Chapter 44

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

BLAKE

I have always loved Christmas Eve. In my family, it's a bigger deal than Christmas day, which means my parents are not thrilled that my first one home won't be spent with them.

My phone rings while I'm sitting at my dining room table wrapping Christmas gifts. I look at the screen and see it's my mom. She's probably calling to yell at me, which is why I decide not to answer it. But once it goes to voicemail, she calls again. I'm pretty sure this could go on all day, so I finally pick up. "Mom, hi!" I try to sound happy to hear from her.

"I can't believe you're missing Christmas Eve dinner to go to a basketball game."

"That's my job, Mom. I didn't schedule the game." I may have misled my parents into thinking I was working tonight, which is the only excuse they would have accepted.

"I know, I know. But I'm still not pleased."

"Are you guys planning on watching the game?" I ask.

"If your sister and dad want to. You know basketball isn't my thing." My mom's thing, as she calls it, is baseball, and she would miss anything, including Christmas Eve, if the Cubs played this time of year.

"I'll be over bright and early tomorrow morning," I promise.

"I thought you were coming tonight after the game." She sounds disappointed.

And while I could probably make it over there tonight, I hope things go so well with Molly that we'll be busy making memories of our own. I made us a reservation at a fancy steak house not far from the United Center where the Bulls play. The foods editor at work needed to cancel her reservation and I was lucky enough to be standing nearby to overhear this. I begged her to let me take it over. I may have also promised to return the favor with tickets to a future sporting event of her choice.

I only have a couple of hours to get everything in line for tonight, and I'm more nervous than I've ever been regarding a woman. The only time I was close was senior year of high school when I asked Shilo Hunter to prom. I really hope tonight goes better, because Shilo said no.

I hurry to shower before putting on a pair of jeans and a Bulls sweatshirt. Then I put the five Santa Claus hats I bought into a shopping bag, along with some other things I put together for Ben. I have things to work out at the stadium, so my Uber picks me up almost an hour before I'd normally leave.

I managed to pull a few more strings when Sharon, the press agent from the Bulls, called me back. She was able to talk to the team, and they agreed to bring Ben onto the court after the game. That's an honor that gives me chills just thinking about it.

When I arrive at the stadium, I text Sharon to let her know that I'm there. She meets me within minutes at Will Call. Sharon is middle-aged and very no-nonsense looking. She's wearing a red blazer with matching frames for her glasses. Her gray hair is pulled back into a sharp ponytail. Walking right up to me, she says, "Blake Walsh?"

"That's me." I stick my hand out to shake hers. "I really appreciate everything that you're doing to help me. "

Ignoring my hand, she says, "The only reason I'm doing it is because of Ben. The other thing is a bunch of romantic drivel as far as I'm concerned." Before I can respond, she adds, "But it's Christmas Eve and it will make for good television, and that's my job."

Oooookay. Note to self: Sharon isn't the warm, fuzzy type. "I still appreciate it," I tell her.

"Yeah, fine. Follow me." She leads the way into the stadium and then walks across the court to show me where we'll be sitting. Pointing upwards, she says, "The Jumbotron is there. We'll make sure we get great video of Ben and his family, and I'll email you the edited footage after Christmas."

"That's really going above and beyond, Sharon. Thank you."

"Yup." Then she walks me through how the team is going to approach Ben and tells me, "His parents can go onto the court with him, but tell them not to ask too many questions. This isn't something we normally allow, and I want to make sure there aren't any snags."

"What about the other thing?" I ask. For clarification, I add, "You know, the romantic drivel."

She rolls her eyes. "That will be at halftime. Make sure you're both here and no one is in the bathroom."

"I'll do my best," I tell her. Which is clearly not what she wants to hear.

"No, Blake. You will not do your best. You will both be here and ready. Comprende?"

I understand that Sharon could be a general in the army if she chose to. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if military training was part of her past. "Gotcha," I tell her.

"You will have complimentary waiter service if you want to eat or drink anything. I'll comp your bill, so you don't have to pay."

"Wow, that's seriously very generous of you," I tell her. Especially because a hot dog at a basketball game will cost you fifteen bucks .

"Don't worry, you'll be able to return the favor sometime in the future."

"Oh?" What have I gotten myself into.

Sharon assures me, "There will be times when I need some good press for my guys. I'll be coming to you then, so don't be surprised."

"Okay." I know these things are standard in my business, but Sharon says this in such a way that she sounds like the godfather in the mob, and she's just made me an offer I can't refuse. And believe me, I don't.

Screwing up my courage, I tell her, "I have another huge favor to ask."

"No more favors."

"Oh, okay."

"I'll leave you to it," Sharon says, before adding, "Don't screw anything up."

This woman is seriously terrifying. I can only hope Molly doesn't trip and fall into the game or spill a beer on the court or something equally clumsy. Worst case scenario, she might still make a scene when she sees me. She doesn't know I'm the one who set up this night.

I figure the best way to handle everything is to not be sitting at my seat when Ben's family and Molly arrive. That way, I can stroll in right before the game starts and not give Molly the chance to storm out.

Walking off the court, I go stand near where the team will enter. I've covered hundreds of games, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit to feeling thrilled to be back in Chicago at a Bulls game. I remember when I was twelve, my dad brought me to one, and Jay Williams high-fived me on his way onto the court. I didn't wash my hand for a week.

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Tonight is my do or die night as far as Molly goes. As a warmup, I've been sending her flowers every day for the past week, but I haven't signed any of the notes. As for the messages, for some reason I've relied on platitudes that seem fitting in our situation: you can't judge a book by its cover, time heals all wounds, love conquers all. And probably the most inspired: it's always darkest before the dawn.

I wonder if Molly's enjoyed the flowers or if she's been worried she has a stalker. In retrospect, maybe I should have signed the notes. But had I done that, I'm pretty sure she would have thrown them all away. This way, she might have actually gotten some enjoyment out of them.

The stadium is filling fast, and the excitement of the coming game is permeating the air around me. I'm still standing in the same spot when I see Ben's family walk in with Molly. She's so beautiful she takes my breath away.

"Hey, man," I hear to my left. I keep my eyes on Molly and step aside.

This time I hear, "Yo, Blake."

I look up and see Christian Woods from the Lakers standing over me. "Christian!" I greet enthusiastically. "What's up?"

"Basketball?" he laughs. Then he says, "I hear you left us to come home."

"Once a Chicago boy, always a Chicago boy," I tell him.

Offering a fist bump, he says, "It's good to see you, man."

And that's when I have another idea …