by Pat Simmons
“What was your secret weapon?” Lee asked Rahn.
Reaching for her hand, Rahn gave her a gentle squeeze. “This special lady was my inspiration tonight.”
She blushed at his acknowledgment and touch. There was nothing she could do now to keep their relationship from making the news. At least it was good news about a Christian couple.
Lee chuckled. “The Cardinals may want to put Shae on the payroll. As you know, the player of the game receives a hundred-dollar gift certificate from Hamilton Jewelers. I guess you’re taking Shae shopping.”
Rahn smiled but didn’t publicly comment as the interview concluded. Shaking hands with Lee, Rahn said his good-byes.
Instead of hustling back to the VIP section, where Shae’s family was waiting, their steps were unhurried and more like a carefree stroll. Shae softly pinched Rahn’s arm, and he protested with a frown.
“What did you do that for?”
Shae grinned. “To remind you that you aren’t dreaming and that you’re really everybody’s hero tonight—well, except for the Phillies. But you’re definitely mine. You showed me today that you can play a little baseball.”
“A little?” Laughing, Rahn looped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer to him, then whispered, “So, when would you like to go shopping for a piece of bling? I think it’s time we talked.”
She stopped in her tracks. Buying a piece of bling was not the same as buying a wedding ring, which is where her thoughts had been leading. “I’m not good at reading between the lines when I’m not in reporter mode, which I’m not when I’m around you. What are you saying?” Shae held her breath.
“I think it’s time we have a talk.” His stare was so intense that it seemed like forever before he blinked, though Shae blinked first. “Come on,” he said, and they continued on their way.
“What kind of talk?” She was impatient. “We’ve only been dating…I guess since February.”
“Baby, how long does it take to know when you’ve found the one?”
Shae didn’t respond; her family had noticed them and were coming to meet them.
“Rahn, I’ve had a most enjoyable evening watching my home team get beat up,” her mother said with a smile, congratulating him again on his accomplishments. As a group, they headed toward the exit, where their vehicles were lined up at the curb.
“I really need to get me one of these.” Ted tilted his head toward the limo.
Stacy shook her head at her husband’s silliness, while Rahn snaked his arm around Shae’s waist and whispered, “You mind riding with me?”
“You know I don’t.” Their time together was always short, so any seconds they could steal, Shae would snatch. Plus, as far as she was concerned, they weren’t finished with their conversation. Once they were in his Audi, Shae rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She wasn’t tired by any means. “Talk, Mr. Maxwell. You have exactly ten minutes before we get to my condo.”
“That’s not enough time.” And Rahn wouldn’t budge during the short drive to her place. The limo and Rahn’s car arrived pretty much at the same time. Mr. Chapman waved as they all swept past him and crammed into the elevator.
In the five months since she and Rahn had begun dating, this would be his first time inside her condo. If it weren’t for her family to act as a buffer, he wouldn’t be crossing the threshold now. Although she and Rahn were willing to stay strong in their spirits, the Scripture didn’t say the flesh was weak for nothing.
***
Nine chaperones. Rahn counted them in the elevator. They were all cordial, even her cousins this time. But Rahn wasn’t in the mood to rehash the game or be subjected to any interrogation from her family about personal matters. All he wanted was overdue alone time with Shae. When the bell rang, announcing their arrival on the fourteenth floor, Rahn took a deep breath and exited the elevator with the others.
The hallway was decorated as exquisitely as the lobby. The wallpaper matched the beige marble tile that served as a doormat until their shoes sunk into plush maroon carpet that formed a T-shape at the end of a short foyer, indicating condos in both directions. Rahn veered right, following Shae.
Judging from the generous space between doors, the condo had to be spacious. It was good to know his lady wasn’t living in cramped quarters at all. Stopping at the third door, Shae fumbled with her keys until she undid the lock. As the others rushed inside, Rahn took his time entering her home—her private world. He wanted to take it in slowly, allowing himself to admire Shae’s mix of classy, elegant, and cozy décor. It fit her personality.
Immediately, he was drawn to the window where she had waved good-bye and thrown him kisses many a night. As if they were fly balls, he always caught them. The ivory baby grand piano in the corner surprised him. He couldn’t recall Shae mentioning she owned one, only that her sister played.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Rahn peeped outside. Shae had a great view of Union Boulevard, including his car. He couldn’t ask for a safer place for her to reside. The elite Central West End neighborhoods bordering Forest Park boasted of a handful of black politicians, doctors, attorneys, and successful entrepreneurs as their residents.
“It’ll just take a minute to warm up the food,” Shae yelled from the kitchen as the ladies kicked off their tennies and the men discarded the defeated team’s attire.
“Sis, we can help,” Shari offered.
“No, let me,” Rahn said. “You’re out-of-town guests.”
His offer earned him lifted brows and approving smiles. The one called Brecee, whom he’d barely met back at the stadium, could have passed as Shae’s twin. The doctor twisted her lips in amusement. Even Shae popped her head out the doorway. Her eyes twinkled as he walked closer. When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Rahn was surprised at the size. “Incredible. This is a nice condo.”
“Thanks. It costs a little more because of the area and space, but it was worth it. I feel secure. It’s a good substitute for a home away from home.” She turned her back to him as she tended to some food on the counter. “Mr. Chapman said this building used to have tiny apartments, but when the new owners did the renovations, they converted two- and three-bedroom apartments into spacious condos.”
“I’m impressed,” Rahn said, coming up behind her. He turned her around to face him, then began a slow appraisal, beginning with her bare feet on the marble floor. For some reason, neon green was her choice of toe nail polish. Sexy. His nostrils flared as if to cool off his attraction. He reluctantly moved back and gathered his wits. “Should I wear an apron?” he teased.
Shae bumped her hip against him. “No, but you need to wash your hands.”
He did, and within minutes, they were working seamlessly as a team. Rahn easily found his way around her kitchen. He searched her cabinets and shuffled items in her refrigerator to do her bidding. Back in her formal dining room, they worked side by side to set the table as her family watched without a word. Since Shae could seat only eight at the table, she directed Rahn to her storage closet for the TV trays for the overflow seating in the living room.
During several trips back and forth to the kitchen, Rahn overheard comments like “They complement each other,” “He treats her the way she should be treated,” and “I like him.” Whether they were meant for Rahn to hear or not, it inflated his ego that he had won them over for a second time.
Back in the kitchen, before joining the others at the table, Rahn trapped Shae between his arms at the counter. “You know I love you. Being apart is hard, but not coming home to you is harder. If you have trouble reading between those lines, let me know.” He kissed her before she could protest.
27
If Rahn asked me today to marry him, would I say yes? The thrilling thought of being a bride, not a bridesmaid or a soloist, made her scribble “Shae Maxwell” on her reporter’s pad. Scrutinizing the signature, she scratched it out and wrote “Shae Carmen Maxwell,” then doodled over that. Decisions.
Anticipation of her talk with Rahn kept her from concentrating. Right now, Shae was supposed to be updating her story on an Amber Alert on a missing five-year-old boy whose noncustodial father had allegedly taken him across state lines. The good news was, the two had been found within the last ten minutes. The child had been returned to his mother, the father taken into custody—end of story with a happy ending.
Lord, am I about to get my happy ending? She blushed as her mind drifted to her first unofficial date with Rahn, when they’d shared a piece of cake; their first kiss; the first time they’d professed their love to each other; and the constant flow of flowers to remind her that he was coming home—as if she ever needed her memory refreshed. There were so many things about him that made her fall deeper and deeper in love.
Sighing, Shae propped her elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her palm. She didn’t want to think about work but let her mind linger on Rahn…like the previous day, when they had decided on a matinee after attending church, since she’d taken off work, then had picnicked under the stars with Marcus and Yvette.
The double dating hadn’t soured their romantic sparks. His presence was electrifying. But their bliss had come to an end that morning, when the Cardinals had left town for a ten-game road trip. Ten days! She groaned just thinking about his absence.
Someone cleared his throat, snapping Shae out of her daydream. Greg Saxon towered over her desk. “Have you seen the breaking news story in the sports feed?”
What she saw was the serious expression on the sports director’s face. She immediately panicked, thinking about Rahn. “No. Why? What’s going on?”
Greg leaned down and tapped her computer screen. “Click on the news wire.” He straightened up, crossed his arms, and waited for her reaction.
Shae’s jaw dropped. “What?” Her eyes couldn’t read fast enough, but the headline said it all. “Rumors surface regarding steroid use by some high-hitting baseball players. The allegations come after news that some sluggers have used performance-enhancing drugs to break records. Several teams are under suspicion, including the St. Louis Cardinals. The Major League Baseball Commissioner is alerting teams that players using steroids will be made an example of.”
The sinking feeling consumed her before she could blink. The Cardinals—oh, no. Shae fought to muster up the nerve to learn more. She kept reading.
“This comes after the release of the best-selling tell-all book from former slugger José Canseco, who says he was one of many players whose trainer injected him with human growth hormone. The list could grow. So far, no agents or players have issued a statement.”
“Whoa” was the only word Shae could utter. This was big—really big. Baseball was considered America’s pastime, and in the eyes of most sports fans, including adoring young children, athletes could do no wrong.
“This is hitting close to home,” Greg said. “I was hoping Rahn would grant us an exclusive interview like he did with that ambush. He doesn’t have to name names, just give his take on whether he thinks that doping stuff makes a difference.”
Uh-oh. Greg was already writing his tease to lure viewers in. If his head were transparent, Shae would see his brain pulsating with excitement for getting the scoop. “You have his contact number—call him,” she said nonchalantly, as her heart crashed against her chest. She was too close to this developing story.
“Yeah, but a lot of the players aren’t talking to the media. Rahn might, if his girlfriend sweet-talks him into it.”
Squinting, Shae tried not to fume, but she snapped anyway. “You want to use me to get to him?” She shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
Greg huffed. “It was worth a try.” Walking away, he mumbled, “I was just asking.”
Shae rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly to regulate her racing heart. Her mind was too jumbled to think clearly as she overdosed on local and national news feeds. There was more information than she had time to read as reporters continued to update the developing story.
The “I need a favor” request didn’t stop with Greg. Other coworkers flocked to Shae, hoping for access to Rahn for a sound bite. Some of her colleagues even developed an attitude when she turned the tables on them with her “no comment” response, suggesting she had something to hide. The truth was, she didn’t know any more than they did, and Rahn wasn’t accessible. Even if he was, would she ask him what he knew? Would he tell her?
If only there was some other breaking news so she could go out in the field as a distraction. She was starting to feel claustrophobic at the station, as almost every reporter was covering a different angle of the doping story.
The devil seeped into her head, making her wonder about Rahn’s double grand slam the other night—the second in Cardinals history. She refused to go there. Lord, You know all things; nothing can be hidden from You. Jesus, help my mind from assuming the worst. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Needing to breathe, Shae slipped out to the patio off the break room on the second floor. The air was only as fresh as the cloud from the most recent smokers who’d congregated there. Thank God none was there now. She folded her hands, about to pray, when her smartphone alerted her to a text.
For the first time since she and Rahn had started dating, Shae was hesitant about talking to him, given her current runaway thoughts. She was going head-to-head with the devil, who was known to bring false accusation against the saints of God—including the man she loved. And though she hadn’t seen the so-called tell-all book, she knew that former baseball player couldn’t touch Rahn’s good record.
With one eye closed, she glanced at her phone to see who had texted her. Shari. Shae exhaled as if she had taken a drag off a cigarette.
What’s going on with the Cardinals? What is Rahn saying about all of this?
I don’t know, Shae replied.
What do you mean, you don’t know? Haven’t you talked to him?
A call came through, saving Shae from responding. But it was her “uncle-dad”—the term she used for Uncle Bradford when she was in trouble. And, at this moment, for her to recall that endearment scared her. She knew he wanted to talk baseball, and that the conversation would have nothing to do with pitches or stolen bases. She answered.
“How’s our Rahn holding up?” Uncle Bradford stressed our.
Shae sniffed to keep her tears at bay. Her day had gone from fabulous to horrible. She whispered, voice cracking, “I don’t know, and I’m afraid to find out.”
“Don’t be. I’ve got good vibes about him. He loves you. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t believe it. Humph. The media is always looking for smut on peop—”
“I am the media, Uncle Bradford,” she said defensively, then apologized for her indignant tone. The news organization didn’t wreak havoc in people’s lives; they did it to themselves. Looking over her shoulder to ensure her privacy, Shae lowered her voice anyway. “My sports director approached me to convince Rahn to do an interview. My colleagues see me as the go-between.” Shae huffed.
Her uncle was silent for a moment. He was either praying or thinking. “You’re sure you don’t want to call and talk with him for your own sake?”
“No. This is one of those instances where I need to hold my peace. I’ll wait for him to call me.”
“Don’t wait too long. As you said, you are the media. Let him know you can separate your heart from your profession.”
“Right.” The pep talk was just the boost she needed. Moments later, she returned to the newsroom to focus on other stories besides sports.
28
Rahn couldn’t believe José Canseco’s gall. Sure, most players were aware that the former outfielder had released a tell-all book, but no one thought Canseco would name names. What was he trying to do, destroy lives?
The Cardinals didn’t need this type of distraction during the home stretch of the season. As Rahn paced the floor of his New York hotel suite, he envisioned the media frenzy that woul
d ensue. Journalists would be more interested in juicy details about the allegations that Cardinals players had used steroids than their chance in the pennant race, and even he wouldn’t be above suspicion.
The media. Freezing in his footsteps, Rahn groaned and rubbed his face. What must Shae be thinking? Before he could call her, his smartphone played his mother’s ringtone. Eloise Maxwell had bounced back to health, thanks to her meds, her diet, and her children harassing her. In essence, she was like a busybody on steroids. Any other time, her spunk would be welcome, just not now.
“How come I have to find out something this big from the news instead of from my own son?” she scolded.
Checking his attitude, Rahn answered in a respectful tone, “Hello, Mom. How are you feeling?”
“Don’t sweet-talk me with pleasantries,” she snapped. “What’s going on with your teammates?”
“I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t want to know.” Rahn continued to field her questions until Shae’s text saved him. He prayed she wouldn’t interrogate him, too. “I’ve got to go, Mom. Love you.” He ended the call, then read Shae’s message.
I love you.
The craziness of the day dissipated with her declaration. Calmness engulfed him.
I love you too. Can we talk later?
Always.
At that moment, Marcus walked out of the bathroom. “Okay, old man. The shower’s yours.” Picking up the remote, Marcus aimed it toward the flat-screen TV, then shook his head at the commentator discussing Canseco’s book.
“Who made José mad?” his friend muttered. “I had to do some major Cardinals damage control with Yvette and other family members earlier about this.”
In the shower, Rahn’s mind wandered as he pondered Marcus’s statement. Who had ticked off José? Performance-enhancing drugs weren’t new. Their use could be traced back to the late 1800s, but the timing of José’s book was suspect. While the hot water pounded his muscles, Rahn reflected on something his dad had said when he was playing with the Cardinals’ Triple-A team, the Memphis Redbirds.