Page 112 of The Player

It kept ringing until she gave up and ended the call.

Maybe he was with his parents, or still stuck with people from the ceremony. She had no idea how long all of that went on afterward, and his mother wasn’t about to let him sit somewhere alone if she could help it. Nicole hoped somebody was with him. And if he’d tried calling her tonight, all he’d gotten was her machine.

A cough worked its way up her throat, and she turned into her shoulder to keep it quiet. The fever and the aches were gone, but the cough still showed up whenever it felt like it, and the long day hadn’t done her energy any favors.

She’d gone to the doctor Friday before she booked anything. She hadn’t run a fever in more than a day, even without taking anything for it, so he’d said she was fine to travel.

If Drew had known she was even thinking about it, he would’ve told her to stay home. And if she’d felt anything like she did at the start of the week, she would have listened. But she was better, and sitting at home watching him go through one of the biggest nights of his life on TV had stopped making any kind of sense.

She’d booked the flight that same evening, and when Drew called that night, she’d almost told him.

The cab rolled forward, then stopped again. Nicole’s hand tightened around the phone.

She knew how much he wanted that trophy. In every interview that week, he’d given the other finalists their credit and said he was just glad to be invited, but he’d never bothered with that act around her. He wanted it bad, and he’d told her so.

And she hadn’t been there. She’d been sitting on a plane while he waited to hear his name. While they called somebody else’s.

Nicole pressed her lips together and looked out the window. She couldn’t have done anything about the delay, and she knew that, but knowing it didn’t make her feel any better. At least she was in New York now. She could get to him, wrap her arms around him, and let him be upset without trying to talk him out of it.

The driver eased around a double-parked car, and Nicole caught her reflection in the dark glass. She’d dressed for a very different arrival.

Her new Max Mara coat fell nearly to her ankles, camel cashmere over a fitted black turtleneck and wool trousers. Her black suede ankle boots had just enough heel to make the trousers hang right. She had a silk scarf tucked at her throat, and she’d spent way too long that morning getting her hair exactly right.

Even now, worried sick and fed up with sitting in this damn cab, she checked the corner of her mouth for smeared lipstick and smoothed a hand over her hair.

Then she dialed again, and the same operator put her through. This time, she closed her eyes when it started ringing. Maybe he’d come back in the last few minutes. Maybe he’d been in the bathroom the first time. Maybe he’d finally pick up, and just hearing him say hello would make her want to cry.

It kept ringing.

“Damn it,” she whispered.

She hung up but kept the phone in her hand. Up ahead, the light changed, and for once the cars actually kept moving. Nicole leaned forward and watched for the hotel.

Chapter Forty-Four

Drew sat at the end of the hotel bar, staring down at a glass of Jack.

When the bartender asked what he wanted, it came out before he’d even thought about it. “Jack. Straight.” The bartender poured it without asking why a guy sitting by himself in what was left of a suit looked like he’d just had the worst night of his fucking life, and Drew appreciated that.

He turned the glass a little on the cocktail napkin.

He hadn’t had a drink in over a year. He’d sat through every party since with a bottle of water while his boys got loud and stupid, and most nights he hadn’t felt like he was missing a damn thing. He’d quit for his own reasons. He liked knowing what he was doing, and he liked waking up and getting through a workout without wanting to throw up.

He picked up the Jack.

The smell hit him before the liquor did. He took way too much at once, and it burned all the way down, bad enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut. He set the glass down and coughed into his fist.

Jesus Christ.

“You all right?” the bartender asked.

Drew nodded, blinking. “Yeah.”

A glass of water showed up next to his hand.

“Take your time.”

He drank some of that and sat with his forearms on the bar until his throat quit burning. His tie was upstairs somewhere. So was his jacket, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up uneven, one higher than the other. He tugged at the lower one, gave up, and reached for the Jack again.