. I was simply surprised."

He didn't even have the energy for talking back to his father.

Paul followed him to the kitchen area.

"We're about to head off, yes. Nadia is waiting in the car. But she thought I should check on you before we're leaving."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "And why did she think so?"

His father shrugged his shoulders and sat down on one of the bar stools. "Oh, she's inclined to believe that you're not doing well."

Luke snorted. "Does your new wife have extrasensory powers?"

"No, but a TV. Me too, by the way."

Luke heaved a sigh and went over to the fridge, just to have somewhere to go. He and his father had never had the kind of relationship that included deep conversations about feelings and other women's stuff, and Luke wasn't sure he wanted to change that right now.

"Dad. There's no need to be concerned. I'm fine. The plan had been all along for Emma to publicly break up with me. Everything went according to plan."

"Mhm."

Luke raised his eyebrows, took a bottle of beer from the fridge, and turned around. His father was looking at his hands.

"What?"

He was no longer a child. He couldn't be punished with silence.

"So Nadia was right all along."

Luke was annoyed, and he showed it by setting his bottle on the counter with a little more force than he wanted.

"Right about what?" he growled.

"Her words were that you must be suffering from a latent bout of idiocy. I would have said you're simply a blockhead in love."

Luke wasn't sure if it was just his ears, but ‘blockhead in love' sounded like an insult to him.

"Dad, I'm–"

"Watch what you say, Luke." His father narrowed his eyes. "The last time I checked, athletes who were issued a three-day suspension didn't say that everything was fine. So if you're going to repeat that again, it might leave the impression that you're denying the strength of your feelings for this girl, just to avoid getting hurt. And that would sound very unmanly to my ears."

The strength of his feelings? Of course Emma meant a lot to him! Of course he had enjoyed watching her sleep, and of course he didn't want her to be hurt. But that didn't mean his father had any right to talk as if he was ready to marry her on the spot, and have a bunch of juniors with her.

"People come and people go, Dad."

"Where did you pick up that line? Couldn't think of a dumber one?"

Luke rolled his eyes and opened the bottle.

"Fine: I have feelings for Emma. Is that what you want to hear?"

His father shrugged his shoulders. "It's a start."

"It's a start and also the end of it."

Luke took a few sips, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's just life. People have feelings for each other, it doesn't work out, people get over their feelings for each other."

His father snorted loudly. "When did you – the relationship phobic par excellence – become an expert in feelings? Fact is that there's a difference between feelings for each other and those feelings for each other which you shouldn't turn your back on like a coward."

Luke had to laugh. The way his father stressed certain words to hammer home his message was simply ridiculous.

"Those feelings for each other. Are you listening to yourself speak?"

"Yes, but are you?" His father rose to his feet, took the beer bottle from Luke's hand and set it down out of his reach, before fixing his son with a severe look. "Let me ask a different question: Do you miss her?"

Luke stared at the counter. No place mats.

"Yes, well, missing is …"

"Have you looked at another woman since she showed you up?"

What other woman, please? This city was full of dumb bimbos who had no sense of humor. What was there to look at?

"Tacit approval, I take it," his father nodded. "And now the final question: What do you feel if you think about the possibility that you might never see her again, once she has gotten on that plane back to Germany?"

Luke raised his eyes, ran a hand over his stubbly chin, and made a face.

Never againwas a damned final, permanent statement.

Never hear her laughter again. Never have a senseless discussion again. Never start another attempt at giving her an understanding of baseball.

Damn it!

He actually was the blockhead in love that everybody thought he was!

Of course he loved her. How could he not love her?

"I thought so." Luke's father sighed and put the beer back in his hand. "What the devil is wrong with you though? If you love her, why are you still sitting here on your ass?"

"It's not enough if one side is in love! Emma, she … it was the same thing as with all the others. I practically blackmailed her into being with me, waving my connections like a carrot on a stick …"

"Jesus Christ, Luke! Get a grip and take off your sequined dress! She simply threw your own words back at you on TV. She told you she doesn't want anything from you! And though I'm sure she wants a lot of things from you, none of that has anything to do with your money!"

Paul Carter took a few heavy breaths, before looking at him as if he were a dog who doesn't get that he's supposed to chase after the ball.

"Luke, you told me that I deserved to find someone. I realized that I never returned the compliment, if that's what you can call it."

His father looked at him with a grave expression, and the lines around his mouth seemed to deepen.

"You deserve to find someone. I know that you're the kind who runs away at the first signs of your dreaded feelings, but sometimes a man needs to be brave, and stop running. You're no better off than I am. So don't mess this up."

Luke felt a sudden lump in his throat. "What if I've already messed it up, Dad?"

Paul rose to his feet again and waved it aside. "You haven't. My wife is convinced that Emma is head over heels in love with you, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can rely on an assessment like that when it comes out of a woman's mouth."

"She ignores me, Dad. She doesn't pick up her phone. She's never home …"

"Then I guess you'll have to offer her something she cannot ignore."

His father was right. And he knew exactly what that would be. But he would need a little help.